New Year’s Mistakes

April-May 2006

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Dee Hall

New Year’s Day is a traditional paddle day for our Massachusetts-based club. The day is invariably sunny and last year was no different, with temperatures hovering around freezing, and northwesterly winds of about 15 knots. Normally we leave the launch site undecided until a day or two before, but this time we had guests coming from out of state, so we decided on Pebble Beach, a launch point in Rockport, Massachusetts that offers numerous paddling options.

The beach sits on the southeastern point of Cape Ann, its pebbles mostly smooth, fist-sized stones that roll up and down the steep berm with each wave. The sound is unlike anything I’ve heard. During any tide but the lowest, a southerly swell generates a dumping surf on the beach, so this is generally not a launch for beginners. Nevertheless, the beach provides access to some of the area’s best paddling in terms of islands, rock gardens, wildlife, and minimal boat traffic, all of which make up for the challenging launch over boulders and slippery cobble, and hazards of the surf.

Our paddling group totaled six: Rick, Ken, Sean and me (most of us had been through the same leadership training program), and Ray, well known in the region as a solid four-season paddler, along with his wife, Wendy, with whom he had been paddling for years. We agreed on a course north into Sandy Bay and Rockport Harbor. Once we were in Sandy Bay, we would no longer be in the protective lee of Cape Ann.

As everyone geared up, I noticed that Rick and Ken hadn’t strapped their VHF radios to their PFDs. Knowing I would have no one to talk to on my radio, and not eager to wash the salt out of it at the end of the day, I left mine in its dry box inside my boat.

Our launch was uneventful. As we rounded Emerson Point and headed north along the Rockport coastline, the seas were peaceful, the air surprisingly still. It was the sort of moment I needed after several days of emotional unrest. The previous day I had taken a beloved pet to the vet for euthanasia. I hadn’t eaten or slept much for a couple of days. If I hadn’t committed to this paddle a month beforehand, I would have stayed home. Now I was glad to be here. I glided silently along with the group, reveling in the fresh breeze on my face, the warmth of the sun on my back, the sound of water lapping against my kayak.

Straitsmouth Island is separated from Cape Ann by a narrow gap that funnels northerly and southerly winds, doubling them in intensity due to the height of the land on either side. The north wind on the entry side of the gap felt about 25 knots, the waves coming through at two to three feet high. Rick and Ken powered through and disappeared to the northwest, in the direction of Rockport’s mainland. When the rest of us slowed to a crawl, I dropped in behind to sweep.

Winds and waves can drive you onto the rocks.

The trip to Rockport Harbor was not so peaceful. The two- to three-foot choppy sea was on our beam and the wind on our bow quarter. As we approached the harbor, the lack of food and sleep over the last few days caught up with me and I fell behind. I was definitely ready for lunch when we paddled past startled tourists strolling the heights of Bearskin Neck at the mouth of Rockport Harbor.

We landed at the asphalt town ramp deep in the harbor and ate lunch on a sunny bench. A couple of the guys walked into town for coffee. Wendy asked about my new dry gloves, which I had received for Christmas. This was my first trip with them and I was finding them warm, comfortable and, yes, dry. Then Wendy voiced a few concerns about passing through Straitsmouth Gap again and having to manage the rough, following seas.

When we left Rockport Harbor we discovered that the wind had increased and the waves to four feet. The trip to Straitsmouth Gap was even slower than I expected, and conditions were starting to exceed some in the group’s comfort zone. Eventually we separated into two pods: Ken with Wendy and Ray, Rick with Sean. I tried to stay in between so I could assist either group if needed.

About 300 yards before the Gap I heard a faint shout behind me. I turned and saw Rick pivoting towards a capsized kayak getting blown into the rocks.

“Boat over!”

When I tried to turn around to assist, I realized how tired I was. My first few sweep strokes had barely any effect against the chop which was pushing my stern. Ken, who saw my dilemma, spun his boat around and raced in to assist Rick with the rescue.

“Take my group!” he said.

“On it!” I answered.

Ray and Wendy had rafted up, and when I asked if they wanted a belay-tow to hold them off the rocks, they surprised me with, “That would be nice.”

I grabbed Wendy’s boat and tried to hold its bow away from my body as I attempted to release the daisy chain that shortens my short tow into a contact tow.

That’s when my dry gloves fell short: they didn’t allow the dexterity I needed. As I continued trying to release the daisy chain, I realized I had little time before we’d be on the rocks. Abandoning the tow plan, I clipped the towline carabiner to my deck lines, waited for Ray to break away from the raft, and grabbed Wendy’s bow to spin it away from the rocks and propel it seaward. I heard one of them say something about heading back to Rockport.

Keeping my stern to the waves, backing out from the rocks, I looked around for the rest of the group. In the distance, already beyond earshot, I saw Ray and Wendy headed back to Rockport. As for the rest of the group, no sign of them. I held my position for a couple of minutes. There isn’t a landing spot on most of Gap Head, just towering boulders, so no obvious place where the rest of the group might be. I decided to look for a quiet area within the Gap, land, deploy my radio and wait. The rest of the group would either paddle through the gap or try to radio me.

Conditions can surprise you.

I found a ledge inside the gap which was good for a landing, and had just taken my radio out, when Rick and Ken came paddling by and told me what I’d missed.

Rick and the Sean had missed the rocks. Although the first rescue was successful, Sean was so shaken up that he capsized several more times afterwards. Eventually they abandoned his boat, and Sean swam in to shore, assisted by the Rockport harbormaster on shore with a rescue rope. The harbormaster had shown up after a watchful shoreside homeowner had put in a rescue call.

Sean’s kayak was undamaged after being carried in by the surf. They carried it up from the rocks and the harbormaster gave Sean a ride back to the put-in.

By the time Rick, Ken and I made it back to Pebble Beach, Ray and Wendy and Sean were waiting for us. Everyone was in good spirits. The sun was setting and the day was still beautiful.

In the week that followed, as an exercise for improving our skills as leaders, we discussed what we should have done differently. The decision to leave our radios in our hatches was an obvious error. And I should have been more careful about making such a fundamental change to my paddling gear (my dry gloves) in the cold of winter without first testing them in benign conditions. I now carry both a short tow and a contact tow whenever I wear dry gloves so that I don’t have to fool with a daisy chain. Rick says he realized that it’s wiser to use a ropeless contact tow (also known as a ‘push tow’) to push a paddler out of danger after someone has capsized repeatedly. (In a ropeless contact tow, the victim leans over to gain balance on the rescuer’s deck).

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, like many of us that day, I failed to assess how my own limitations, combined with the stresses of the previous days, had reduced my abilities. I now assess before I go out, to determine how my physical and mental health could affect my ability to react.

© Dee Hall is a trip leader, trainer, board member of the North Shore Paddlers Network (www.nspn.org), and resident of Beverly, MA.