E and I went for a paddle this past weekend on the Connecticut River. It was the first time I’ve taken him on a multi-day paddle since our trip on the Allagash a couple of years ago.
On day one, we put in at the Newburry-Haverhill bridge access in VT/NH. Since it was late (we couldn’t leave until after work) we couldn’t make more than a mile before having to stop. I thought we were picking a stealth spot, but where we pulled over we found a latrine. So this was a site, but it wasn’t listed.
It’s also worth noting that this was E’s first time setting up his new Hennessy hammock. So proud.
This stretch of the river isn’t terribly beautiful, IMHO. The river is wide and lined with farmland and summer homes. Where the river opens up, it’s crowded with recreational boaters. Ski boats, bass boats, pontoon boats. So it feels more like a party than a relaxing paddle through the wilderness. Still, the first morning I got to wake up to this:
On day two we hit hard headwinds the whole way. Still, we made seventeen miles to our next site where, exhausted, we stripped out of our wet clothes and set up camp in our underwear, made dinner, and turned in. He hadn’t slept well the first night, so I gave him some Unisom and listened to him wind down.
He’s deaf, but he wears a cochlear implant which he brought so he could listen to music in his hammock. I lay there listening to him sigh and shift in his bag while he played music. And then his light snore told me he’d knocked out.
On day three E was feeling tapped from the hard paddle of the previous day. But he was feeing motivated to get to the car, so off we went, fighting more headwinds all the way back. As tough as this paddle was in some respects, his high fives at the end and his snuggle hugs for the next several days tell me that he feels satisfied and connected, in spite of the bad sunburn we both got because i’d forgotten the sunscreen. Sorry, bud. I’ll remember next time.
Here’s E paddling in his hoodie to avoid aggravating that sunburn. Poor kid.
Yep, it’s COVID isolation time. After taking a few hikes in the Whites earlier this spring I realized that this year’s outdoor recreating days were numbered. The trails were waaaaay too busy for my comfort, and so as soon as it turned warm I hung up my pack. And after a few river trips in Maine I tucked the canoes away except for local, lunch time paddling trips. All of which means I have time for more boats.
First, I’m getting caught up on rehabilitating the Snipe I bought a few years ago, which needed lots of fiberglass work, and still needs gelcoat, and a good cut and polish, plus some varnish, shrouds, and all new lines. I’m sure I’ll post pictures of that project soon enough. But in the mean time, this seems as good a time as any to finish up a West Greenland boat, the frame for which has been sitting around since I built my first canoe a few years ago.
I built the frame from scraps left over from that first canoe build. I wasn’t sure what to do with it until my father-in-law expressed interest. So last fall I took it down to Lancaster, PA to fit him into it, and then brought it back to finish up. Over the last couple of weeks, I got the deck finished and oiled, and now this week I’ve got it skinned and dyed. I’ll do the gooping later this week, and see about taking her out for a paddle before delivering her to the F.I.L.
Last autumn I talked about how my hammock wasn’t cut out for cold weather, that I’d like to do more in the cold, and that I thought I should invest in a four season tent. Since then I did buy one and decided that it’s too much. It weighs 7 lbs and change, I’m not really doing alpine trekking in high wind, high snow load situations, and I really do find the hammock more comfortable. So I’m rethinking the question. How cold can I go in a hammock?
Even on a warm day, I need that bubble insulation under me to keep my back and shoulders from getting cold.
The insulation is a nightmare to manage. It just won’t stay put, and most nights it ends up at an odd angle, mostly not underneath me.
I tried replacing the insulation with an ultralight inflatable pad. It stayed in place and insulated, which was two steps in the right direction. But it was heavy and took time to inflate. So this year I’ve decided just to put the insulation in the bag with me. This means I can cut it down, thereby reducing bulk.
I’m also interested in what it can do with a fleece liner. So this is what I’m testing: liner + double bubble + bag, with both the double bubble and the liner cut down to minimum size and placed inside the bag to keep it all together.
FYI, that’s a Magma 15° bag, which has a comfort rating of 27°.
To test this out took a 40 min walk out on the Midstate Trail to the Muddy Pond shelter on a night I expected to get down in the neighborhood of 25°. I put a thermometer outside the hammock and another inside the liner with me. The thermometers are inexpensive digital ones that connect via bluetooth to my phone to give me temperature data over time. This lets me track performance relative to outside temperature throughout the night. And here are the results:
I can see that over time I got, on average, a 55° bump over outside temperature, which means that given a target comfort temperature of 60° I should be able to get to 10 – 15° in this setup. Here’s the data charted out. Where the lines depart is where I got into my bag, where they merge again is where I woke up, and the spike is where the thermometer ended up between my legs rather than against my chest.
Still, while this insulation is pretty light and cut down, it is still bulkier than I’d like. I’m thinking that to continue the experiment I’d like to try eliminating the bubble insulation. Instead, I’d like to try adding an additional panel of fleece backed with space blanket material. I’m thinking I could make detachable panels to layer up, and I could put the extra panels just at my torso and feet where I tend to get cold.
Also, FWIW, the Midstate stinks as a trail, but it does have some pleasant spots. The pond has great horned owls, and otters. And it is not unpleasant to wake up to this:
New England in March is a fickle tease. And this year February seems to have joined in the terrible game. It’s been warm enough for enough time that I couldn’t help pulling out the boats in anticipation of ice-out. The local rivers are free, so local paddling definitely is in the cards. But expeditions on the rivers of Main would be premature.
So I’m using the time to fabricate a canoe trailer for biking to put-ins after staging my vehicle. I’m making it of aluminum square bar and parts from an old jogging stroller.
And this weekend J was on spring break, so of course we wanted to find some snow. I suggested a hike, so off we went to the Whites for an afternoon stroll up Little Haystack in the Pemigewassett Wilderness. It’s the highest J has done, at 4700 ft.
I know what you are thinking: my wife is both gorgeous and a badass. And you absolutely are right. Shout out to you, bae.
I took the weekend to paddle on the Saco river in New Hampshire and Maine in my Cape Falcon 66 SoF canoe. Two nights and 22 miles from the outfitter’s to the take-out at Lovewell pond. I left work early Friday and arrived around 4:00. The outfitter helped me stage the car, and by 5:00 I was on the water.
The nice thing about this river is that apart from a few fee spots, and a stretch where everything is private and posted, you can camp on any accessible flat of land along the bank. So the first night I got just past the River St. bridge and around a bend when I found a perfect spot for the night. It was a long, broad stretch of sand with a view to local hills in the distance.
The next day I continued to Swan’s Falls, past Walker’s Bridge, past a bit of fast water, and on to my final camping spot within a few minutes’ paddle of Lovewell pond. The “fast water” was pointed out to me by the outfitter on his map. It really was just a brief spot of turbulence, barely a class one. I say this so that anybody reading this who knows the stretch and wants to take issue with my characterization of it can have the proper context and excuse me from ridicule for calling it “fast water”.
I’ll also briefly document some of my gear successes and failures:
I didn’t bring enough socks, or the proper footwear. For the future, I want a pair of shoes that I can wade out in and easily slip off while getting into the boat in order to avoid having to sit in mud. Tevas aren’t it.
I didn’t take care to waterproof my feet in the boat, which didn’t work out well in the cold rain. Until I can afford a proper dry suit, I’d like to try some knee high waterproof socks. That won’t take me into serious conditions, but I expect it’ll do for a lazy weekend paddle like this was.
The hammock really is a three season affair. The night got uncomfortable, even with my down bag and lots of layers. To make the hammock four season I’d need to invest in an underquilt, which is half the price of bottom dollar four season tent, and half as satisfactory. Best not to try to push the hammock into duty it isn’t meant for.
Next time I’ll bring heat pads for the feet. I don’t know what it is about me and cold feet. Circulation?
My new 750ml Toaks pot is amazeballs. It’s just right for a Knorr meal and a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. And I’m really digging the penny alcohol stove I made this spring, though I have yet to dial in exactly how much fuel I need to use at a time.
I’ve been toying with putting together cheesecloth bags to slip over the open top of my pot so I can catch food bits when flinging my dirty water out. They’d be reusable, and easy to slip away into a plastic baggy to pack out. My pot is a little less than 12.5” in circumference, so I’d need about a 6.2” – 6.5” bag to fit snugly around the lip. I figure I’ll make these since what I make specifically for my pot, maybe with a shock chord sewn in, will work tons better than what I could buy.
Oh, and I should mention how much I still love this canoe. I made a new yoke, which I still have mixed feelings about since it isn’t super comfy, either on my back when in the backrest configuration, or on my shoulders in the yoke configuration. I can add padding to address both issues, but before I do that I think I’m going to try making a new one, which I think I need to do anyway for the following reason.
Brian Schulz suggests a single pin at either end to lock the yoke in place when using as a back rest. In this configuration the pin sits outboard, locking the yoke against the butt end of the rest (I know, a diagram would help here). When placing the rest amidships as a yoke, the pins sit inside the gun’ls, pushing them slightly outward. What I’m finding is that where I need a positive lock is in the yoke configuration, not the backrest one. What’s happening now is that as my boat spreads out over time, the yoke has a tendency to slip inside, especially when I’m pushing and pulling on the boat to flip it, lift it, or adjust it on the car. So clearly I have some work to do to get the yoke and backrest to work as I’d like them to.
Another thing I’m finding is that I despise getting dripped on while using a double bladed paddle. I’m considering putting a skirt over the forward portion of the boat, using leftover nylon from the skinning, and perhaps this also would help protect my cold-prone feet from the weather. Not sure how this would work, but it’s rattling around in my brain.
I thought of it ages ago, but just got around to doing it… twinkle lights in the boat make for a magical family paddle on the local waterway:
And along the way I tried a more finished version of the quick and dirty backrest / yoke accessory I made a while back. Here’s the direction in which I’m headed:
This was sailing weekend. Ever since I finished the rudder and dagger board for the V15 Frankenboot I’ve been on a sailing binge. Took the kids out to Upper Mystic Lake for a light wind sail… and The Dutiful Son suggested he’d be more into it if he could go fast.
Famous last words.
Sunday was our day. We’d already been out on Friday for a brief sail that ended with the tiller breaking, in a way that I should have anticipated. I was able to make a quick repair on the water, and I spent Saturday building a new one, and also installing a new inspection port that had a removal storage bag that fit into the threads, which I thought was pretty cool. J was tagged to pick up friends at the Airport Sunday evening, which is basically where we were going, so we took two cars and the canoes so that J and Reluctant Son could paddle around.
The wind was forecast to be about 17 mph. I didn’t know what that was going to be like, but it felt manageable from the shore. Having set everything up I dropped my phone into the storage bag along with my wallet and keys. We put the boat in and finished setting up at the dock, but when I opened the inspection port back up to grab my keys I realized that the bag was not water proof, and whatever water had ended up in the bilge had been enough to soak my phone. Maybe I should have called the expedition right there?
Ignoring the omen, we headed off from the ramp, through the mooring, wing-‘n-wing, at a good clip. Entering the channel we reached along the shore having fun riding waves. We got a good heel going, and Ellis seemed to enjoy hiking out hard. But then I suppose he got a bit tired and perhaps trepidatious, so he suggested we head back. I agreed, because it also seemed like the wind was picking up.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t get a good line back to the ramp. We were beating along fine, but the tack that brought us in was close-hauled, and as the wind continued to pick up this became a dodgier and dodgier proposition. At one point I was sheeting in just enough to get forward motion, only to have to dump air to keep from getting blown over. So we’d go forward, then slide sideways, go forward, slide sideways. And in the mean time there were hazards around that I was trying to avoid.
It ended when we got hit with a gust. I dumped the main, but Dutiful Son held onto that jib sheet. I let go of the tiller and it went hard over. We cartwheeled, and went into the water. Immediately I swam around to get up on the dagger board. But I couldn’t get the boat upright. The wind was blowing hard and wouldn’t let the boat up. Meanwhile, we’re getting blown down the channel. After several tries to right the boat, which ended in it going right back over, a fishing boat came by and offered help. I asked Dutiful Son to swim the tow line over, but he didn’t understand and just went for the boat, leaving me there, wrapped around the dagger board, trying not to let us turtle. Then the harbor master came by. We got the main down, and they were able to hook a shroud and pull us up. Seeing they had it in hand, I swam for the fishing boat.
J observed from the shore of the island to which she’d paddled. Having seen the tragedy unfold, she paddled in to meet us back at the ramp where Dutiful Son and I had arrived, wet and weary. And now we faced the question of how to get home. I was without phone and without glasses, and we were in two cars. Also, J still had to pick up her friends from the airport. So she wrote down directions from her phone to get me back to 90, the blind guy driving and the deaf kid prompting (E had to read all the road signs to me).
We did get home safely, and I truly wish that were the end. But pulling up at the house a neighbor came out to let me know J had texted about an hour ago… she had left her keys in the pocket of her PFD, which we had loaded into my car to make room for her friends’ luggage.
Yep. Lessons learned:
It actually is a good idea to keep a spare pair of glasses in the car. This is something I’d meant to do, and now I’m prioritizing it.
I now know that I am NOT good enough of a sailor to handle 17 mph wind (I really do think it was more like 20+) in Boston harbor, in a V15, with a kid who’s sailed exactly three times in his life.
I take this as a challenge to practice hard, keep learning, and keep experiencing. As Dutiful Son rued, indeed “this was a sad day for the Jones Navy.”
I suppose this is the first post on this blog that isn’t about a skin on frame canoe. Not only that, it’s about a fiberglass sailing dinghy, which I hereby dub the “V15 Frankenboot”. I acquired it free from Craigslist. The guy wanted to replace it with a Laser, but couldn’t sell it. I offered to haul it off for free, but he felt confident he could get something for it if he tried hard enough. Three months later, the guy contacted me to find out if I still wanted it.
Part of the reason it was free is that the seller had misplaced all the blades (daggerboard and rudder / tiller assembly). Replacing all that would have cost more than the boat was worth, so I decided just to make them. So while I’ll never sail it competitively (who wants to anyway since they are no longer made and the class is all but dead), I’ll have fun hacking it.
Next up for this boat: a single sheet system, like the swift solo has. And after that, we’re gonna trapeze off of this bad boy. And before anyone warns me off of that, I am aware of what the dangers of that are on a boat that wasn’t made for it, and I know what I need to do to make it work, because I researched it.
We arrived at the Telos checkpoint some time between 11 AM and noon, and continued from there to the put-in. We were extremely well organized, imho, but set-up still took longer than I’d have liked because we needed to set up the noodles, and then we had to herd all the people and gear into the boats. If we did this again I know we’d do it in half the time.
It needs to be said that these boats are head turners. Pretty much everyone checks them out, and lots of people comment: “Did you make those??” “They are so beautiful!!!”. I actually dislike the attention. I know they are beautiful, and I like people to notice. But I would rather not have to actually talk to people about them.
The first day we wanted to make good time down the lake, because we still thought it might be possible to see the tramway where the now defunct logging operations left a couple of steam engines which sit there rusting to this day. But that would have been a fourteen mile trip, and by day two that clearly was too much for The Reluctant Son. Nevertheless, we pushed through heavy afternoon winds to our first campsite, where The Devoted Son took a swim and fished. – Christopher
Day 2
The first day had been exhilarating, but also intense as the afternoon wind kept getting stronger. The waves on the lake were whitecapping, and our boats slapped over them with a splash. I had more fun than i thought i would, but we also quickly realized that this was a lot for Marlowe and hooked him up to a tow rope pretty much for the entire trip. By the time we had gotten to our campsite, we were exhausted from the last bit of paddling against the wind. Our original plan had been to paddle to the top of Lake Chamberlain, but we decided to circle back around and make our way more gradually to the launch point. This whole waterway had been used for logging way back. And at different places you can see wreckage of abandoned equipment. On the morning of the second day, we crossed the lake (about a mile) to an abandoned farm, which had been used to support the loggers. After a fun exploratory stop, we set out again into wind that was becoming stronger as the day progressed. We crossed the lake again and made our way to a campsite where we had lunched the previous day and had some time there to chill out and swim. – Jeannette
Day 3
It had rained in the night, and the weather was cloudy, quiet, and calm. We didn’t have far to go, so enjoyed a more relaxing paddle complete with tracking a loon. And then we came back through Chamberlain Bridge where we had begun. We figured that we covered around 17 miles total over the three days. – Jeannette
As promised, the boats got finished in time for the family trip to the Allagash in the North Maine woods. In another post I’ll share some about the trip, but here I want to talk about how the boats performed, and what I want to do to them going forward.
Weather and Waves
Telos lake was a good first test to understand how these boats deal with wind and chop. Six to seven mile per hour (avg) winds and white caps in the afternoon are pretty typical, making the mile-long crossing from one side to the other a ton of fun. The sheer was just about right to keep us dry without getting blown around, and the bows were full enough that I never worried about taking a dive into a wave. Further, they felt stable. At no point did any of us fear a capsize, as we learned to time our paddle strokes to brace against the swell and keep the bow pointed upwind.
In calmer moments in the early mornings or toward sunset, we ghosted along at a good clip without much effort at all, our paddles barely making a splash. I found that I could keep course pretty well. But when I switched to using a single bladed paddle in my own boat I found that kneeling to one side to paddle while heeled was hopeless. First, it didn’t feel super stable, and with so little boat in the water I basically was a spinning top. But since the boats are narrow, I had no problem shifting back to the center line. With the bow back in the water, I tracked again.
EDIT (21 Aug 2019): The single bladed paddle is just fine. I got used to it, refined my paddling style, and now I really enjoy switching position and paddling style. My otter tail is a bit long, but I make do, and maybe that’s motivation to make a new one.
Using a Single Bladed Paddle
Single blades are slower than double blades, of course, but it was nice to have the option to change my position. I even tried the double bladed paddle while kneeling. And the back rest made a comfortable platform for it, though the dry bags got in the way of my legs that far back, and I think the boat performed better with my center of gravity farther forward.
Accessories
For flotation I doubled up on standard 2+” X 5′ noodles (4 / boat) to exceed Brian’s specs. I just found that buying more of the smaller noodles was less expensive than buying fewer of the 4” noodles. This was more of a psychological measure on this trip though, since we didn’t really have time to practice rescues and the conditions weren’t such that I was worried about it.
I missed trying out sails and outriggers, which I wanted to do on this trip but just didn’t have time to build and test. The back rests were a gesture at the final product as I had to throw them together the night before we left, and still was modifying them at the put-in (my wife was amused that I’d brought a circular saw, drill, driver, and sander).
One thing I wish I’d had is a platform on which to mount things like our action camera, and probably loads of other stuff that I’ll think of later. So a board running under the forward rescue loops would have been nice.
In the pictures you’ll notice that the boys had rods mounted in the boat with them. That was just a section of PVC pipe secured with ball bungies. The system worked well for them, and they experimented with different positions.
What’s Next?
I’m not super convinced of the outriggers that Brian builds (all respect to the great master, I’m probably wrong). I think I talked before about how I think I can build outriggers that aren’t tuned specifically to two particular boats. But one of the reasons I decided to skip the outriggers on this trip is that they do, as Brian admits, tend to clutter the boat. Further, even if I can build outriggers that are fully boat agnostic, they still won’t be easy to rig on the water. Here’s my summary of requirements, then:
Installable and removable while paddling
Do not require removing existing accessories (e.g., back rest / yoke)
Fully boat agnostic (the same outriggers can be put on any two boats)
Minimize clutter in the boat
I’ve go some ideas about how this would be possible. First, to be truly boat agnostic the outriggers would have to attach at the center line of the boat. Perhaps the back rest / yoke could be set up to allow this, while still providing a platform for sitting. This will require some experimentation. If there’s a removable thwart running under the forward rescue loops, then perhaps this could serve the same function for the forward outrigger. Again, this will require further thought and experimentation.
Another thought regards the noodles. I can’t leave these in as some might, since the interference with stacking, multiplied by four boats, would make car-topping unwieldy. What I need is a quick way to install and uninstall them. I’m thinking that 1/8” shock cord, with clips like a cargo net, would do the trick. Also, I like the idea of a toggle rather than a clip or a ball. I found some HDPE rod to try this out, but right now it’s a lower priority.
Water and Wood 