Trip Report - Assateague Prospecting
January 13 - 16, 2006

Paddlers: Topher Reynolds, Canoeswithduckheads, Don Sandwich,
BoozTalkin, Stephen Grant, Paddler01, Mike McCrea

Boats: Onetonnah (20' wood & canvas), Esquif Prospecteur 17
(Royalex), Bell Chestnut Prospector (BlackGold), Nova Craft Prospector
SP3 (Superlinear polyethylene), Clipper Prospector (Kevlar/duraflex).

Up at 4:30 Friday morning I found Topher already unloading gear in my
driveway. Racked and packed we motored eastward through the dense fog,
arriving at Assateague shortly after the Ranger station opened to pick
up our permits.

A slight bit of semi-deliberate chaos in the paperwork process ended
with a spare entry and parking permit being issued, a most fortunate
coincidence, since CWDH and Don wouldn't be arriving until well after
dark.

Staging gear at the Old Ferry Landing I was thankful that we had the
Onetonnah and three Prospectors - packing in all the potable water
and a massive load of firewood added to our already abundant supplies.
This is not a high-speed, low-drag canoe camping cohort.

Just when it looked as though everything would indeed fit comfortably
in our combined 66 feet of boat space it was revealed that
Paddler01's wife had packed Alan's gear for him. Not only packed
for him, but packed two of everything for him; two tents, two tarps,
two weather radios, two pairs of pink jammies with fuzzy bunny ears.

Alan was oddly proud of his wife's packing abilities, reminding us
throughout the weekend that Mrs. Paddler01 had selected and packed his
gear. How come Diane doesn't pack my gear for me?

Stashing some of Alan's excess in the Bell we were off, into the
still foggy Chincoteague Bay. Despite the generally foggy conditions,
both mentally and atmospherically, we discerned the back sneak route
into the Tingles Island site and were soon trudging through the marsh
unloading our tonnage of creature comforts.

Camp established, tents and tarps bloomed and a hike to the beach was
undertaken. As evening drew on we set out again, swapping canoes for
some empty hull test paddling.

This evening trip had a secondary purpose as well; to erect navigation
beacons to guide Tom and Don into camp. A combination of cyalumes,
bicycle strobes and reflective tape laid out an illuminated path from
point to point, stretching from the Ferry Landing to Tingles.

Exiting the ferry channel en route back at sunset Topher and I somehow
ditched our paddling companions by taking a peculiar outboard course,
out and around the western edge of Great Egging Island. The lighted
beacons soon had us back on track and our companions emerged from the
darkness as we swung back eastward towards Lumber Marsh.

Back acamp the usual joviality and conviviality commenced, as we
huddled around a roaring campfire in the strengthening wind. Near
midnight the expected driving rain and thunderstorm rolled in and we
rolled off to our wind-buffeted tents.

Unbeknownst to us the storm rolling in coincided with Tom and Don
finally rolling up to the put in. Undaunted by the wind, rain and
(thankfully brief) lightning our stalwart lads loaded their craft
(Esquif Prospecteur 17) and set off to follow the beacon-lit trail to
camp.

Saturday morning saw us with a full complement of companions, CWDH and
Don having successfully (more or less, a bit less) followed the lighted
beacons into camp, arriving, um, before dawn anyway.

With the weather radio predicting the noon arrival of a front featuring
west winds blowing 30, gusting to 40 this was deemed a perfect
opportunity to investigate the sea worthiness of our Prospector fleet.
Not surprisingly that was less than a consensus opinion, but with
Topher, CWDH and I constituting a quazy quorum we set off south, Topher
poling the SP3, Tom and I tandeming the Esquif.

(I'm hoping Topher will add a few words about the poling capabilities
of the SP3, and about poling Chincoteague Bay in general. He was
impressive in standing proud throughout most of the weekend)

With a west wind piling water onto the bayside of Assateague the sneak
route into Pine Tree was open far to the north and we opted for this
easier route to our destination. Securing our boats we elected to dodge
the wind with a leisurely hike across the island to the more sheltered
leeside of the Atlantic beachfront.

Sheltered indeed. Returning some hours later to the bayside we
discovered that NOAA's prediction was on the money. Blowing 30,
gusting to 40. Ooops.

Or perhaps not really oops. We all knew what we were getting into when
setting off and I think we were all ready for an epic return trip.

And epic it was. With west wind building waves across the full fetch of
Chincoteague Bay one glance told us that we stood zero chance of
returning by any normal outboard route. We'd have to sneak the full
distance by picking apart flooded guts, channels and basin ponds on the
inland side.

The now fully flooded sneak route presented a series of increasingly
daunting challenges, beginning with simply getting back into the
interior of the island.

The wind and wave was absolutely screaming down the channel towards the
interior, and, with Tom paddle hard bow and me buried in a right stern
rudder it was all we could do to hold even a minimal ferry angle. If
I'd ease off the rudder for even a second the Esquif would come about
broadside to the waves as it hurriedly weathercocked.

Downwind ferry successful, into what lee we could find to rest and
kvetch and strategize with the map. And then, once more, into the
breach dear friends, once more. It wasn't the siege of Harfleur; it
was the blasted besiegement of the bayside.

Fighting our way up the back channel, thankfully unaware that this was,
in fact, the easy part, we would pause at each open gut, gaze out at
the whitecapped bay and renew our conviction that there was no way, no
how we were heading out to open water.

Up the channel 'til the water ran out, then manhaul the boats
overland across the marsh to the nearest inland basin pond. Paddle
across the pond and drag some more.

Interspersed with the marsh dragging and pond puddles lay the real
challenge, open guts stretching out westward to the windswept bay. Open
guts with invariably funnel-shaped mouths, swallowing wind and wave and
concentrating into one malevolent hurtling mass of water.

Dragging boats to this churning water's edge Tom and I would discuss
the "plan" for crossing the maelstrom of wind and wave.

Tom: "Right, take a sighting off the meniscus of Zephyrus' left
testicle, towards the hypotenuse of the calamitous contortion of clams
and the mountainous mound of mustachioed mussels, we'll head for a 30
degree angle off the Neptune's nebulous neutrality"

Mike: "Right. Get in the boat, paddle like hell for the far shore and
try to stay upright"

That the wind was blowing 40 mph and I could only hear every other word
Tom said didn't help. Or maybe it did.

Adding to the challenge was the difficulty of navigating from the
inland side, an unaccustomed proposition at best, and made more
confusing by the flooded conditions in the marsh. I think that the
third time I looked at the map and declared a distant duckblind to be
the familiar landmark for the entrance to the Tingle Island narrows the
fellas begin to suspect that I had no idea where we really were
relative to our campsite. T'was true, too true.

That the sun had fully (and seemingly quite suddenly) set before we
crossed the last raging gut pushed this outing into the epic category.
Topher led, and instantly disappeared into the darkness. Tom and I
followed, as best we could, overshot Topher's landing on the far side
and had to come back into the wind. Whatever reserves of strength and
fortitude we had left were fairly well expended on that maneuver.

Fortunately we had, unknowingly, managed to land on the backside of our
campsite, and one last stumbling drag through the marsh and over the
dunes saw us safely home.

Back safe and sound from our epic 3 mile 5 hour windfest, surrounded by
our dear friends Sailor Jerry and Mr. Guinness, we hunkered down around
a fire until the relentless winds, now blowing 40 and gusting 50
according to NOAA, finally drove us into our tents.

And later drove several of us out of our tents as the wind yanked at
rainflys and pulled stakes from the ground. When the windward side of
my tent blew free I puzzled for a moment just how I was going to get
out and restake it in the dark when the only thing holding it down was
me. Fortunately I was using a 2-door, 2-vestibule tent and had spare
sand stakes in the vestibule, so I was able to restake the corners
without actually leaving the tent. Next time the forecast calls for 50
mph winds I think I'll run some additional guy lines before retiring
for the night. Duh!

Sunday's forecast, courtesy of Alan "Don't need a weatherman to
know which way the wind blows" Reid told us in an instant that we
wouldn't be paddling out on this day: Winds still 40, gusting 50,
gradually turning from west to northwest to north by nightfall.

But, the good part, the part that makes having a weather radio such a
critical piece of equipment for paddling barrier island bays, was
Monday's forecast - winds diminishing throughout the day to 5 mph
light and variable by afternoon.

No point in trying the impossible, we're windbound for the duration
of the day, let's set up a couple of wind break tarps in a small
hollow and break out the bocce balls.

What followed was the finest all-terrain bocce tournament yet played.
53 "holes" completely across the island from the bayside to the
ocean. Some of the shots had specific stipulations - "Leap over
the pile of pony crap, perform an airborne demi-plié, release the
bocce ball and land with both feet in the mud puddle".

There were water hazards, piles of pony poop hazards, even pony
hazards. Approaching the middle of the island we espied a couple of
ponies ahead and continued the game in their direction, until an object
ball shot landed but a few feet away.

At which point the closest pony ambled over, nosed the ball abound
curiously, decided that it's was not in fact edible, turned in
disappointment and deposited a fresh offering beside the ball. Closest
to the object ball wins? Maybe not on this shot.

Another memorable feature of this bocce game was the increasingly
hysterical color commentary from all players involved, describing the
conditions and play of the course in terms usually reserved for Augusta
or the British Open ("It plays left to right, but he'll have to
watch the soft sand just beside the second pile of pony ****", "Oh,
he missed his demi-plié, but he stuck the landing in the mud
puddle").

Game complete, with Topher and I crowned champions of the Assateague
Open by a wide margin, we returned to camp to make every effort to
reduce our provisions in preparation for the morrow's paddle out.
Since some of the remaining provision were of the distilled variety
this task was turned to with gusto.

This gusto did have some familiar consequences, as a certain
alliterative associate performed a full Ghendri on Don's tent,
reducing several of the poles to a less than functional pretzel shape.

I have to hand it to Don; he has paddled with the Duckhead twice now,
first on a brutally long and cold day of canoe orienteering set up in
March and now on a windy January Assateague trip. He's got good
mil-spec gear, a great attitude and an even better sense of humor.

Anytime you want to go paddling Don, just say the word.

Monday's pack up and paddle out was a leisurely affair, as the winds
continued to diminish throughout the morning. We pulled out of camp
pre-noon, paddled (Topher poled) into the lee of Great Egging Beach and
let the benign breeze blow us into the Old Ferry Landing where our
vehicles awaited.

A couple of stops on the way home to miss rush hour traffic; The
Unicorn Rare and Used Bookstore to browse for old paddling books
(successful), Holly's Restaurant for a heaping helping of cream of
crab soup and diner grub (filling) and we were home again, home again
just after sunset.

That was a fine trip gentlemen. The Assateague backcountry in January
- it could be the start of a new tradition.


Link to Topher' photos:

http://community.webshots.com/album/545234005HevAqk

Sure sounds like an epic adventure, Mike!

I sure enjoyed reading it and seeing some pictures to accompany the
story helped create a vivid picture.

Didn't anyone get in trouble because of not being able to get home
before Monday?

Wilko


wrote:
Trip Report - Assateague Prospecting
January 13 - 16, 2006
--
Wilko van den Bergh wilkoa t)dse(d o tnl
Eindhoven The Netherlands Europe
---Look at the possibilities, don't worry about the limitations.---
http://kayaker.nl/

Wilko wrote:

Didn't anyone get in trouble because of not being able to get home
before Monday?

A few of the guys had some minor troubles with staying the extra day
from wives and bosses, but the simple fact is that there was zero
chance of paddling out in 40 mile per hour winds on Sunday. If you are
windbound you are windbound, call it an act of god.

I did schedule this trip with the extra day contingency in mind; that
Monday was a Federal and State Holiday (Martin Luther King's birthday
observation). We've been windbound at Assateague in similar westerlies
before, so allowing for an insurance day in terms of food and water and
time is the norm.

Mike, I read a letter from you in Paddler this morning, decrying old
school trends. As I recall, you were quite against boats longer than
your shuttle vehicle. So, tell us, what were you driving to get that
Onetonnah (20' wood & canvas) and those 17' Prospectors to the water,
seeing as how a even Yukon Denali is only 16.5 feet long? Do you have a
school bus?

Steve (I ride the short bus)

Steve,

Full-sized Ford E-150.

The Onetonnah isn't one of my boats, but even the 17' Esquif
Prostecteur fits atop the van roof with no overhang (at least not out
past the bumpers).

But a school bus would be even better.

Great story!! I did this some years ago, but in much less challenging
conditions. It's a nice part of the world.


Wilko wrote:
Sure sounds like an epic adventure, Mike!

I sure enjoyed reading it and seeing some pictures to accompany the
story helped create a vivid picture.

Didn't anyone get in trouble because of not being able to get home
before Monday?

Wilko


wrote:
Trip Report - Assateague Prospecting
January 13 - 16, 2006
--
Wilko van den Bergh wilkoa t)dse(d o tnl
Eindhoven The Netherlands Europe
---Look at the possibilities, don't worry about the limitations.---
http://kayaker.nl/

Wind and weather are such a big part of paddling Assateague, moreso it
seems to me than paddling backcountry rivers or lakes elsewhere.

The changing depth of that shallow bay in wind driven water, especially
combined with a high or low tide, the near constant wind and lack of
significant wind shadow from a lee shore or treeline all combine to
make paddling Chincoteague Bay an interesting challenge and occasional
study in contrasts.

I took a couple of my brothers-in law there a few years ago, and
forewarned them abouit some of the hazards and challenges. This was
their first trip paddling behind Assateague. It was very early in the
year (March?) and the possibility of winter conditions were a concern.

During the course of a 4 day trip we had a moderate tailwind each day
(2 days blowing south and two days blowing north), sunshine and
temperatures in the 70's. Shorts and tee shirts in March, wading the
shallows in Tevas and reaching for the sunscreen.

My bros in law are convinced that Assateague is as gentle and forgiving
a paddling venue as exists. I expect to disabuse them of that mistake
notion someday soon.