15 feet

In October, Michael, Rebecca, and I spent a beautiful day playing on the Flood and Ebb tides at Sullivan Falls, one of our favorite teaching spots.   With a range of nearly 15 feet between the high and low tides, we surfed some really nice waves that don't form at lower flows, and did our best to tackle some waves that turned into growling heaps of foam at this wild spring-tide level.

I'm currently working on our course schedule for 2015, and have enjoyed hearing requests for particular classes from a handful of students already.  I look forward to seeing many of you when these warm sunny days return next spring!

-Nate

This video is about Sullivan 10-9-14

Moving on with moving water

Sullivan Falls is an excellent local paddling spot, with features to provide every paddler - from the complete novice to the adrenaline-soaked expert - with a perfect-fitted learning environment.  By considering the phase of the moon, the time of day, and choosing between a variety of micro-environments within the reversing falls area, a group can find everything from very gentle flat-water eddy lines, to steep saltwater foam piles. 

Arguably, Sullivan Falls is overrepresented in the videos I post on this page, but hey, it's an easy spot to film, and the subjects are always smiling!  So here's one more - a very rough cut of a couple students getting to know the mellower side of Sullivan Falls - the flood on a 10-foot tidal range.  After a couple days of basic instruction, these two were ready to take their boat handling skills onto moving water, crossing eddy lines, and doing some surfing at the top of a big friendly eddy, right next to the pleasant picnic area at Frenchman Bay Conservancy's Tidal Falls preserve.

First day of paddling on the flood tide for a few students of Pinniped Kayak, at Sullivan Falls, ME

Long Winter Passing

A few of you may have noticed that it's been a longer than usual winter here in the Northeast.  In particular, after a few hints of spring - longer days, more direct sunlight - March temperatures returned to the single digits most mornings, as though the month was unsure whether to rise towards spring, or have another go-around at winter.  

I don't paddle a great deal in the winter, mostly happy to dally in the tropical pool water, dusting off obscure rolls that I haven't used since I left the pool the previous spring, and helping students prepare their rescue and rolling skills for the approaching season.  However, even this year I managed to find a few mild days when my restlessness got the better of me, and I donned pogies and a hood to have a play in the cold, cold water.   

Now that we've finally arrived at spring, I've put together a few short clips from a variety of days out on the water this winter. 

Getting the first rolls.

Surely it's the first step of many to roll up on your own for the first time, and it's a long road to get from those first pool rolls to consistently rolling up in conditions.   But of all the steps to building a solid roll, I'm not sure any are as fun as that first one.  Certainly it feels that way to me, standing in the pool, helping someone find their first.

Many thanks to Steve for being a great student.  In 2 hours he went from his first wet-exit, and a few self-rescues, to his first handful of rolls.  We look forward to continuing to build on this first session, and I'm sure we'll see Steve in the tide races before too long. 

Sullivan Falls

Earlier this summer I took a camera along for an evening spent playing at Sullivan Falls.  I hope you enjoy the ride.  (Click here to watch in HD)

Reversing Tidal Falls, in Sullivan Maine, with Rebecca Daugherty and Nate Hanson, 8/24/13

Fall Paddling - Otter Cliffs

With a few nights in the low 20s this week, it's finally time for me to admit that it's not "late summer" anymore.  The wood pile is covered, and smoke is hanging below the chimney every morning now.  Still, this is my favorite season to paddle.  The warmth of summer lingers in the water, the sun shines more crisply through the dry atmosphere, tidal ranges are bigger than usual, and though you might need to avoid some windy days, there's a little more swell to play with.

Recently a friend and I stole a day from our other responsibilities, and headed out to paddle one of my favorite shorelines in the area - the south-eastern shore of Mount Desert Island. Here the steepest terrain of Acadia National Park descends in great cliffs to meet the predominant southeasterly swell that rolls uninterrupted across the Gulf of Maine.   At the water line, the russet cliffs are cleaved into deep kayak-wide fissures, hollowed out into caves the size of rooms, and occasionally interrupted by miniature popplestone beaches, invisible to the park visitors passing just 50 feet above. 

Paddling out of Otter Cove, we reveled in the perfect weather, knowing that these days were numbered.  Soon the water will grow too cold to paddle without gloves, and getting doused by a wave will seem much less tempting.  Jeff, my companion for the day, manages kayak operations for an outfitting company in Bar Harbor.  His season of work nearly complete, he was glad to have one more day of ocean paddling before heading west for the winter to various land-locked states.  As we rounded the prominent headland to our east, the spaces between cliffs and ledges swirled white with each swell, providing excellent spots to ride the surge over submerged rocks, and surf through gaps between the granite features. 

Progress was slow for the first couple miles since every play spot where we lingered was immediately followed by another, and the best features always required "just one more ride" before moving on.  Eventually we worked our way past a railing-bound platform extending to the water's edge.  From inside their pen, a dozen or so tourists peered over the stainless guardrail into the water - wondering, I imagine, who gave this quietly gurgling slot in the rocks a big name like "Thunder Hole".  On this benign fall day, it's hard to imagine that this partially submerged cavern could ever send water shooting high above the rock spire that shadows the spectators' platform, with a boom you can feel in your chest.  And I doubt any of the on-lookers that day would guess that storm-driven swell here occasionally tosses 100 pound rocks onto the roadway 40 feet above us.

Leaving the tourists, we turned to land on a steep cobble beach, just large enough to perch our boats on as we ate lunch.  Against the concave cliffs, we were hidden from the road above and from the families of hikers exploring the rocks on either side of us.  Compared to most of the paddling in our area, where people are rarely encountered on shore, this scenic stretch of the national park has a populated feel.  Yet even here, within hundreds of yards of many other visitors, we've landed on a beach that feels entirely uninhabited.  All we hear and see from our natural stone alcove is ocean, sky, and rock. 

After lunch Jeff and I continued exploring along the variegated cliffs, playing as we went, and rediscovering a large sea cave, where Jeff did a little cliff diving.  Soon, however, we admitted that if we were going to complete our one-way route to Bar Harbor, as planned, we would need to quit dawdling.  We grudgingly let the cliffs pass by on our left, and bent our minds and muscles towards our destination.  As we churned on, I enjoyed the sensations of exertion, and the silent meditation of one stroke followed by another.  We passed low coves, and elaborate summer homes high on the east-facing precipices, each of us working hard to keep up with the other. 

Approaching Bar Harbor, the Thrumcap, a low grassy islet favored by nesting gulls, drifted by just to our east, and we passed through the breakwater that protects Bar Harbor from the ocean's swell.  Along the last half-mile of our route, the bustle of a tourist town in autumn increased on the adjacent shoreline, until finally we landed in the middle of it, on the town beach.  

Our trip included all the elements that make this my favorite paddling season, and reminded me that such perfect days are numbered this time of year.  But rather than bidding farewell to fall - digging out neoprene gloves, and looking for the conservative routes better-suited to winters in Maine -  I left the water eager to check the calendar, and the weather, to see when I could squeeze in a little more fall paddling.