Philly to Baltimore Kayak Paddle - Day 6

In the summer of 2011 I kayaked from Philadelphia, PA to Carneys Point, NJ. The plan was to kayak from Philadelphia, PA to Helms Cove in Penns Grove, NJ. It was ambitious to say the least. I was a much more inexperienced paddler at the time and looking back on it, probably in way over my head. It was to be a 30 mile paddle down the Schuylkill and Delaware Rivers. It was a pretty decent day and I was making great time until I passed the Commodore Barry Bridge. The water became choppy, a fierce whipping wind kicked up and it became a struggle to make forward progress. At this point I was only two-thirds of the way there. My food and water supply quickly dwindled and the water in the river became brackish. I had made the decision to push on instead of stopping short and pulling out at Raccoon Creek. It was a foolish decision. I paddled about another 5 to 7 miles when I became very weak. I had exhausted my body until I could go no further. For being in a waterway surrounded by civilization, I felt I was in the middle of nowhere. My wife doesn't like me to talk about what happened next, but I let go. What do I mean? I stopped paddling. I leaned back in my kayak and looked up at the sky. It's funny to me now, but I thought I was probably hallucinating at the time, because I saw a golden eagle circling overhead. I couldn't imagine there were golden eagles out there... I thought about how fortunate I had been to live my life and all of the fantastic things I got to see and do, I got to know all of my friends, I got to meet and marry the one person I was meant to be with for life. Something else happened to me at that moment. I felt completely connected to everything around me; the kayak, the water, the air, the trees, the grass, the fish in the water, everything. Everything is one thing and I was a part of that one thing. As I laid still I could feel I was being pushed to shore by the wind. I sat back up in the kayak, slouched over and went to sleep. To be honest, I don't like to talk about it too much either.

I awoke later, washed up on the shore. Small waves were crashing into the side of the kayak, nudging me further inland. I don't know why I even bothered looking as I was sure I ran out of food about and hour or so earlier, but I found a Clif Bar in the bottom of my food bag. As I ate it I could feel my mouth pulling the water from it. I had one swig of water left and decided to save it. I was going to move onward. I got out of the kayak and towed it along the water's edge until I came to a point. There, I climbed back in and started paddling again. Soon I became tired again. The last time Heather and I spoke she could tell I was not doing well. I mentioned that I was running out of water and food. She made plans to meet me ahead of my original destination. I pushed my way past a jetty and headed back to the shore. I followed the shoreline a few hundred feet more when I saw a large stick fly out into the river. It was my brother-in-law, hanging on a tree out over the water. Heather and her mother were with him. I was exhausted to the point that I would count five paddle strokes and take a break for five seconds, then paddle five more times. I had figured out that these intervals were enough to keep me moving forward by watching the trees along the shoreline. Eventually, I made it to them.

People often ask me what was the hardest thing I have ever done. The answer to this day is that paddle on that day.

As I left my parents and started paddling to the far shore across Elk River, the water changed and became choppy once I came up to the channel. It stayed choppy until I got to shore on the other side. I still made decent time getting across the river and I my parents watched me turn into a little dot on the horizon, all seemed well. Today was to be the longest paddle of the trip so far, twenty to thirty miles. This depended one whether or not I could stay on an island that was once used for bomb testing outside of the Aberdeen Proving Ground. If I could not stay there I would have to paddle about another ten miles to Hart-Miller Island State Park.

Turkey Point Lighthouse

Due to the choppy water I followed the shoreline tightly and was getting along okay. Before I passed by the first cove I stopped for my typical brunch. As I was pulling up to the beach, the kayak was hit by a wave that swung the stern onto the beach. A couple of more waves landed against the side and the kayak was swamped. I had to empty the contents and dump the water out. I guess it was going to be this kind of day.

Wetted Gear

The upcoming cove presented a new challenge to me, when the tide is going out the water rushing out of the coves pushes you out with it. The video below is a good example of what the Chesapeake was like. I never would have said this to her face, but the Chesapeake can be a bitch!

Rough Waters

From then on, I made the decision to hug the shoreline into the coves to a point and try and judge when cutting across would take me to the edge of the cove on the other side. This worked better for me.

Chesapeake Eastern Shoreline

The above image is a good example of what the eastern shoreline looked like along much of the route. It was great to see more bald eagles and ospreys again this day. 

 

Chesapeake Bald Eagle

The day was now half over and it was time to make my way to Pooles Island. This was the first of two islands and possible where I could call it a day. This is the story of Pooles Island Lighthouse.

Lunch Break Before Pooles Island Push

Getting to Pooles Island meant crossing a large channel where the waves felt heavy. I slowly made my way to the island and it was pretty slow going. By the time I got to the island I found the sign below at the north point.

If he is allowed to trespass...

At this point I had to go to the bathroom. I had consulted with a coworker who used to work for the Aberdeen Proving Grounds and he had told me if I found what appeared to be a clearing on the beach that it was probably safe, but that I didn't want to stray too far. I pulled up to a spot on the beach and as I did the kayak's bottom rubbed against a large rock. At least I think it was a rock since I did not explode. I had heard of the full-body clench, but until that moment I considered it a myth

After that experience I made my way toward Hart-Miller State Park Island. I was still thinking I could get there just before nightfall. The bad thing about being in more open water is that I could see for miles and miles. I had seen both islands on the horizon for a while and as long as it took me to get to Pooles Island, it took me longer to get to Hart-Miller Island. I passed through two more channels and at the first one I had to wait for a large cargo ship to pass before I entered into the shipping lane. For the second one I had to stop and wait multiple times while pleasure and fishing boats headed into the cove as the sun was setting.

The good news? I got to witness a beautiful sunset from the water. The bad news? It was now dark and I was equipped only with a head lamp. Hart-Miller Island has a working lighthouse that is located on its north end and I was thankful for that. It was now dark and people were beginning to get concerned that I was still in the water. My parents called and Heather called as I still had reception. I put the phone on my lap and took calls while was paddling as I didn't want to drift more than I already was drifting. As I reached the edge of the island I paddled for about 15 minutes and thought I would have reached the first campsite by that time. Heather had been racking my progress through an app and she could tell where I was in relationship to the main campsite. She took a screen shot and texted it to me. Even though it was dark and I could only see the edge of the island, I knew exactly where I was. Technology is grand.

Image from the app

I could see none of the jetties until they were right in front of me, but I knew they were there and I had made it. It was extremely comforting to get these messages indicating my progress. I left Elk Neck State Park around 8:30am, I arrived at Hart-Miller Island at 9:30pm. I had been out for 13 hours this day.

There were no other boats and the beach was empty. I immediately emptied the kayak of my gear, removed the skirt and dumped the water out of it. I was surprised to see so much water rolling down the beach. I myself, was soaked so once the gear was up on the boardwalk (Yeah, this place had a pretty cool boardwalk) I stripped and changed into my "dry" clothes. Everything I had was wet, but at least the clothes I donned are quick-drying. It was also very windy, which helped the drying process. I spread out my clothes on the boardwalk and then checked all of the buildings for rangers. The website for the park states that the rangers leave the island at dusk, but one can settle up with the rangers for sites in the morning, when they arrive at 8:00am. This is what I planned to do. Another boat appeared just outside of the jetties when I was setting up my hammock. I could see figures milling around the deck, but I could not tell what they were doing. I had set up the hammock at the first campsite on the beach, and left everything out and open, pointed toward the wind for drying. 

 

I had brought one freeze-dried meal for consumption on this night, but the water at the park had been shut off and I needed to keep the water I had for the last day. I was exhausted and didn't feel like cooking anyway. I took a Clif Bar into the hammock with me, called Heather and my parents and fell fast asleep as the wind whipped the hammock.

I found out later that a pretty severe storm had passed to my south that evening and it spun off a tornado. http://baltimore.cbslocal.com/2014/07/24/at-least-2-dead-after-tornado-touches-down-at-va-campsite-on-eastern-shore/

Cherrystone Campground is over 100 miles away from where I slept that night, but I could see the dark clouds that were moving west-to-east as the sun set. 100 miles away and still connected.

As rough and long as this day was, I felt prepared this time. I was always weirdly grateful for the paddle in 2011, but now I know it had prepared me for days like this. What doesn't kill you...

Day 6: 29 miles