I don’t know who I am, But life is for learning – joni Mitchell

I spent some time this morning browsing around some other kayak blogs and came across a French blog called “Kayak” however, I’ve not found anything related to kayaking yet. I did however find a very interesting post called “Je Te deteste Andy Warhol”, or “I hate you Andy Warhol”. I ran it through Babel Fish (not the fish in the ear, but the AltaVista service) and was amazed by even the hackneyed translation of the poem or free verse that ended with “You made the world illegible”. Great observation! That blog is at http://kayak.over-blog.com/article-193170.html.

So I wanted to tell you a bit about the West Michigan symposium. The short version is that it was a really fun time. Given that at this moment I can only compare it to a BCU symposium it’s hard to find a common frame of reference other than in both events there was camping, instructors, and students. There was even the classic monstrous bonfire. However in Michigan it was harder to drag the adults out to join us at the fires edge. For the few of us who made the fire we were entertained by the great special effects log and regaled with stories of people we neither knew or cared about. The beauty of the story after all is in the telling. Hanging out with teenagers around a fire is almost always a reminder that life is good. That is, if you haven’t forgotten how to smile.

Off the water the symposium is a hybrid mix of summer camp and peace rally. The people are warm and friendly, children run and play in amongst adult feet and long boats. Students and instructors by design are mixed and mingled at every point in such a way that as an instructor you spend almost every minute away from your tent talking to students about some aspect of the sport. Even at my tent I found myself drawn up from my book (I’m still working my way through Chris Duff’s “Southern Exposure”) to answer questions about drysuits and wing paddles. As an attendee it’s got to be great to have this kind of access instead of just walking eyes down past some “God-like” instructor in wetsuit and Raybans choking at the thought of asking a question. The WMCKA had done a fantastic job of slaying the ‘Kayak God’ and replacing him with the benevolent teacher.

I could certainly tell you about all the classes but for the most part we know what a symposium is for. We spent most of the weekend on the water teaching and learning everything from wet-exits to advance rescues. There were many children’s classes as well which often became various versions of my favorite game, “Kill the instructor”. That’s always a good time! But the key of this symposium is more than just great instructors and classes, it’s really the atmosphere off the water which becomes the conduit by which students brought into a learning state of mind. Knowing as a student you can ask questions, knowing your kids are having fun and they are near, hearing laughter all around you, feeling safe on the water and cared about off, having warm meals and clean facilities all allow you as a student to relax and focus on learning. The WMCKA has addressed this very well. We can only hope that the camp on Big Blue Lake can be protected from developers who are now playing their consistent roll of wolves at the door and planning to put up condos.

Justine’s presentation was fun and interesting as you would expect. Knowing the material she was planning to cover and watching the way the clock was spinning against her all evening, I was impressed that she could speak as quickly as she did and still not give the feeling of being rushed. Luckily so many of us kayaker types have spent many hours listening to British accents either through symposiums or videos that most are capable of following along with ease. I think one out of 5 or so Sea Kayakers is a closet Anglophile as it is.

Sunday night was the infamous dance. I say infamous because of the stories I heard around the fire the night before. But it was a great time. Betsie Bay (yes, that’s correct “We build kayaks and play in a band”) played fantastic high energy blues while we drank boxed wine and various other libations that seemed to show up in doorways or be placed in your hands by random folks passing by. All the crazy instructors spent most of the night on the dance floor while unnervingly shadowed by a surprising number of cameras both still and video. I’m sure something of that is going to come back and haunt me. . . .

Monday morning as I slowly entered consciousness I lyed perfectly still waiting to see how hung over I actually was. It wasn’t the wine or even the Scotch that I was worried about, it was the Budweiser in the middle that had me scared. Given that I get a hangover from 2 beers I expected a whopper. Yet amazingly I was in pretty good shape. In reality we did not drink in quantity but if like me you rarely drink, a drop is like the sea.

The last day is always a mixed bag. I had one more class to teach with an instructor who went with us on the Manitou trip and this seemed to be the perfect wrap up to the event. Soon all the students were heading home and the instructors and staff were gathering for our final meeting all suntanned and tired. I sat at my table and looked across all the faces of the people I had met while thinking about smiles and stories attached to each face. Some folks were still “in mode” both chatty and chipper while others were happily zapped and lost in their own quiet musings. I was thinking to myself I really want to come back here. And for a moment my self-doubt mind jumped in with stuff like “I hope I did everything ok. I hope I represented Rutabaga in good fashion, blah, blah, ” Then I relaxed and thought about just missing all these new friends. It would have been a sad drive back if not for the fact that I knew Mary and Gryphon were meeting me at the Harbor.

Time flew and I realized I had to get on the road. I looked back to the table behind me where good friends were sitting just a moment earlier to say my goodbyes but they were gone. Goodbyes are tough anyway. In the end it’s better to just say “See you again Soon”. Soon as you know, is always a relative term. . .

-dm

Don’t mess with Mister In-Between - J. Mercer/H. Arlen

Allow me to whine, just for a moment. . . My rear hatch cover is leaking, my NEW Palm wetsuit zipper is leaking, my seat is again breaking loose from the hull in that same old spot, my glasses are at the bottom of Big Blue Lake, My GPS seems to have given up the ghost and I found that my traditional paddle is separating where the wood is laminated. OK. . . I feel much better now.

So since I’m a big grouch today and not worth a pigs two front feet. . why not head over to Justine’s Blog and read her account of our trip last week.

By the way, the picture today is a Torpedo tube in the SS Silversides located in Muskegon MI. The craft and accompanying museum are funded wholly by veterans and private donations. They apparently do not receive the same kind of government support that the SS Cobia does on our side of the lake. The veterans we met on memorial day wanted to get that information out. Their Website is Here.

- cheers!

I’m always dreaming of dreams, That lie in state
Waiting for me to wake, And make A life for them
-Bob Geldolf (Boomtown Rats)

After leaving Wisconsin on the Lake Express high-speed ferry I was some two hours later sliding past a WWII submarine known as the SS Silversides, into a the sheltered harbor of Muskegon, Michigan. Then suddenly I found myself driving north to find the various harbor towns scattered on the north-western tip of the state. The first night I camped at the D.H. Day campground where you registered for your natural experience by slipping money into an auto-teller. Thanks to that machine I now have a good handful of dollar coins that only the government has found real use for.

The following morning I was at the our launch site staring out at North Manitou Island painted on glass in the distance with Pyramid Point on my right sliding down into the turquoise water. I was first to arrive and did what I could to assist with directions and passing messages. We did our best to keep in contact by cell phone but technology was not compatible with this part of the state. Maybe that’s a good thing in the end, but when you have folks lost on the M109 you’d really like to have a phone working. On a side note, it’s interesting that Michigan roads are named in the UK style where you take the M31 north and the jump on a B road over to sleepy village on the shore. I’m sure my Welsh boat just felt all the more at home.

You know as I’ve said before I find it incredibly intimidating to kayak with folks of mind-boggling skill as was the case on this trip. You have to have a certain amount of respect for if nothing else, the amount of time you know they put in to gain that shockingly smooth side-slip or to see them basically sleeping at the wheel while your battling to stay with them in conditions. Awesome! So on this trip I was pretty darn quiet when we went out. I spent many years bartending and am happy to be loud and entertaining with some sort of social or physical barrier whether it’s a bar, a pre-set social structure or as Justine later pointed out, a computer. When the barrier is gone I lapse into my own little world taking pictures and making observations and then tepidly join the group as days go on. In the end they are just happy to have me shut up!

Amongst the group were incredible traditional kayakers such as Doug Van Doren and Keith Wikle who had no problems keeping up with the best of us with our big fat ‘Euro” blades. There was Ken Fink who first imported Valley boats to the US, founded the first kayak symposium, and will soon be doing some amazing crossings in the Pacific with catamarans created by combining Feathercraft kayaks. Good Luck Ken!!! Then of course, there was Justine Curgenven who unconsciously makes many of us look foolish on the water. I was amazed how subtle and shocking her paddling skills are. It’s when we’re in 3 footers with a crosswind and she is single-mindedly focused on leaning back and fiddling with a camera that you see how amazing she is. Or when she’s moving to and fro through out the group getting pictures while the rest of us work to keep on a track. Then you add Rick Kocher, Andy Knepley , Belinda and all the others (I think we totaled 12 in all). Heck I was tempted to just sit on the beach and wave everyone else off with a white kitchen towel.

We were greeted the first day by glassy tropical looking water as we glided out into the inland sea. The water itself is quite shallow for the most part and perfectly clear. Although warm and tropical feeling the water temperature was actually on 38f and I wore my drysuit. (Hey, I was probably the one most likely to swim..). We took a break to to climb part way up Pyramid point and then took off at a north-west angle for the main island. This was the first of the many vertical dune runs At about the midpoint you reach the Manitou Shoals lighthouse that marks the western boundary of the Manitou channel. From there the water again becomes quite shallow which as we found out on the return home, can really kick up some waves.

We made our base some 3 miles north west from the southern tip of North Manitou and had to make many trips from our boats up sand dunes to our tents back off the water. Climbing sand dunes has certainly become the new bane of my existence. I don’t want to see sand dunes again for some time.

The following morning we were greeted by a fairly good headwind as we paddled the 4 or so miles to South Manitou Island and then continued on to a very impressive ship wreck that sits further to the south of the island. The ship and the forest that sat some hundreds of feet above the water were covered in black cormorants which looked very much like vampire bats. The image was almost as shocking as the smell. I’m pretty sure I was being tricked into thinking we were going into shore for a rest when what actually happened is we climbed that blasted sand dune to explore the interior of the island!

South Manitou has two very interesting things. Ancient trees and ghost forests. My understanding is that a ghost forest is created when over time a forest is covered in sand and then again in time is uncovered leaving behind something that looks like a post apocalyptic landscape amongst rolling dunes.

We lingered quite some time and found ourselves being led by Alun who being from Wales, was the furthest from local, through the varying trails back to the beach and our kayaks. A mountain guide needs not be local to know the way home. (Keep that tip in your pocket for future use.) Luckily with following seas and a proficient group we were able to beat the sunset and arrive back at North Manitou with light to spare. I was impressed that we averaged 3.7 mph with this size group. I was even more impressed that I did not lag much although I did have the impression I was being well watched over. I was about 50/50 surfing the waves back and for every one I would catch perfectly there was one that would send me completely out of line and force me to sweep my boat back in time for the next wave.

The last day of the trip we were again greeted by a side wind and 2 foot waves that built up to 3 or so feet as we crossed the North Manitou shoals. The broaching waves caused havoc for skegs and overloaded Stearns. I’ve never used a skeg, but did a nice job of overloading my stern which caused my boat to ride down a wave and turn south into the next. I spent a lot of time sweeping back into line as we headed “home”. At one point Justine came barreling up along side me to point out that it was un-necessary to brace in the conditions and flew off again. With that I quickly found more speed and lost my concern that one rogue wave would take me over. They didn’t. They did however keep bashing my tail northward and generally causing control problems until we paddled behind the sheltering tower of the point.

Again on the beach near Good Harbor the sun shorn on azure waters that would be deceptively inviting to recreational boats. We packed up our gear and made the trip south to beginning the 3 day West Michigan Coastal Kayakers Association Symposium. Before I truly hit the road I stopped back at a little coffee house to get my first shot of caffeine in 3 days and pulled out my dollar coins to pay. The woman behind the counter who knew we had been on the islands made a passing comment about me throwing around my doubloons since returning from the sea. With a smile, I walked back out to the Jeep and took off south for another adventure.

Skipping over the symposium which I will write more about later, Mary came to join me in Muskegon Monday evening for the trip home. We had to wait on shore for 6 hours until the mid-night trip back across Lake Michigan. Much of that time we sat at a public beach while Gryphon ran in and out of the light surf. While catching up on our separate lives for the past few days, somewhere in mid-thought I quietly said “wave” and continued with my current topic. A minute later a strong wake came into the beach from some distant un-seen ship and noisily raked at the shore for just a few seconds, then went silent. Mary stopped me in mid-sentence to point this out. Obviously some part of my mind had learned something while out on the lake. Here days later on the beach, the radar was still up, keeping vigil as I chatted away about the mundane seemingly fully returned to life on the land.

Something must be starting to sink in. Thank you!

PHOTO GALLERY

-dm