The Blizzard. . .
Published December 11, 2005 | 
from now on
call me “traveler”
this winter’s first shower
- Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
The world ended just off the bow of my boat. Direction and time were lost in the fog and snow. The darkness had crept up quickly and I could no longer read my compass. No matter. Even when I had light, the glass had been so thickly encrusted with ice that I could not be see the face. Because we had chosen to stick tight to the eastern shore, an occasional black skeleton would appear through the mist. These black brush strokes on grey wash were the only assurance we were not forever lost in a blizzard.When we first launched out into Lake Columbia we were certainly not expecting to have an adventure. The lake is really more of a little practice pond. However it does have it’s hazards. In addition to the fog that can be amazingly disorienting at times, the ever changing water levels will leave you grounded upon a porous spongy bottom that will do all in it’s power to stop the motion of your boat.
Yesterday as we launched upon the water you could not see the power plant that sits 1.8 miles north of the landing. The security fences reached out to the right and left like metallic arms and disappeared into the abyss. Within just a few paddle strokes I realized we should be sticking to a shoreline. I set a compass bearing of 330 degrees which I knew would take us over to a berm at the center of the horseshoe lake. Even though we only needed to paddle about a quarter mile, I was continually correcting against the oddly strong current. A few inattentive moments would easily turn the boat back to zero forcing you to sweep back to your line.
In fog you cannot trust your senses. You have to just trust your compass. At one point my brain kept saying we were heading south. I knew that could not be right. I just stayed on course and told my brain to “shut up”. Interestingly on Lake Columbia you can often use the current to orient yourself as well. Knowing the general direction of the current will give you a good idea of where you are on the lake.
After a few minutes, ice laden bushes appeared out of the fog. We had reached the berm. From there we turned north and paddled on to the warmest waters nearest the Columbia Power plant. Near the power plant I noted an amber light which we could use as a marker. We paddled back across the lake to the shore below the lamp and traded boats. I just had to get out and roll the Greenlander.
Like everything I’ve read, the Greenlander is a fast and nimble boat. It actually surprised me a bit as it looks like a 50′s rocket ship and has little rocker. But contrary to my first impressions it responds quickly to a gentle nudge of the hip. Which by the way can be make a boat a real nightmare for new kayakers. Nimble ultra-responsive boats will also respond to your weaknesses. Something to think about.
I went out into the fog and laid the Greenlander over to find that “secondary” stopping point which I found was amazingly far over. Water was beginning to rise over the deck when she finally stopped on her edge. Wow. Yeah, I could hold this position without going over, but if a fly landed on my nose all bets would be off! Then I dropped over into a side scull which is effortless on the hard chine. I laid in the water and watched the darkening fog race over my head. My paddle was silent as it traveled like a hunting shark just below the surface in slow arcs. Then, I slowed my rhythm down further and let my body slide under the water. I hung upside down immersed in the 80 degree isolation. I felt my thighs rest against the inverted deck. The ocean cockpit hugged me tight. I let the paddle rest in one hand and reached out my arms to the bottom in a long deep stretch. How wonderful! How mystical! I reached out again with my paddle and brought my body back to the surface. Again the fog was sailing above me as water quickly froze to my face. Then slowly I slide my body onto the back deck of the Greenlander. In this boat there is no combing in you’re way. It’s an easy glide onto the deck. I sat up, and set up to do some rolls.
My first roll was quick. My head always seems to go back to the days when I couldn’t roll. I have to remind it that we CAN do it with a quick successful roll. After that I can slow it all down. Then I progressed through the rolls I know. At the last I was going to try a reverse-scull which if you don’t know, is a “forward recovery” roll. Meaning instead of recovering on your back deck, you slide across the front of your deck in sort of an abdominal “crunch”. So I leaned forward a bit and found that my pfd stopped by the combing. Yikes! The Greenlander has a high front combing and prevented me from leaning forward. Well, that was right out. I’m sure the experts could complete a forward roll on this boat, but I’m certainly not there yet. I can’t fathom how to get over the high front. So I eased over one more time and ended with a very slow offside angle roll before we traded boats again and prepared to head back to the landing.
By now the world was dark. Only the obscured orange glow of the single lamp gave us direction. We paddled back to the lamp light until we could see the shore line and then followed it south. Occasionally a tree or power line poll would appear, then fade away. We had to stay within less than 15 feet of shore to still make out any sort of definition. Within a few minutes even the orange lamplight had faded away behind us.
Suddenly the shore line turned east, something I sort of remembered from the past. My mind tried to re-draw the Google Earth image I held somewhere in my memory. From East the lake’s edge turned south, then west, the south again. All the while we were more often pushing off the bottom than actually paddling.
Now we were again paddling in the silence past Dr. Shivago treescapes. The snow was coming in heavily through the fog. You could not discern any definition between snow and fog, but could feel the snow melt on your face and watch as your deck turned white. Again the shore line took us through it’s crazy square dance; east, then south, then west, then south. Two miles begins to seem like a long distance in dead blind conditions. Your brain keeps questioning your location and decision making. Rationally you know you’re on some tiny lake with almost no chance of getting lost. Irrationally you ARE lost. You keep pushing down the crazy, insane version of your brain and paddle on.
After what seemed like hours, a fence erupted from the water’s edge and followed us south and within minutes we could see the concrete barriers on top of the hill floating in the fog like some mystical painting of Stonehenge. Our kayaks slid onto the shore. Their sharp noses dug into the snow like a pair of Viking marauders returning from the plunder.
In the blizzard of fog and snow we talked and laughed as we carried gear. Our hands were like clubs and our hair frozen. We slipped out of our dry gear and took off down the road. “Wow,” I said, “I wouldn’t have believed it, but someone could really get in trouble out there. With just a couple more feet separation you’d have never seen me.” I said. Mary asked, “Couldn’t you have turned on your ARC light?. . .” Doh!
* Top image: Screen Capture from “Blizzard”. Akira Kurosawa’s Dreams
* Lake Columbia image from Google Earth.
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