"Can you see the real me,
can ya', can ya'?"
Friday
The
old Who song is blasting on XM radio as I crest the Bay Bridge. So, who is the
real me? Is it the family man getting kids out the door to school this morning, loading the
dishwasher, taking out the trash? Or is it the guy skimming east on Rt. 50, about to spend the
weekend camping and paddling at the beach with friends? Or any one of several
other versions of me? Sometimes it seems my life is made up of pieces from
several different puzzles. Well, this much is revealed for sure: long drives give me
too much time to ruminate.
I
have an uneventful drive - just a little traffic here and there in DC and again
through the traffic lights in Easton, Maryland. There was evidently some sort
of classic car gathering out on the Eastern Shore this weekend and so I got entertainment all the way down Rt. 50, marveling at many Mustangs (including two nitrous injected monsters), a '71
Chevelle, a ’68 Camaro, and lots of other neat cars from my youth. This show is
repeated on the way home: dragster Dodge Darts with big hood scoops, another
couple of Chevelles, a Corvette Stingray. It's like bird-watching, but with
cars.
I
arrive at the campground at Assateague to find about half the group of fourteen
already there. I had noticed that every body of water I had crossed along the way out
had whitecaps, and had felt the car getting pushed around by some pretty strong
wind gusts. Well, the first thing I notice on getting out of the car is that I
feel like I have stepped into a giant wind tunnel. It must be blowing near 30
MPH (a check of the Intellicast observation history confirms gusts of 25-30
MPH all weekend). I shout my hellos over the howl of the wind and the creaking
and groaning of the nearby tents. Putting up tents in these conditions is no
easy thing and so the group has adopted an Amish barn-raising approach to
erecting the tents. Four or five people work on a tent at once, some holding
the tent in place while the owner stakes it down, then all joining together to
get it raised and secured against the wind. You can't put anything lightweight
or empty - like an empty tent bag - down for even a second without it
disappearing downwind. I imagine this is what erecting a tent in space would be
like – everything must be tethered at all times. The group helps me with my
beat-up old REI hexagonal tent, which goes up in a jiffy.
The
afternoon activity is walking on the beach, followed by happy hour snacks and
drinks (alcohol isn't allowed at this park so of course we stick to “iced tea”).
Happy hour is followed by dinner - John G's veggie chili, with freshly grated
cheese, scallions and chopped tomatoes on top. As the evening progressed the
wind greows colder and colder and we all wind up bundled up in every layer we
had - the fleece jackets come out, then the hats, and finally the gloves. The
evening finishes with a planning pow-wow to decide on an alternative paddling
plan, since the wind was forecast to continue into Saturday and we figured that
Sinepuxent Bay was going to be too rough to paddle. I realize at bedtime that
I had forgotten to bring my glasses and I don't like sleeping in my contact
lenses, so at bed time I take out my contacts in the bath house and then
stagger my nearsighted way back to my tent in the darkness. Fortunately I
find the right tent! I bed down to the sound of the tent flapping against
its poles and straining against its lines.
Saturday
I
wake up having slept pretty well despite the all night rattling and banging. I
realize how sound a sound sleeper I am when I hear a lot of other people
complain about disturbances during the night – campers returning late, cars
driving around, the noise of the wind. I discover that some people use ear
plugs when camping to lessen the impact of the noise. Me, I put my head down
and I'm out. It turns out there *is* an upside to my sleep-deprived lifestyle! Exhaustion
wins out over campground noise any time.
We start the day with a simple and
leisurely breakfast, after which we all pile into our cars and head over to
Snow Hill to launch into the Pocomoke River. Snow Hill is a quaint little town,
and we launch from the floating dock of the Pocomoke Canoe Company. At first
the folks from the Canoe Co. are a little touchy that we're using their dock,
but they're placated when several people go into the shop and buy t-shirts. By
the time one of the guys comes over to chat with me about my wood boat he's
quite friendly.
It
takes a while to get a dozen people launched one at a time. Ralph's wife Beth
isn't paddling, so we drop her off in Snow Hill where she plans spend some time
setting up her new smart phone. Greg's wife Jenny is along on the trip too.
She's an excellent kayaker but decided to skip paddling today and relax at the
campsite instead. That leaves a paddling group consisting of: me, Ralph,
Suzanne, Dick, John, Greg, Robert, Wanda, Jim, Al, Marla, and Mike.
 | |
| The Pocomoke River |
The
Pocomoke is very protected and after the initial stretch we feel very little
wind at all. It's a pretty little river, very primordial, though it gets pretty
twisty as you get up it. Toward the end we start to wish we were in shorter,
more maneuverable boats. Someone (Greg?) knows that the little birds we keep
seeing are prothonotary warblers. Suzanne says that a prothonotary is another
term for a court clerk. Could it be that birds have their own court system?
What other birds have roles in the courtroom? States evidence terns? Barred
owls (watch out for the disbarred owls!)? John jays? Can any species of bird
become an attorney, or is it limited to vultures?
Where
was I? Oh, yeah, kayaking.
We
paddle 5.4 miles, take a lunch break at Porter’s Crossing Road, then turn
around and head back. Along the way Greg intentionally, though without warning
wet exits his boat to give someone a chance to practice leading a rescue. Al does an excellent job of talking Greg back into his boat. Once
back on shore we try to go out for ice cream in Snow Hill but the place is
closed, so instead we head back to Assateague. I have a cold Starbucks
Frappucino in my cooler - it's gotten quite warm and it feels good when I pop
one along the way as a pick-me-up. I also stop back near the campground to find
a geocache.
Back
at the campsite it gets chilly and windy again as the sun sets. We repeat
yesterday's activities: a little happy hour, a walk along the beach. Then, it's
time for the big potluck dinner (a tradition on Ralph’s trips). We all get busy
cooking and have quite a feast: Moroccan chicken, a beef dish, shrimp salad,
quinoa salad, pulled pork and slaw, and more. And of course, lots of desserts.
We eat until the groaning of our folding chairs and the burbling of our tummies drowns out the tent noise. By
the time we finish eating and getting cleaned up it's late. We chat for a
while, experiment with Marla's most awesome Jedi bug zapping light saber then
turn in.
 |
| Pot luck |
Oh,
how could I have gotten this far without mentioning the ponies? Assateague is
of course famous for its wild ponies and they're present in the campground,
particularly in the evenings. It's the darndest thing. You'll be sitting at
your campsite and all of a sudden a couple of horses will walk by. If you're
lucky, they'll keep on walking - we had some instances where a horse started to
take interest in Marla's cooler.
Sunday
At about
3 AM the wind comes back with a vengeance. Come 6 AM or so we crawl out of our tents and once
again position ourselves in the lee of Jim’s big pickup truck to get a little
shelter as we eat breakfast. It’s grey and there are intermittent rain
sprinkles. I turn on my VHF radio to get the forecast, which calls for
continued cloudiness and a chance of rain all day. Our plans had been
to paddle inland somewhere on the way home, but the weather causes people to
back out and decide to just head home. For my part, I can’t understand why
people are hesitant to kayak in the rain. After all, when you’re dressed in
neoprene and splash gear, what’s the problem with getting a little wet? Well,
different strokes for different paddlers, I guess. I take one last look at the
roiling ocean then head out.
Once I
get inland the weather starts to brighten, with increasing bits of blue sky. When
I see signs for the Blackwater Wildlife Refuge I head that way. I wind up doing
a nice hike along the Key Wallace Trail. At a pond I come across a noisy deer.
I have never heard a deer make noise before, but this one was quite vocal. It
shrieked at me a number of times, despite the fact that I was way across the
pond and posed no danger. I also get a pretty close look at a barred owl and
see some pretty bog plants. I just bought a new waterproof camera and I use
the hiking opportunity to test out some of its features and get some experience
with it.
 |
| Blackwater: Barred Owl |
Finally,
it was time to head home. Again, a slow slog in the area near the Bay Bridge,
but smooth sailing otherwise. I arrive home and Valerie is good enough to help
me find and pull off all the little critters which had attached themselves to
me over the course of the weekend (ticks love me). Then it was out to dinner
with Valerie and the boys. I hadn’t exactly been in the deep wilderness, but
even after a couple of days of semi-roughing it being served a burger (veggie,
of course) in Red Robin seemed like a wonderful luxury. Ahh, the joys of family
and french fries.
More pictures are here.
Ralph's trip report is here.
No comments:
Post a Comment