Twice during the last week, the weather was calm for doing this run, but I could not find anybody who would pick me up on the other end of the trip. Marty was here this weekend, and offered to help. I would take the kayak to Stump Beach in the VW bus, Marty would drive up 3 hours later and switch with the bus. Then she would meet me at Black Point Beach, the first beach in Sea Ranch. It's a long haul, I seemed to remember 14 miles, although when I looked at the maps before I left, I was pleasantly surprised to find it was only 9 miles. The weather radio was not reporting Point Arena or Bodega Bay this morning. Sometimes they admit that someplace is missing (But not who took it), and sometimes they just seem to forget. They did have a prediction for the afternoon and the next morning that was only 7 foot swells. I was able to get into the water at Stump Beach with no problems. There was an occasional train of large waves, but they were not as rough looking as the last time I went out here. I made it out to sea just as the next train of big waves came in, and headed north. I went fairly close to the shore and did some sight seeing up to Horseshoe Cove. The land slopes gently down to the water, and then has short red cliffs into the water. The land all the way up past the cove is part of Salt Point State Park, and access is poor. Fisk Mill Cove has some trails and a lookout, and an obelisk I'm going to have to explore from the shore one day.
When I came around into Horseshoe Cove, I checked my watch (in the zip lock bag with my map) and discovered that I had wasted an hour going only the first two miles. Then I checked the maps and got confused. This stretch of beach crossed over two of my maps, and one of them was 3 miles to the square and I started to think the other was 1 mile to the square. I decided it was really was a 14 mile trip, I was going to be late, and Marty was going to worry. I stopped for lunch at Rocky Point and took off the jacket of my wetsuit. I had left it on the first 3 miles because there was a breeze (blowing against me to the south) and I had not overheated yet. While resting for lunch, I also noticed that the current was unusually strong, and also to the south. Usually, I don't notice the current at all. Without the jacket on, I determined to dig in and race to Black Point so I would not be so late that Marty would worry. The waves in the cove behind Rocky Point looked too rough for exploring, I would do this again one day with more time and better weather. When I timed myself past two of the points, Rocky point to Stewarts Island, I seemed to be going 6 miles an hour! Actually, I was just confused and it really was a 9 mile trip after all. But I kept pushing hard and made it around Black point only one hour late, and just past the "don't worry" time window I had told Marty when I left. She saw me from the access tower stairs, and came down to the beach.
The last two times I stopped to visit and just look at Black Point Beach, the waves had been rough. When I got there this time, they were even worse than I had expected. I stopped to put the wetsuit jacket back on well out to sea (about 300 meters). While I was juggling my gloves, life vest, and jacket, a few REALLY BIG waves went under me. Every time one of these broke a few meters past me, I would stop wrestling with the jacket and paddle a little bit back out to sea. When I got everything back on, a REALLY BIGGER wave broke just past me again, and I decided to head out to sea and wait for a calm stretch of waves. As I turned out to sea, a REALLY REALLY HUMONGUS wave rose up in front of me. My heuristic about waves breaking does have a few problems with it: I usually assume that if the waves are breaking, that means the water is shallow and I'm close to shore. But the topology of the bottom near the shore can make them break sooner, and the larger the amplitude the wave is, the farther out it will break. I have a fear of coming around a rock and unknowingly paddling over an invisible shallow spot, and getting surprised by the next wave. But paddling a kayak is slow enough that I have plenty of time to see the waves doing "funny" things ahead and go the long way around a rock. Often when I get there I see that there is a point sticking out above water, and it probably extends under the water as well, and I'm glad I went seaward of the offending rock. My eyes are usually glued on the path ahead of me looking for the turbulence around underwater rocks, so I'm usually looking in the right direction to detect "funny" wave behavior well in advance. Well this REALLY HUMOGUS wave broke before it got to me. I'm very lucky it didn't come along while I had the vest and jacket off. It broke right in front of me, and blew me back off the top of the kayak. I went under, and the kayak kept going with the wave, breaking the safety line that connects the paddle and the kayak while I held on. This line is 500lb military surplus parachute cord, but it was probably weakened by all the time it has been in the salt water. My grip is not THAT strong.
I came up and saw the kayak about 20 meters away, upside down, and drifting north against the wind. (Figures). A few more waves went over me, and I decided to toss the paddle away so I'd have two hands free for swimming. After I got in the water, all the waves looked and felt HUMONGUS, so I didn't take it personally. But Marty watching from the shore said that I was knocked over by the first of a long "nest" of really big waves. I swam a few meters north to rescue my hat (of course) and stuffed it under my vest. It came out once, in another wave and had to be stuffed back in again. In retrospect, the time spent rescuing the hat was time I could ill afford. Also, it restricted my breathing, and I needed every screaming breath I could find. The shore was still 300 meters away when I headed in. The waves were merciless, and dunked me over and over again. The buoyancy of the wet suit was a bother, it kept lifting my feet up while I was trying to rise over a breaker, or tilting me the wrong way so I had to crane my neck to see the waves or shore. I didn't do much swimming, but the shore got closer anyway. Unfortunately, I found out why the kayak was heading north: There was a strong current pulling us north to the rocky part of the beach. I tried paddling south (parallel to the shore) to get back to the sandy area. It didn't work. I saw Marty taking her shoes and socks off, and treaded water as high as I could to scowl at her and point vigorously back up the beach. (More energy I couldn't afford). I was thinking how common it is for people to drown trying to save loved ones from the surf. At least I had 7mm of padding most places and several inches around my chest. By this time I was totally exhausted, and roaring in anger at the waves with every exhalation. (If words were formed they may have been "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANY MORE!"). I could begin to imagine getting so tired that you could give up. I was only 50 meters from shore, but approaching a pair of rocks. I decided to turn and swim with the current and at least get north of these two. But a few seconds later, the backwash from a wave went roaring north around the rocks and pulled me back up behind them, 5 meters away. The water receded, and my feet hit bottom on a rock that may have been buried in the sand. I turned in water up to my waist to see another breaker coming. I jumped off my perch to get as high as possible, and roared 10 or 15 meters closer to shore. I came to rest on my knees in a field of smaller rocks that were just peaking out of beach sand. I was very surprised at how far behind me the two big rocks were: I must have gone right over and between them, but they really only stuck a meter or two out of the beach sand. Another breaker arrived and drug me another 5 meters, and I got up on rubbery legs to walk the rest of the way up to dry sand.
Marty met me with my zip lock bag with the map and watch in it. Unknown to me, it had been ripped out of the Velcro pocket on my vest and made it to shore ahead of me. It was almost 3:00pm: I had spent at least 30 minutes in the surf. The kayak had made it also, in one piece, and Marty had already pulled it up to dry sand. She says that it spent some time sitting on top of one of my rocks before it came ashore. I fell down and rolled over on my back. It felt like my heart was beating strong enough to stretch out the 14 mm of constricting wetsuit. I waved at the vest and asked Marty to open this up. She laughed to discover my hat in there, and I smiled also, but didn't spare much time from breathing. Now I realized how TOTALLY EXHAUSTED I really was. After a while I asked Marty if my paddle had made it, and she said no. She looked north, thought she could see it and walked off to get it, but came back empty handed. But then she looked south and pointed to it: Still in one piece, only 20 meters away, and almost as high up the sand as we were. When I felt up to it, I drug the kayak to the access tower of stairs up the cliff. I rested there for a while, and Marty suggested getting the padlock and leaving it here until tomorrow. I opened the stopcock and turned it over to drain the water out of it. As I held up the tail to drain water out the front (stern and prow, don't forget those silly nautical terms) my arms suddenly cramped up. It felt like my elbows locked up, and it hurt to hold the kayak up, but it hurt to lower my arms. I got them relaxed enough to rest the kayak on my head, got down on my knees, and dropped the kayak. I walked over to Marty, sitting on a rock, and explained the problem to her. My elbows were still locked, and I knelt down on the sand, with my head on her rock so my forearms could rest on the sand. Is this the result of 14 miles of heavy paddling against the wind and current in record time? Or is it a result of all the ineffective swimming I did in the surf? I stood up and let gravity lower my arms against the cramp and they got better. I didn't want to leave the kayak to the mercies of the tides, so I had Marty lean it against the steps and stand it up for me. I got under it and lifted it onto my back. My legs were not tired, and they took me up all 4 landings of the tower stars. Only one of the landings had clearance problems with the kayak. (This is an impressive beach access: the first and longest flight of stairs are concrete, then three more flights spiral up to a short trail, then another flight of stairs up to the top level of the cliff). I rested before that last flight, then set the kayak down to be slid back to the car along the trail. Marty did most of that sliding.
When we got home, the tired really sank in. I had aches in my neck and shoulders that felt like I had a really bad virus. My legs finally ran out of steam, and I crept up and down the stars at home feeling like an old man. I had to take the stairs only one at a time instead of my usual 2 or three! We soaked in the hot tub for a while, and then I got in bed to rest while Marty cooked dinner. While in bed, I had more symptoms that reminded me of a virus: Hot flashes in my face and neck, occasional bouts of vigorous shivering. Marty took my temperature, and found I was running 99 degrees F (My usuall is 97). During the night, I woke up once because the sweat pouring off my chest tickled me awake. I went to the bathroom and toweled off, and then had to get back into a clammy swamp of a bed. But in the morning, I felt a little sore but OK. Marty dropped me off at work, and I ended up working until midnight again before driving home. At work, nobody asked me if I had been kayaking lately, and it never came up in conversation.
