Georgian Bay Kayak Trip - July 2011

Day #1 PHOTOS:
http://tinyurl.com/DayOne-GeorgianBayJuly2011

DAY 1 - Preparation, Launching, and Camp - Bob’s “Spirit of Adventure Tour 2011”
The plan was to launch our kayaks in Tobermory and paddle out onto the deep waters of Georgian Bay while we island-hopped for 4 to 5 days, camping on islands of various sizes and covering about 65 miles. The reality of it is that we did exactly that, except we had to improvise on our first night‘s campsite. In previous years, the 6 campsites on Flowerpot Island were “first come - first served”. You would walk up to the harbormaster or the cruise line ticket booth and pay for a campsite; some books, literature, and websites still proclaim that fact. With the recent construction of a National Park Visitor Center in town, campsites now can be reserved in advance at that center, or on line. The harbormaster told us to go to the ticket booth, and the ticket booth attendant told us to go to the visitor center where we were informed that a man had reserved ALL 6 campsites because he was going to be proposing to his girlfriend that weekend. I propose that letting one person reserve 6 campsites is not fair. We wouldn’t be camping on Flowerpot Island ($9.50 per person per day to camp on a primitive site), so we were forced to save $28.50 (plus GST & PST) and camp for free somewhere else. If you’ve ever gone camping r paddling in Ontario, you know that nothing is free there because there are fees to walk, visit, launch a kayak, take out a kayak, park, and camp anywhere….. unless you do it the way we did. We parked for free, and because all the islands were uninhabited and very remote, we also camped for free all 3 nights.

I’d been planning this trip for a year - since I completed a 30 mile 1-way trip across the mouth of the bay last July. Planning pays off! We drove to a narrow strip of public access beach on Dunks Bay where Joe could park his car for 3 or 4 nights without getting a ticket. I checked all the signage, and there was no restriction on the time we could leave a car there, so game on! Joe, Patti, and I began shuttling all of our gear between the car and the sandy beach, and finally carried our 3 sea kayaks to the water, squeezing the boats into a small public area of the beach that was also occupied by many other people using the beach for more traditional purposes, such as laying on towels, swimming, and building sand castles. We crammed all of our camping gear and food into the hatches, and without ceremony, we were on the water and began paddling. I zeroed the trip computer settings on my GPS receiver and made certain that I had a waypoint set for the beach.

A few days earlier, I sat in front of my desktop computer with “Google Earth” on screen and transferred the coordinates of all the islands into my handheld GPS unit, so we could aim for an island even if we couldn’t see it - a cautionary step in case of fog or other weather conditions that could obscure our visual points of reference. Last year, the water was so calm and flat, that it was almost boring; I hoped for similar conditions for Joe. My buddy Joe was on his first-ever trip on big water. We would have several open water crossings between islands that were 5 to 10 miles each, and rough water could make it interesting. Patti has paddled extensively on the Niagara River, with several near-shore trips on lakes Erie and Ontario as well, and has previously paddled on Georgian Bay.

We had enough experience among us that I wasn’t too worried about this large step I was taking by more than doubling the mileage of last year’s outing. As for safety, we all are experienced paddlers and know what can happen in a kayak, so the wearing of life jackets is a normal part of our paddling attire. Inexperienced people who don’t know enough about the sport are the ones who often opt to not wear a life jacket. By my mandate, as well as common sense, we all wore neoprene shirts (wet suit tops) in case if accidental immersion in the cold Great Lakes water. The rest of our clothing consisted of quick-dry shorts, water shoes, wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and plenty of sunscreen. I neglected to use lip balm with some sort of sun protection factor, and I regretted that (Note to self: use a high SPF sunscreen when paddling in the sun for 4 days!). We all carried a whistle, light, throw rope, and paddle float, and Patti also carried a tow line in case one of us became incapacitated and couldn’t paddle (illness, shoulder, arm, or hand injury, etc.). In addition to all of that, I carried aerial flares, signal flag, strobe light, small air horn, handheld VHF radio, a SPOT satellite rescue message device, and a navigation chart of the section of Georgian Bay we were in, sealed in a waterproof chart case. All of that was either on deck or in the cockpit behind my seat. Being the expedition photographer, I also carried 3 cameras; one in a waterproof case stowed with my gear, one in a waterproof case on deck, and a small waterproof Kodak “PlaySport” video camera attached to a little flexible tripod where I could reach it on the deck in front of me. I also transmitted a twice daily “I’m OK” message from my satellite device that relayed an e-mail to select people with a link to a map that showed my exact location. That same device could also send a “Please send help” message or a “911” (send the chopper!) message. My main source of help would have been the waterproof handheld VHF radio I bought recently. With that, I could listen to NOAA weather reports, status reports from the Coast Guard or other boaters about navigation hazards, and could also contact nearby boaters or the Tobermory Coast Guard station in case we needed immediate assistance. They call me the “Safety Nazi”. I do a lot of things that prompt people to say I’m crazy and take too many risks, but I minimize risk by planning, preparation, and by carrying the right gear. I wasn’t worried.

Back to paddling - We paddled from Dunks Bay into the big open waters of Georgian Bay and began our adventure. Joe had never been up there before, so I decided to detour over to Flowerpot Island to let Joe get a close view of the 2 sea stacks that give the island its name. Later, I learned that we were supposed to pay a fee to land there and walk around. We paddled up onto a rock shelf and pulled the boats farther up while we walked around (see photos of the “flowerpots“). I’d been there several times before, so I just hung back and took pictures. After our exploration break, we headed to the next island, Bears Rump, about 5 miles from shore, where we hoped to find a suitable place to camp. We had paddled nearly all the way around the rocky shoreline when we spotted a good landing zone and flat rock shelf that would hold our tents. We hauled our gear onto the shelf, carried the boats up and mostly out of sight behind the rocks (free camping is illegal), and attached our cockpit covers. Before we carried Patti’s kayak up from the water, I picked up a rock to get it out of the way, and standing where the rock had been was the BIGGEST SPIDER I HAVE EVER SEEN (other than in a zoo or in my cousin Louie’s bedroom)!!! I’m glad that I had a complete change of clothes with me. The spider growled and snapped at me (perhaps a slight exaggeration)… the spider just stood there silently while I screamed like a little girl (not as exaggerated). It was 3 to 4 inches across, and I later identified it as a Wolf Spider, which can have a body over 1 inch long and a leg spread of 4 inches. We set up our tents and made sure the screen doors were always zipped shut. Once the boats were stowed and tents set up, it was time to eat. Joe had his stove ready and we boiled water - that’s as close as cooking as I get. The island was covered with a thick cedar forest. Between the density of the vegetation and the size of the spiders, further exploration was not possible.

We laid our wet clothes across the rocks, watched the sun set, and zipped ourselves into our tents. Biting flies, gnats, and mosquitoes buzzed about, while giant mutant spiders lurked unseen. Since the weather forecast for the weekend was all good, we didn’t use the rain fly on our tents, allowing for good air flow all night, and good sleeping once it cooled down. In the morning, Patti told us she had heard a woodpecker in the distance; all I did was sleep. We rose in the dawn’s early light and had breakfast-with-a-view.
While we were loading our boats, Patti noticed that one of the island’s inhabitants had been busy overnight and left something attached to her neoprene top. At first I said it was a cocoon, but quickly realized that it was an egg sack - spider eggs, and Mama Spider was still close by on the shirt! Luckily for me, it was a smaller (1” across) spider. I assisted the spider’s exit and scraped off the egg sack; a web-encased bundle of bright red eggs (ick). Time to move on.

Georgian Bay Kayak Trip - Part 1

Introduction and Background - Bob’s “Spirit of Adventure Tour 2011”

In the 1980’s, I began driving up to Ontario’s Bruce Peninsula with my friend, Olaf, every June to photograph the wide variety of orchids that grow in that unique geographic climate zone - a long and relatively narrow peninsula jutting into the center of a Great Lake. To the west, Lake Huron caresses the land via beautiful, wide, sandy beaches, while Georgian Bay’s deep waters crash onto the eastern shore’s rocky cliffs formed by the Niagara Escarpment. Most of the clear waters of Georgian Bay are 100 to 300 feet deep, but the bay is over 500 feet deep near shore not too far south of Tobermory.

Georgian Bay offers some of the finest and most scenic sea kayaking on the continent, with over 30,000 rocky islands along its shores. Most of those are along the eastern coastline, but the islands between Tobermory and Manitoulin Island are very remote and offer a challenge to paddlers because of their distance from shore. In 2006, I bought my first kayak, and have been paddling the deep waters near Tobermory for 4 years.

Tobermory is a small, scenic, former commercial fishing village now known mostly for tourism. It draws not only paddlers, but photographers and naturalists come to see the small wild orchids that grow in the area. Scuba divers come to dive in the clean, clear waters and view some of the 26 documented shipwrecks that are scattered along the bottom of the surrounding area in Canada’s only underwater park, “Fathom Five National Marine Park”. Other visitors drive up Highway 6 to catch the huge 365-foot long ferry, the “MS Chi-Cheemaun” that can take cars, trucks, and passengers to Manitoulin Island, which connects with mainland Ontario west of Sudbury.

The kayak trips I’ve done on Georgian Bay have been progressively farther and more difficult each year. Way back in 1991, I drove up with 3 co-workers for an overnight camping trip. They went scuba diving (I actually donned scuba gear and dived to 40 feet - briefly), and also brought my canoe. My paddling experience on that trip consisted of an hour or so of canoeing in the harbor. Fast-forward to 2008 when I kayaked all the way out to Flowerpot Island, a full 4 miles from town. The next year, some friends and I ventured out a bit farther and paddled around Flowerpot Island, out to the Cove Island lighthouse, around that large island, and back to town (finishing in 3 to 4-foot swells) to complete a 20-mile round-trip. Last year saw us doing an overnight 1-way 30 mile kayak trip to South Baymouth on Manitoulin Island, a route that paralleled the path of the big ferry (we returned via the ferry). That brings me to this year’s great adventure - a planned island-hopping excursion of approximately 60 miles that would have us visit several small uninhabited islands, and included multiple open water crossings of up to 10 miles. I’ll write this trip report and post my story & photos one day at a time. Visit this site again tomorrow to read about “Day 1”.

PHOTOS: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2332357832474.2138314.1355629679&l=a9cc8a5a3d&type=1

Captive Wolves in Alaska - a sad state

Just back from 10 days in Alaska (May 2011). One stop I made was a place in the town of Palmer ( north of Anchorage) called “Wolf Country USA”. It’s a tourist attraction with the premise that people can see wolves close up. The exterior of the building was a bit run-down, and featured a gift shop as the only entrance. The large gift shop sold various articles that featured wolves – most notable to me were the decoupage images of wolves varnished onto wooden plaques. I hadn’t seen decoupage since 1980, so it was a shout-out to the past. The store reeked of something – perhaps dog food, moose meat, or maybe it was wolf dung. I don’t know what produced that pungent odor, but it didn’t help my appetite any. The owner of the business, Werner Shuster, a man of perhaps 80 years of age, enthusiastically led us into the fenced area that housed 20 or more wolves, or wolf-hybrids as he called them. He noted that “there is no such thing as a pure wolf”. I entered the gate with my camera ready to snap many photos of the majestic animals in their home that featured snow-covered mountains in the distant background. What I observed shocked me, depressed me, and I immediately put my camera away in its case because I didn’t want to remember what I saw (later, I managed to take 2 photos of the wolves).


Each animal wore a collar attached to a heavy chain approximately 10 or 12 feet long, and attached to a tall pipe in the center of the barren piece of purgatory in which they lived, giving each wolf a space with a diameter of 20 to 24-feet in which to “roam”. Not quite what the sign out front depicted. Each wolf was separated from the neighboring animal by several feet of open space, and they are unable to physically interact. Their website features carefully cropped images that don’t show the chains, or the raw skin under their collars, or the nature of their demeaning existence. The animals’ constant running in circles for their entire lifetime (up to 20 years), has worn away all vegetation, and some of the wolves had excavated underground dens in the hard soil. Technically, I suppose, there is no visible animal cruelty, since each animal has shelter and water, and seems to be well-fed. Some of the water bowls had a green scum growing, but we were assured that algae “is the best thing for them”, and he “never has any veterinary bills”. I was not surprised that care by a veterinarian was not in his budget. He also told us that he gets moose meat, and each wolf is fed weekly. The owner threw dog treats to each wolf as he proudly passed by each of them; bragging about “His movie stars” and telling us they would all be dead if he hadn’t saved them by confining them safely away from the natural world. I wonder if he would like to be confined to a small room in a house for his entire life if it meant he would live longer.

Born free, live free.

Born in “Wolf Country USA”, never see actual wolf country, or run, or do anything else that is natural for wolves (except howl on command).

It was disgusting, and I have left a message on their website telling them as much. I wondered to myself if they ever get exercised. They do not. He did say that the animals get loose 2 or 3 times…. a year…. when the chain breaks. Some of the animals get conjugal visits so their offspring can be sold to buyers across the world. Local sales of his product had dropped off because it’s illegal to possess or sell wolves or wolf hybrids, and the State of Alaska is trying to enforce that law, but the definition of “wolf” is a bit unclear. Mating the wolves, according to Mr. Shuster, consists of putting them on chains that are just long enough for the animals to reach each other, but short enough to not get tangled. I left feeling ashamed that my admission fee had contributed to the ongoing cruel isolation and exploitation of these “wild” animals.

The above is my opinion based on direct observation. I have included links to the official website and to another site that provides more information about this situation. If you do an Internet search for “Wolf Country USA”, other sites will come to your attention, including sites that are attempting to end this deplorable situation. - RVH

http://www.wolfcountryusa.com/WCUSA5.htm

http://www.pets.ca/forum/archive/index.php/t-873.html

"Moving"

Old family home held a lifetime of memories

It was my home for more than 20 years. A grand old house with seven huge poplar trees casting shade across the yard, and frontage on the water that included an old boathouse. My father bought it in 1946 after he came home from World War II, because he was the eldest son and had the responsibility to provide for the rest of his family. His parents, younger brothers and sister lived there while my parents, my older brother and I lived in an upper flat in North Tonawanda.
In 1954, when my aunts and uncles had moved away, my father and his brothers modified it into a two-family home. My grandparents stayed, living in the apartment upstairs. My grandfather died there in the late ’50s and was “laid out” in the parlor downstairs.
We took family trips to the Adirondacks, and had a homemade trailer in the yard to haul our gear. In the 1960s, my father demolished the old garage out back and built a new two-car garage by himself, including mixing and pouring all of the concrete.
My brother, Jim, and I grew up sharing a room until my father built another bedroom where the dining room had been. We got our milk from Papke-Moll Dairy across the street, and our groceries from Kraemer’s corner store a block away.
I was home from school on a sad day in November 1963 when President John F. Kennedy was shot, and I watched the moon landing in 1969 in the comfort of our living room. My younger cousins and I often played cards with my grandmother and watched “Lawrence Welk” with her on TV. My brother and I walked to Delaware School, the junior high and the “new” high school.
Jim and I moved out and got married in the ’70s, while my grandmother remained in the house until 1977. She’s been gone more than 30 years, but my father never rented the upstairs. The space was used mostly for storage, but he kept her bedroom intact with all of the original furniture. My brother would stay up there when he came home for his annual visits from the West Coast.
My mother did volunteer work, including many years of involvement with the Girl Scouts, and she had mementos of her work all around the house. Mom passed away seven years ago, and my father kept all of her clothes, books and other favorite things pretty much where she left them. He died this past summer after being in poor health for two years.
We had so many memories in that house. I knew that parting with three generations’ worth of accumulation would be difficult, and because I am the one who remained in town, the dreaded responsibility of clearing out the house fell on me. I gave the family heirlooms to my aunt and cousins, and had an estate sale to clear out as much of the good usable things as possible.
An old friend removed the remaining possessions for me, assuring me that as much as possible would be donated, recycled, sold or otherwise reused — the rest would go out to the curb. It’s much easier when you don’t have an attachment to — everything.
I hadn’t been inside the house for a few weeks and stopped by recently. It’s empty. Upstairs, downstairs, basement. Nothing. No furniture. No appliances in the kitchen or tools in the garage, no books or beds, no dishes in the cupboard, no clothes in the closets or pictures on the walls. It’s all a memory now. After 64 years, it’s just a house.

http://www.buffalonews.com/editorial-page/from-our-readers/my-view/article296256.ece

Moving

It was my home. My father bought it in 1946, after he came home from the war. His parents, brothers, and sisters lived there until about 1953. My Grandparents stayed, living in an apartment upstairs; my Grandfather died there in the late 50s and was ‘laid out’ in the parlor. My brother and I grew up there, and walked to Delaware School, the Junior High, and the “new“ High School. Jim and I moved out and got married in the 70s, and my Grandmother remained living there until 1977. She’s been gone over 30 years, but my father never rented the upstairs. The space was used mostly for storage, but he kept her bedroom fairly intact with all the original furniture; my brother would stay there when he came home for his annual visits. Mom passed away 7 years ago, and my father kept all her clothes and other things where she left them. He died this past Summer. So many memories. I gave some things away to my family, and had an estate sale to clear out as much of the usable things as possible. An old high school friend removed and disposed of the remaining possessions for me; it’s much easier when you don‘t have an attachment to… everything. I hadn’t been inside the house for a couple weeks and stopped by tonight. It’s empty. Upstairs, downstairs, basement. Nothing. No furniture, no appliances or tools, no beds…..no clothes in the closets or pictures on the walls. It’s all a memory now. After 64 years, it’s just a house.

Adirondack "Ice-in" Canoe Trip

"On a warm November night, would you offer your ear to the loon….? "

Saranac “Ice-In” Paddle Trip Nov. 13-15, 2009
an Adirondack Mountain Club outing

Way back in “Ought-seven”, I paddled onto the Adirondack’s Middle Saranac Lake in mid-November and camped for 2 nights. That year, it was very cold with some snow on the ground, but there was no ice when I launched. The trip was inspired by an article I read in “Boundary Waters Journal”, the magazine of Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, in which some men sought out the exact weekend in which the lakes would freeze, then took a long canoe trip in Minnesota lake country. Those paddlers found themselves deep into the wilderness when they HEARD the lake freezing and had to start out late at night to avoid getting trapped by ice too thick to paddle on, and too thin to walk on. I wasn’t going to do quite that, but 2 years ago, I did have to use my “bail-out” route and carry all my gear over a half-mile trail instead of paddling up the then-frozen creek I used for access to Middle Saranac Lake.

Fast-forward to 2009. In September, while considering outings I might lead for the Adirondack Mountain Club, I decided to reprise that trip, but wanted to share the fun. I announced a mid-November “Ice-In” paddle trip, and Joe R. jumped on board enthusiastically. A couple weeks later, Manon P. and Bill T. joined up, and we had a good-sized group going (all the better to break ice with, my dear…). The focus would be on paddling and eating, with the latter taking the lead if we had too much ice. I monitored weather forecasts for the Tupper Lake-Saranac Lake area, with AccuWeather and NOAA disagreeing on overnight low temps, because a warm air mass was slowly moving north into Adirondack lake country. Overnight lows in the teens would be enough to form some ice, but daytime highs in the 40s and even 50s, would likely melt that each day. Our weekend forecast was for rain and unseasonably warm temperatures - quite different than I had expected and hoped for. Just 3 days before our trip, Joe’s brother-in-law, Magilla (Buffalo firefighter, actor, and Great Lakes surfer), passed away, so Joe’s family duties required him to remain in western New York.

Early Friday morning, after a much-needed stop at one of our local Tim Horton’s, three of us hit the road under clear skies, arriving at the South Creek launch site on Route 3 in early afternoon. We were quite pleased (at least I was) to see ice across most of the creek, with pockets of open water interspersed along the way. We checked the thickness of the ice by tossing rocks onto it, and the rocks bounced off. Then we poked at it with our feet and were able to break though, so we decided that we would proceed with our plan to paddle down the creek to the lake. The weather forecast indicated warmer temps and rain for the weekend, so no more ice would be forming anywhere… we hoped! We unpacked the cars and dropped our boats into the water to begin loading. Manon had her Bell Yellowstone solo canoe, Bill had a beautiful “stripper” Adirondack guideboat that he built himself, and I had my red Wenonah Solitude solo canoe.
Moments before we arrived at the launch, a lady had pulled up in her vehicle and began setting up an easel to draw or paint that scene. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and the artist took a group picture for us as we stood proudly by our boats with the all the optimism that a moment like that is capable of having. We finished loading and set out onto the hard surface of the creek. Bill took the lead and crunched his way forward, breaking a path through the ice for Manon and me with his sturdy wooden boat and long wooden double-bladed paddle. We still had to punch through the ice in order to put our paddles into the water, but it wasn’t hard to do - it was actually fun! When we reached the lake, there was no ice at all and paddling was easy. Once out of the narrow creek, Bill turned his boat around and began using his wooden oars to row across the lake. We heard a loon, seemingly welcoming us onto it’s lake. Based on several previous trips on Middle Saranac Lake, I had chosen a lean-to on the far eastern shore as our destination. Site #63 is a small, beautifully situated lean-to that I had camped in back in the late 90s when I did a 7-day solo trip through that part of the Adirondacks. We cruised off-shore and found our site by the bull rushes at the point where the Saranac River flows out of Middle Saranac Lake. It was just as I had remembered it - a nice lean-to, beautiful open woods, a high forest canopy, and a large rock on the shore where I had watched a sunset turn into a dark starry night many years ago. I think Manon and Bill liked the site as much as I did, and we began carrying gear into the shelter. The first order of business was to string up a cover to protect the picnic table, so I set up my big green tarp. Because the weather forecast predicted freezing rain at night, I also hung a small tarp in front of the lean-to to keep out wind-blown rain and wind, and to provide a space where we could huddle around the small propane heater that I brought (it turned out that the weather was milder than predicted, and we never used the heater). We each took control of a different aspect of our camp, and soon, we had a kitchen set up and enough wood for a small fire (branches gathered in the woods), ready for a match. Curiously, 2 large, seemingly healthy trees (1 to 1 ½-foot diameter) that had stood immediately behind the lean-to, had been cut down and sawn into 2-foot logs that were stacked on site. Bill walked to an adjacent site and saw a similar curious pile of logs. It seems like such a travesty to mow down those trees merely for firewood. Later, we would stop on an island campsite and see more cut and stacked trees. I found that to be disturbing, but welcome an explanation and justification of the practice.
That night, we had hearty soup (actually an accidental combo of soup and chili), followed by brownies and biscuits that Manon and Bill baked in a reflector oven. Bill hung a bear bag, Manon had her big canoe barrel, and I had my Ursack and Bear Vault food canister stashed in the trees up the hill behind the lean-to. The temperature was warm enough, so we all sat close to the fire that night, eating, drinking, telling tales, and looking up at the billions and billions of stars that twinkled above in the clear night sky.

When we woke up Saturday morning, it was a beautiful day - warm (for November), cloudy, but no rain. We boiled water and had our breakfast - Manon made “Cowboy coffee”. A power boat sped past and went between the colored navigation buoys and into the river. Just as we were gathering our gear to begin paddling, a light rain began. The rain stayed with us all day, except for one short interval. We paddled down the Saranac River and soon were approaching the upper lock. In summer, the lock is staffed by college students who operate it for all the passing boaters and paddlers. In November, it’s a fun do-it-yourself lock; large signs tell you exactly what to do. We could have carried or dragged our boats 100 feet to the lower river surface, but we wanted the fun of operating a lock. Manon and Bill worked the levers and pushed the gates closed, then opened the lower gates after the water level evened out. It took only a minute or two for the lock to adjust for the 2-foot difference. We walked our boats out of the lock and stepped back in. Continuing down the river, we soon entered a wide section, then passed through a narrows by a vacant lean-to, and were finally on Lower Saranac Lake. Bill saw a deer on the shore. Our objective Saturday was just to paddle and do some sightseeing, so we headed north along the shore into Boot Bay. There were small power boats (fishing boats) at 3 or 4 campsites, and as we paddled/rowed past one of the sites, we heard someone let out a loud “whoop!” immediately followed by a gun shot. Not wanting to discover whether that gunplay was recreational or a warning to us, we kept on going, got away from the hunters, and regained our tranquility while floating past the many islands that dot the lake. We worked our way around and between the islands as a light rain continued to fall. Small air bubbles dotted the surface of the lake, but the rain didn’t bother us. About half-way down the lake, we made a grand turn toward the south shore and headed back to the river. I made sure we passed by Bluff Island with its 30-foot high cliffs that are great for jumping or diving, if you are so inclined. None of us wanted to go for a swim, so we kept moving. When we approached the narrows again, we took a break in the vacant lean-to. After resting, we paddled and rowed back up the river. A large bird flew overhead, and we realized that it was a Bald Eagle. Immediately after the fly-over, the rain stopped! …. for about 5 minutes, then resumed, creating little bubbles all across the surface of the water. We walked our boats into the lock, locked through again, and arrived at camp with a couple hours of daylight remaining. Dinner that night would feature little potatoes that Jane bought for me to share. Anything resembling cooking is a big deal for me, but I safely boiled the little spuds, drained the water, added butter, salt, and pepper, and it was good! Of course, we combined that with other food we each had, and made a great meal of it. The light rain stopped, Bill built another small campfire, and we enjoyed that while I finished off the remaining beer that I had brought along. I slept well.

By morning, the rain was gone. Mild temperatures remained, along with a heavy overcast that filled the sky with brooding clouds. When we got up Sunday, we were so full from our good supper that none of us was particularly interested in breakfast. After slowly and reluctantly breaking camp and packing all our gear, we loaded the boats and launched off the sandy beach that was covered by thick piles of wind-blown pine needles. Bill led the way as Manon and I paddled in single file. Just before we entered the ice-less South Creek, one of the loons gave us a final tremolo serenade, providing the perfect end to the perfect Adirondack weekend.
　
Photos http://bit.ly/ADK-MiddleSaranacNov09

(Note: The opening line is a paraphrase from Meatloaf’s classic song, “ You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth”.)

A Dozen Eggs and a Buck

Webshots album: http://bit.ly/StrawIslandCleanUp09

Strawberry Island Clean-up Nov. 2, 2009
I was off today, the weather was ideal, and I wanted to paddle. We decided to do a clean-up on Strawberry Island (in the upper Niagara River near Buffalo, NY), since my Monday paddlers and I visit that scenic location often from May through October. Jim and Jinny were not available, but Patti Z. showed up at the Town of Tonawanda boat ramps at the foot of Sheridan, near Aqua Lane. We came prepared with gloves and trash bags, and I also brought an iron rake. The river was beautiful, calm, and flat, as we paddled out of the small “harbor” and into the current of the Niagara. There was one fishing boat on the water when we made the crossing. A large flock of small gulls (about the size of the Common Tern) were feeding on a school of small fish. I didn’t recognize the species of gull, and they were much smaller than the Herring Gulls and Ring-Billed Gulls that are commonly seen there (I think they were migrating Black-headed Gulls) . We landed on the outer strip of sandy beach on the eastern (Tonawanda) side of the island and prepared to gather trash. Patti took off walking along the shore while I waded into the milkweed pods and brambles of the interior. Unlike last spring, there were no animals to be seen anywhere on the island, except for a couple Canada Geese sitting on the northern shore. While picking up all sorts of rubbish, I also saw several goose eggs laying unattended on the ground, apparently abandoned when the embryos failed to develop earlier this year. After an hour or more, we came back out with nearly full bags of various items. I also sported many briars all over my clothing. We left most of what we had gathered by the boats and moved in the other direction, onto the broader, flatter, more open section between the river and the lagoon. There were a few flat trampled spots that had obviously been used by waterfowl hunters, as evidenced by the concentrated trash, including spent shotgun shells and beer cans. By the time we had walked all over that section, we had already been on the island for over 2 hours. We loaded the trash bags into and onto our kayaks and paddled upstream, around the wavy point, and took out again on “Goose Poop Beach”, the broad sandy beach that faces upstream toward Buffalo. In contrast to where we had just spent so much time, this beach was nearly litter-free. Obviously, there had been a beach clean-up there in the last month or 2, and we had to look hard to find a few pieces of glass in the sand. Moving into the trees and away from the beach, Patti found a few beer cans, and I picked up an old rusted charcoal grill. That area was refreshingly clean, so we soon moved on again. We paddled around the next point and cruised the shore, going downstream. When we reached the open end of the lagoon, we split up and paddled the inner shoreline of the island. Once again, I found the littered site of a duck blind, and got out to clean that up. We met again at the far inner end of the lagoon on what I’ll now call “Beer Bottle Beach”, another thin strip of sand that had broken glass everywhere - in and out of the water. We spent at least another half-hour there picking up glass, and Patti also picked up a large iron hinge and a railroad spike. We also saw a few very large freshwater clam shells in the water. By then, we had walked almost the whole island, and I was getting tired. My trash bag had grown to a huge size, and was held onto my kayak by laying the rake handle across it with a bungee cord to hold it down. We paddled back down river and across to the boat ramps. Just as we were approaching the ramps, I looked to my left, did a double-take, and saw a large deer with a really nice set of antlers. He was standing behind a chain link fence and looking out at the water. I snapped a couple pictures of the big buck, then he walked back along the fence line, as if trying to find his way back out of the enclosure he somehow got himself into. Patti called the SPCA, and they were going to alert the landowner to open a gate so the deer might find his way out again (“Out of the frying pan and into the fire”). I dumped all the trash in, and next to, a town trash tote, and we were finally finished. After about 4 hours of clean-up, Strawberry Island was a nicer place to be.

Black-Headed Gulls http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black-headed_Gull

Left on the island: about a dozen unbroken goose eggs
WHAT WE PICKED UP:
3 beach towels and a t-shirt
A huge iron hinge
RR spike
plastic bait tub
beer bottles - broken and whole
assorted cans, mostly beer
Shotgun shells- hulls and lots of wads
shell white insert thingies
Lots of styrofoam - pieces and cups
bits of lumber (not trees or branches)
bottle caps
a big Christmas Tree Store bag
Styrofoam worm container
Syringe
Plastic water bottles, pop bottles
Rubber ball
Plastic toy shovel (for a sandbox)
Rusty TV tray-style charcoal cooker
a bobber
and a child’s flip-flop