Eddy Lines

by John Lane

Ever plant bulbs in the fall? You dig the hole, add a little fertilizer, cover them up and forget about them 'til spring. Part of the magic of spring's flowers is forgetting where they are until the leaves start poking through the soil surface. The thin blades of the daffodils, the green spikes of the grape hyacinth and the broad leaves of the tulip give a modest fanfare for the colors that follow.

So it is with our volunteers and our boating functions. It's hard to predict who will volunteer for a particular task, who will find their forte in which type of boating or who will head off for adventure after reading another's exciting boating tale. This issue of Columbus Outdoors features stories by Val Zen and Curt and Debbie Goetz. Valerie recounts the story of last fall's visit to beautiful Grayson Lake in Kentucky while Curt and Debbie share their experience paddling at Santa Catalina Island. On a less celebrated but very important topic, Walt Taylor and Constance Hall are putting together first aid kits for our boating leaders. These will be distributed once complete. Thanks to Walt and Constance for volunteering their time! You'll read more about them in a future issue.

It's exciting to see people bloom in different ways and add to the boating bouquet. Here I should mention Doug Eldridge. Doug took our introductory sea kayak class last summer, leader training in November and he's leading his first COP boating trip on the Grand River in early June. Of course, he could just be making up for the fact that he lost my nose plugs on a wet exit but I'm sure it's more exemplary of the generous volunteer spirit that he and our other leaders possess.

Fernando Caro is another example. Last year COP supported Fernando taking a Canadian Recreation Canoe Association sea kayak certification class. This year he will be the lead instructor for two one-day CRCA based sea kayaking classes that will take place in May and July.

As always, we are looking for 0fresh recruits to add to our crop of boating volunteers. There are lots of opportunities to take COP leader training and ways to augment operation of the boating program. Pick one and jump in, the water's fine! Join us on our expeditions to somewhere!

Destination: Boating

Santa Catalina Island

by Curt and Debbie Goetz

What a perfect time of year to reflect back on what is best described as our "paddle in paradise". Our story began with an eye catching photo in a Kayak Adventure magazine, the kind that many of us can only dream about. This, however, was just the beginning of our story. Ironically, Santa Catalina Island, subject of the kayak photo, was only a ferry ride away from where we were already booked to stay in sunny southern California. After a little research on our part, we were able to turn our dreaming into reality.

Our adventure began with a 45 minute ferry ride from Long Beach. The island sits about 26 miles due west of the southern California coast. Catalina Island's perimeter stretches 54 miles, covering almost 43,000 acres of land mass. The climate is temperate and the terrain is mountainous. The island's perimeter consists of many isolated coves, pristine beaches, and spectacular undersea gardens which makes it a popular destination for kayakers.

When we finally arrived for our day at the island's Descanso Beach Ocean Sports Resort, there was an immediate sense that this adventure would soon be the experience of a lifetime. The resorts' trip leaders were very friendly and extremely knowledgeable. This gave us a strong sense of security as we settled into our 16' open sea kayaks. Upon venturing out to sea, we were amazed at the water's clarity. We saw lots of marine life species, often at depths of 40 to 50 feet. One species in particular gave us a a scare. This fish, known to humans as the tiger shark, seemed very intimidating. Although harmless, they did make their presence known on various occasions. We were also able to observe the more friendly-seeming sea lions. At times you could get within a paddle length of these amazing marine mammals. Finally, we spotted numerous pairs of bald eagles flying together and also perched high on cliffs overlooking the sea. To us, nothing surpassed the experience of seeing all this wildlife from our kayaks.

We would highly recommend a kayak adventure of this type to anyone. Our recent trip can best be described from the lyrics of the famous song titled "California Dreaming", stating that Santa Catalina Island is truly the place to be - especially in a kayak.

Grayson Lake

by Valerie Zen

Black clouds peppered the sky like angry storm troupers on that day COP boaters gathered to drive to Grayson Lake. We had had perfect weather, but now the elements had shifted, and it looked ominous. Cars loaded, boats akimbo, in an odd balancing act, we bravely started off. Traveling wasn't bad if you were in the passenger seat, but the wind bounced and reverberated over, under and around the car like we were just some dime store plaything. There is a mystical thing about putting a canoe atop a wagon. It morphs into a parasail. Now imagine: Parasail on top; slick streets below, and the wind continually badgering us like some pudgy playground bully. That could spell trouble. And in fact, on the way down, we saw a baby airstream and its haul-mate come to meet their Maker. Splattered all over the road. Very messy.

The campground was peaceful and serene, from the moment we drove onto the grounds. Deer wandered those hills fearlessly, aggravating the hunters no end. John Markiel had arranged for our campsites, (thanks, John!) and so it was a simple matter of finding our lot. We arrived at the campground just about sunset, the weather had let up a bit and we began setting up the tent. We hadn't camped in 20 years, even going so far as selling our cooking stove and lantern, but we still had our tent and sleeping bags. It's amazing what you can do with a little ingenuity, an ice tea maker, and a convectionaire. We had oatmeal, hot chocolate, ramen noodles, hot dogs, corn on the cob. No suffering went on at our camp. We discovered Lunchables travel well in a canoe, so do pudding cups. We even had peanut-butter-n-jelly Snackables. Chex Mix. Nothing like something crunchy when you've got the munchies. There was this discussion about the most bizarre lunchtime snack. I don't know if anyone topped our sardines, I hadn't heard. If that's not an unofficial official contest, I think it's about time we write it into law. At every COP boating outing, there shall be a discussion about who brought the most bizarre lunchtime item. No cheating, they actually have to eat it. Val's rule. Anybody for fish-eye jerky?

We met for a while under the portable awning at John's site, talking about this and that, and many of us retired early, thankful not to have to deal with noisy TV sets, phones, email or other modem conveniences. Unfortunately, the good old boys at the campsite next to us brought their new pickup truck with embedded CD player. They had their favorite song cranked up and they hit the repeat button. Windows and doors open, broadcasting to the entire valley. Thank you, but after the third sampling, that was not my favorite CD. Music to scare bears out of the woods. I didn't mind it the first couple times, but it got old fast. I understand they played it all night. Thankfully, I was so tired that I passed out quickly and never heard it the rest of the night.

We awoke to an appreciable haze. Water everywhere. Apparently it had stormed over the night. How could you miss it, sleeping in a tent? But I did. [I passed out. remember?] Everything in a tent acts like a wick, absorbing all the moisture, so we awoke in this cold, clammy mummy-like cocoon. After breakfast in bed, we unzipped and stepped out to a damp new world. The ground squoooshed when you stepped on it. Off to the showers. Ah, yes, hot water. Yessss....

And so it was, the caravan formed, we drove to the put-in, unloaded the boats, shuttled cars to the end point and were taxied back to the starting line. Now the journey began. It was already 11 a.m. when we left the shoreline. Though the waters were calm, the trees were already past prime. I remember being disappointed that the colors had already faded. The sun had come out and was breaking up the mist.

We paddled as far as our first zig, and as we rounded the turn, we began to see all kinds of beauty. Colors galore. Fiery reds, brilliant oranges, sunny yellows and enough green to freshen the palette. All against a backdrop of steep hills and rock walls. A nature-lovers paradise. Everywhere I looked, there were beech, sweet gum, ash, oak, locust, chestnut, maple. And more I didn't recognize. What kind of tree produces spear-shaped leaves 10 inches long? I have no idea. Even the firs and spruces were contributing to the glory.

And then came the wind. At first it was in our face, and I mean it was blowing hard. I had to squint to keep the dirt out of my eyes. I'd never paddled against such a tough wind. (Realize I'm a first year paddler, what do I know?) Though it actually felt good on our faces, it severely impeded progress. We continued on for a few miles, and the wind let up. Next thing we knew, it was swooping down on us from behind. It seemed all we had to do was stick our arms out and we'd sail down the lake. I took advantage and put down my paddle, picking up the camera instead. Used up 2 instant cameras, then got out the digital camera. I have tons of pictures.

We stopped for lunch. I saw people pouring things into thermoses. Grainy texture, looked like hulls from something that once had been food. Don't hit me, I'm the newbie, remember. These new kids with their healthy lifestyles, it doesn't compute. How can something that looks like wet Styrofoarn be nutritious? Somebody please educate me. Bob and I, now we had the really good food. Sardines on the Saltine. Gourmet. Peanut Butter and Jelly crackers. Delectable. Jolly Rancher Jell-O. Oooh, baby!

We gathered up the trash and pushed off again, in search of more coves and inlets, scenic vistas, wildlife. Few birds swooped and sculled overhead, fewer still settled on the banks. Can't say that I saw much wildlife at all. Nothing but leaves swirling lazily in our wakes. Nothing else but our own reflections greeted us below. Whatever fish there might have been, well, they were giving us wide berth. Besides a few speedboats, I saw no fishermen.

We continued to paddle against the wind. At every turn, the wind came from a new direction, and we had to change our paddling methods to suit. I loved the part when we lifted our arms and let our jackets billow out to form the sail. Ok, maybe I exaggerate. But I'm the storyteller here. <smile>

Every fifty feet, the scenery begged to have its picture taken. Gorgeous hardwoods in their prime of reds, golds, oranges, browns, flanked by others, green, not yet touched by the chill of the October winds. Prairie grasses untouched and unstomped. Then I discovered by flopping around in the canoe seat, I could take pictures from another viewpoint. [Did I tell you I have lots of pictures?]

After another stop for snacks and a water break, we got underway. By this time, it was obvious that many were slowing down. Some had it in their heart to be first across the finish line, but others of us, sensing it was almost over, slowed down to enjoy the last few hundred yards. We passed under the bridge, rounded the point, and were ambushed by some of those who had gone on before. While we enjoyed the symbolism of being ambushed, by that time we were too tired to engage "the enemy". It was only 4PM, but we were ready for our naps. We loaded up our boats and quietly rode home to our home-away-from-home. Some hardy souls awoke the next morning and put out again. But the sky was scowling and our bones were aching, and we dodged great pelting raindrops to pack up the gear and tents, so rather than go canoeing, we decided to drive home while it was still daylight. I understand those who did hit the water were rewarded with a little waterfall that was not there the day before.

I'm ready to go again in the spring.

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