I go through a cycle of thought again and again when I go paddling in winter. Naturally, it's usually cold as I put my boat onto the car. I feel the sting on my hands when I touch the racks and the cam buckles on the straps. I hate cold hands. "OK, this is it," I think. "Winter paddling has been a unique experience, but it's really unpleasant. I've earned the bragging rights for having done it, but after today I'm done."
At the put-in point I wrestle into my cold weather gear. Pulling the tight-fitting dry suit over my head is extremely unpleasant; once in place the gaskets are tight around my neck and wrists. The stiff zipper across my back limits my mobility. Again, my hands are cold. I am cold. "This is ridiculous," I think. "I'm going to be uncomfortable the whole time I'm out. I really think I'm going to switch to something else in winter time. It's crazy to do water sports in freezing weather."
I set out in my kayak. The coldness of the water makes me nervous. A capsize, harmless in the fall and even enjoyable in the summer, could be fatal in near-freezing winter time water. "I am so done with this," I think.
Then I get going. Slowly, I warm up. After a while, the sting of the cold disappears even from my hands. I notice a special feeling. The water itself seems to be more viscous while the air is light and crisp. The scenery, in a winter palette of browns and grays, stands out in high relief. An eagle is easily visible in the bare branches of a tall tree. It takes flight, gliding majestically past us. The sun glints off the water and warms us a bit. There is an feeling of total quiet. There are no jet skiers and few other boaters. We see few people even on shore. It is, as is so often the case with winter paddling, magical.
My paddling companion and I arrive back at Riley's Lock all to soon. Still in our dry suits, we walk over to the C&O canal towpath and gaze out over the Potomac. A peaceful quiet pervades the scene. I linger, looking forward to my next opportunity to experience the magic of winter on the water.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
A Guilty Pleasure
I have to admit that I feel guilty doing it. It's just not something that people like me do. In fact, I have spent years looking down on people who do it.
I'm talking about powersports. Activities which involve using a motor to have fun. I have always been a people-powered person. On the water I scowl at jet skiers and water ski boats. On the cross-country ski trails I shake my head at people who ruin the pristine winter wilderness with snowmobiles. Being something of a car guy, I go a little easier on the pleasures of motorized vehicles on land. I don't expect car owner to be a super-miler in a Prius, but I also give a pretty wide berth to ATVs and dirt bikes.
But now I'm motorcycling. Over the summer I fulfilled a "bucket list" item by learning to ride a motorcycle (Valerie took the class too). For the last month or so I've been tooling around on a borrowed Kawasaki Vulcan cruiser, and I must say I'm enjoying it. Riding a motorcycle is ridiculously impractical, particularly in a densely populated area such as where I live. There's little feel of the open road when there are five stop signs between home and the supermarket. Commuting to Tysons Corner is only for the suicidal. Even the highways in the area - I66, the Beltway - don't lend themselves to easy riding, except at really off hours.
In my brief riding career I have experienced a fresh horror at the terrible driving habits of Washington area drivers. I have become pretty inured to them in my "cager" (biker sland for car-driving) mode, but motoring along on two wheels gives you a fresh perspective on the cell-phone-talking, makeup-applying, left-turn-from-the-right-lane habits of my fellow Northern Virginians. Riding is pretty impractical too. You can't carry much on a bike, and it requires special clothing, which is another limiting factor in using a motorcycle as a commuting vehicle. Motorcycling is really a form of recreation rather than transportation. People ride for fun, and quite frankly I have more than enough forms of fun that I don't get to in my life. I think that if I buy a bike it'll just sit in the driveway looking forlorn and making me feel guilty.
Have I mentioned it's fun? There is something pretty cool about being astride this motorized beast, leaning it through corners and feeling the acceleration when I twist the throttle. The wind in my hair (OK, you can't feel the wind in your hair when you wear a helmet. Oh, and I don't have any hair). Also, motorcycles are cool. I love looking out the window at the thing. I find myself spending time looking at motorcycling web sites - gear, bike manufacturers. There's also a community of riders. One day when I was riding to work another rider exited the Beltway and merged into Rt. 123 right in front of me. As he pulled into the lane in front of me he flashed me a peace sign. Suddenly I felt like part of the tribe.
Speaking of tribes, I have also joined the email list of The Tribe, the DC area club for Jewish motorcyclists. Yes, there is such a thing. I haven't met any of my fellow kikers ... ooops, bikers ... yet, but I can't wait to!
I even had a biker bonding moment at work the other day. I went in for a meeting with my new boss and noticed his office had a lot of motorcycle-related stuff in it. Turns out he's really into riding - commutes every week from his house in the Northern Neck to his pied a terre in Tysons on his Harley. We had such a good time talking bikes we almost forgot to talk about how his plan to eliminate my department's budget, which I guess I can categorize as two engineers' equivalent of a barroom biker brawl.
Anyway, I am conflicted to death on this bike thing. Dropping another couple of thou for a hobby (I'm already into music and kayaking for that much or more)? A dip into a world where people burn gasoline for pleasure? So confused. I think I need to clear my head. A ride on the bike would be just the thing ...
I'm talking about powersports. Activities which involve using a motor to have fun. I have always been a people-powered person. On the water I scowl at jet skiers and water ski boats. On the cross-country ski trails I shake my head at people who ruin the pristine winter wilderness with snowmobiles. Being something of a car guy, I go a little easier on the pleasures of motorized vehicles on land. I don't expect car owner to be a super-miler in a Prius, but I also give a pretty wide berth to ATVs and dirt bikes.
But now I'm motorcycling. Over the summer I fulfilled a "bucket list" item by learning to ride a motorcycle (Valerie took the class too). For the last month or so I've been tooling around on a borrowed Kawasaki Vulcan cruiser, and I must say I'm enjoying it. Riding a motorcycle is ridiculously impractical, particularly in a densely populated area such as where I live. There's little feel of the open road when there are five stop signs between home and the supermarket. Commuting to Tysons Corner is only for the suicidal. Even the highways in the area - I66, the Beltway - don't lend themselves to easy riding, except at really off hours.
In my brief riding career I have experienced a fresh horror at the terrible driving habits of Washington area drivers. I have become pretty inured to them in my "cager" (biker sland for car-driving) mode, but motoring along on two wheels gives you a fresh perspective on the cell-phone-talking, makeup-applying, left-turn-from-the-right-lane habits of my fellow Northern Virginians. Riding is pretty impractical too. You can't carry much on a bike, and it requires special clothing, which is another limiting factor in using a motorcycle as a commuting vehicle. Motorcycling is really a form of recreation rather than transportation. People ride for fun, and quite frankly I have more than enough forms of fun that I don't get to in my life. I think that if I buy a bike it'll just sit in the driveway looking forlorn and making me feel guilty.
Have I mentioned it's fun? There is something pretty cool about being astride this motorized beast, leaning it through corners and feeling the acceleration when I twist the throttle. The wind in my hair (OK, you can't feel the wind in your hair when you wear a helmet. Oh, and I don't have any hair). Also, motorcycles are cool. I love looking out the window at the thing. I find myself spending time looking at motorcycling web sites - gear, bike manufacturers. There's also a community of riders. One day when I was riding to work another rider exited the Beltway and merged into Rt. 123 right in front of me. As he pulled into the lane in front of me he flashed me a peace sign. Suddenly I felt like part of the tribe.
Speaking of tribes, I have also joined the email list of The Tribe, the DC area club for Jewish motorcyclists. Yes, there is such a thing. I haven't met any of my fellow kikers ... ooops, bikers ... yet, but I can't wait to!
I even had a biker bonding moment at work the other day. I went in for a meeting with my new boss and noticed his office had a lot of motorcycle-related stuff in it. Turns out he's really into riding - commutes every week from his house in the Northern Neck to his pied a terre in Tysons on his Harley. We had such a good time talking bikes we almost forgot to talk about how his plan to eliminate my department's budget, which I guess I can categorize as two engineers' equivalent of a barroom biker brawl.
Anyway, I am conflicted to death on this bike thing. Dropping another couple of thou for a hobby (I'm already into music and kayaking for that much or more)? A dip into a world where people burn gasoline for pleasure? So confused. I think I need to clear my head. A ride on the bike would be just the thing ...
Friday, October 28, 2011
Focus
Not long after, I sat in Yom Kippur services. The rabbi's sermon was about, of all things, focus vs. multi-tasking (things have changed - I don't remember my childhood rabbi talking about iPhones!). Sitting there, having just been reminded about the specialness of every day both by the liturgy and by the very recent and unexpected passing of a family member, I decided I would try harder to be fully conscious and to in the moment.
And then I promptly forgot about it.
Kidding. Sort of.
This post is for you, dear readers (I'm optimistically using the plural), but it's also for me, to remind me as I look back over posts in the future to keep working on my mindfulness.
Now, what was I writing about?
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Can I have a pickle, too?
OK, check one off the bucket list. Valerie and I have successfully completed the basic motorcycle training class and are now duly and officially licensed to drive motorcycles.
The class was taught by Don and Mary Ann, who were clearly authentic bikers, but excellent teachers as well. While they were gruff and no-nonsense, they were also supportive. Neither Valerie nor I had any motorcycling experience going in, and Valerie hadn't ever even driven a standard transmission car before, but the teachers were always helpful, never critical, when we goofed up.
The class consisted of an evening of classroom time followed by two full days of doing skills exercises on motorcycles in a big parking lot. Let me tell you, the riding part was hard work! We started each day at 7:30 AM. Spending the day out in the sun in August all bundled up in riding gear would be tiring enough in and of it self, but we were doing much more. Like an incredibly bad circus motorcycling act, the group rode in circles, did figure eights, rode over obstacles, swerved through cones, and did tight turns.
It was an effective course. When I first sat on the bike I was pretty nervous about riding it at all, but now I feel that I could take a motorcycle out at least on local streets (not ready for the highway yet).
By the way, Valerie was afraid she was going to fail the final practical exam. while she did in fact completely blow one of the exercises she actually wound up with a better overall score than I did, since I lost a lot of single points here and there. We both got 100% on the written exam (we may not be super well coordinated, but we're book smart!).
And today, when I went kayaking at Ft. Washington I noticed a Harley parked at the marina. I exchanged a couple of words with the owner, complementing him on his sweet bike. Hey, man, that sort of camaraderie is typical among those of us who are brothers in the biker community.
The class was taught by Don and Mary Ann, who were clearly authentic bikers, but excellent teachers as well. While they were gruff and no-nonsense, they were also supportive. Neither Valerie nor I had any motorcycling experience going in, and Valerie hadn't ever even driven a standard transmission car before, but the teachers were always helpful, never critical, when we goofed up.
The class consisted of an evening of classroom time followed by two full days of doing skills exercises on motorcycles in a big parking lot. Let me tell you, the riding part was hard work! We started each day at 7:30 AM. Spending the day out in the sun in August all bundled up in riding gear would be tiring enough in and of it self, but we were doing much more. Like an incredibly bad circus motorcycling act, the group rode in circles, did figure eights, rode over obstacles, swerved through cones, and did tight turns.
It was an effective course. When I first sat on the bike I was pretty nervous about riding it at all, but now I feel that I could take a motorcycle out at least on local streets (not ready for the highway yet).
By the way, Valerie was afraid she was going to fail the final practical exam. while she did in fact completely blow one of the exercises she actually wound up with a better overall score than I did, since I lost a lot of single points here and there. We both got 100% on the written exam (we may not be super well coordinated, but we're book smart!).
And today, when I went kayaking at Ft. Washington I noticed a Harley parked at the marina. I exchanged a couple of words with the owner, complementing him on his sweet bike. Hey, man, that sort of camaraderie is typical among those of us who are brothers in the biker community.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
UK Trip: Days 8, 9 & 10
Day 8
I'm going to be a little short here, since I've spent so much time writing about Scotland. We arrive in London early Saturday morning having slept somewhat fitfully on the train. We take the tube from Euston Station to Victoria, where we put our bags in the "Left Luggage". Our plan is to spend the day on a double-decker sight-seeing bus but it soon starts teeming rain. We get soaked at our first stop, Buckingham Palace, where they cancel the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard because of the rain (for a rainy country, England is poorly adapted to rainy days). We do a little more sight-seeing on foot but don't feel like waiting on "queues" in the rain and so after lunch (more pizza!) we go to our hotel to dry off. The hotel is quite civilized - bathrobes, TV in the tub, mini-bar. Ted creates an impressive clothesline web in the bathroom where we dry our wet kayaking gear, which has been stuffed into our bags since the day before.
Fortunately, the rain stops eventually. Ted and I head out to find a few geocaches (challenging, since our GPS receiver is at the bottom of a Scottish loch) and wind up taking a long walk - past the Tower of London, over Tower Bridge, along the South Bank of the Thames, then finally back over London Bridge (which appears to be in good shape) and back to the hotel, stopping along the way for dinner (Italian again, thanks to Ted's limited eating range).
Day 9
Tower of London in the morning. We try twice to go on the Yeoman Warder (beefeater) tour but each time it sprinkles a little just as the tour is getting started and so it gets canceled - again, a poor approach in a rainy climate. We self-tour instead and have a good time. Alas, the line for the crown jewels is quite long so we don't see them. For lunch I force Ted to eat in a sandwich shop (think Panera, but smaller). I simply can't face another pizza meal.
After a brief stop at our hotel, we go to the British Museum. We spent longer than planned at the Tower and so our visit to the museum is brief, focusing on the Roman and Eqyptian galleries - including the Rosetta Stone!
From the museum we walk through Covent Garden to Leicester Square. Along the way I spot the hotel where I stayed when I came to London with my family in the 1970s. It's a cool walk - we're in the high energy part of the city. Our destination is the Leicester Square movie theater, where we have Harry Potter tickets waiting for us (I bought them online in Scotland). We pick up our tickets then head over to the nearby Chinatown for dinner, then back for the movie. After the movie we get a surprise when we go into Haagen Dasz for ice cream. It turns out this is a very fancy sit-down Haagen-Dasz. We walked up to the door where there was a maitre d who asked us "table for two?" I stared blankly at him, having not encountered a sit-down ice cream restaurant since the Jahn's of my youth. Eventually I recovered my wits and responded, and he seated us. The waitress (!) brought us menus, which included a range of exotic ice cream combinations and desserts. We ordered two scoops apiece, which were served in nice, real bowls - quite civilized.
Finally, it was back to the hotel. This was a little bit of an adventure, as the Underground was closing for the night. We got part-way back but had missed the last train on the line we had to connect to and so wound up taking a bus the rest of the way. Our last, long evening in London was a success.
Day 10
Sadly, we headed home. A quick and easy train ride to Heathrow, a last cider at the airport bar (Ted bought), then back to the stifling heat and familiarity of home. It's great to travel; it's great to be home.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/Z2qUY1HU8X4Rsu5J6
I'm going to be a little short here, since I've spent so much time writing about Scotland. We arrive in London early Saturday morning having slept somewhat fitfully on the train. We take the tube from Euston Station to Victoria, where we put our bags in the "Left Luggage". Our plan is to spend the day on a double-decker sight-seeing bus but it soon starts teeming rain. We get soaked at our first stop, Buckingham Palace, where they cancel the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard because of the rain (for a rainy country, England is poorly adapted to rainy days). We do a little more sight-seeing on foot but don't feel like waiting on "queues" in the rain and so after lunch (more pizza!) we go to our hotel to dry off. The hotel is quite civilized - bathrobes, TV in the tub, mini-bar. Ted creates an impressive clothesline web in the bathroom where we dry our wet kayaking gear, which has been stuffed into our bags since the day before.
Fortunately, the rain stops eventually. Ted and I head out to find a few geocaches (challenging, since our GPS receiver is at the bottom of a Scottish loch) and wind up taking a long walk - past the Tower of London, over Tower Bridge, along the South Bank of the Thames, then finally back over London Bridge (which appears to be in good shape) and back to the hotel, stopping along the way for dinner (Italian again, thanks to Ted's limited eating range).
Day 9
Tower of London in the morning. We try twice to go on the Yeoman Warder (beefeater) tour but each time it sprinkles a little just as the tour is getting started and so it gets canceled - again, a poor approach in a rainy climate. We self-tour instead and have a good time. Alas, the line for the crown jewels is quite long so we don't see them. For lunch I force Ted to eat in a sandwich shop (think Panera, but smaller). I simply can't face another pizza meal.
After a brief stop at our hotel, we go to the British Museum. We spent longer than planned at the Tower and so our visit to the museum is brief, focusing on the Roman and Eqyptian galleries - including the Rosetta Stone!
From the museum we walk through Covent Garden to Leicester Square. Along the way I spot the hotel where I stayed when I came to London with my family in the 1970s. It's a cool walk - we're in the high energy part of the city. Our destination is the Leicester Square movie theater, where we have Harry Potter tickets waiting for us (I bought them online in Scotland). We pick up our tickets then head over to the nearby Chinatown for dinner, then back for the movie. After the movie we get a surprise when we go into Haagen Dasz for ice cream. It turns out this is a very fancy sit-down Haagen-Dasz. We walked up to the door where there was a maitre d who asked us "table for two?" I stared blankly at him, having not encountered a sit-down ice cream restaurant since the Jahn's of my youth. Eventually I recovered my wits and responded, and he seated us. The waitress (!) brought us menus, which included a range of exotic ice cream combinations and desserts. We ordered two scoops apiece, which were served in nice, real bowls - quite civilized.
Finally, it was back to the hotel. This was a little bit of an adventure, as the Underground was closing for the night. We got part-way back but had missed the last train on the line we had to connect to and so wound up taking a bus the rest of the way. Our last, long evening in London was a success.
Day 10
Sadly, we headed home. A quick and easy train ride to Heathrow, a last cider at the airport bar (Ted bought), then back to the stifling heat and familiarity of home. It's great to travel; it's great to be home.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/Z2qUY1HU8X4Rsu5J6
UK Trip: Days 5, 6 & 7
Day 5
Today we got to paddle without taking a long drive first. Ele promised us 7 minutes to the put-in (the jetty, that is) and sure enough we were there in exactly that. We did a shuttle, starting on Loch Moidart and ending back at the inn. This was our longest day (about six hours on the water) and had a lot of highlights. First of all, the scenery was striking. Second, we stopped off at the ruins of a 13th century castle, Castle Tioram. Like everything in Scotland, Castle Tioram has a link to Bonnie Prince Charlie, a romantic figure from the 18th century who led the unsuccessful Jacobite Rebellion - an attempt to overthrow the Hanovers and return the more British Stuarts to the throne of England. The rebellion met its end at the Battle of Culloden, the location of which we passed on our taxi ride from the Inverness airport. I reckon Bonnie Prince Charlie, a valiant crusader for a failed cause, occupies a place in Scottish hearts similar to that occupied by the Confederacy among Southern Americans - except his cause was a more noble one of nationalistic pride, not preservation of slavery.
Anyway, we paddle out of Loch Moidart, past castle Tioram, around Eilan Shona, up around Smirisary and Rubha Gheed a Leighe, into the sound of Arisaig,
ending at Glenuig. The sea life was awesome as always: blue starfish, herons, cormorants, seals, and sea otter. We also caught a glimpse of porpoises, pronounced in Scotland as "poor-poises". This was also our roughest day. A number of people got a little freaked (though being British, they didn't much show it) and Sue was having a little trouble with boat control. No capsizes, though. Lunch was the "Crofter's Piece" - a selection of cheeses, a roll (everyone said that the cheeses should properly be eaten with oatcakes), salad, and shortbread biscuits. True to his green leanings, Steve packs everything in reusable containers. Ele, surprised at the poshness of the lunch, exclaimed "ooh, there's even a wee serviette!", something we Americans would call a "small napkin".
We paddled near here.
In the evening, it was back the bar. I have mentioned that Steve, the owner of the Glenuig Inn, likes to share his opinions on a variety of subjects. Tonight he told us the rationale behind his selection of spirits for the bar. He focuses on unfiltered whiskies. It seems that most distilleries cold filter their whisky, primarily because Americans, who put ice in their whisky (Philistines!) don't like seeing their drinks turn cloudy. However, cold filtering, while it solves the cloudiness problem, removes long-chain molecules which give the whisky its depth of flavour. So, Steve has sought out a number of unfiltered whiskies. At the bar he gave us some to sample, and in addition some Scotch vodka and Scotch gin. The vodka was quite drinkable. I don't like gin, but I must admit this stuff had a nice aroma. I was also partial to the organic Bruichladdich whisky, less so the Caol Ila which is Ele's preference. Oh, I should mention that part of the inn was burned during the Jacobite Rebellion - another connection to Bonnie Prince Charlie.
I had my one meat dinner of the week: Moroccan lamb stew, made from some poor local lamb. Teddy, near starvation, agrees to try (and likes!) tomato basil soup (pronounced tomahto bahsil), which he has with white rice.
After dinner we perused the ample collection of local outdoor and kayaking magazines, made a little use of the Wifi, then headed to bed.
Day 6
Our last full day of paddling. A relatively short drive to Arasaig. We stopped in town both to drop Sue off (she was a little achy and decided to stay on land) and to go to the convenience store where Teddy was able to buy some ramen and "crisps" (potato chips) to ward off starvation. This made him happy. The waters around Arasaig are known for skerries: "A skerry is a small rocky island, usually defined to be too small for habitation
We were kayaking near here.
This was our last night of the trip and so we toasted the trip at the bar. Ted had his by now habitual pint of cider. Dinner was, as usual, at the inn. Teddy had the tomahto bahsil soup once again, but was happier because he had been able to eat lunch (one of his ramen cups, made with some of our tea-time hot water).
Day 7
A short paddle today, putting in at the jetty just up from the inn and paddling out to an island in Loch Ailort. The island had some ruins which are said to the the remains of a Pictish (Iron Age people) fort - but some say it's just volcanic rock. AS we did our morning load-out Ted suggested that we leave some of the group "kit" (such as the tea equipment) behind since we'd only be out for a couple of hours. The group emitted a collective gasp at the notion of skipping tea. Sure enough, even though it made us late in getting on the road we stopped to have tea.
We were back at the Glenuig Inn in time for lunch, so I had my Crofter's Piece (more cheese!) at a table rather than on a rock. From somewhere Ali produced a package of oatcakes, which all assembled agreed greatly improved the enjoyment of the cheeses.
Then it was back into the van one last time for the ride back to Inverness. We said our goodbyes at the Inverness Railway station "car park". Ted and I had a few hours before our sleeper train to London left so we dropped our backs in a locker at the "Left Luggage" and went into town.
Ted chose our restaurant for dinner - an Italian place where he could recharge his depleted calories with pizza and "chips" (fries) - though he had convinced the inn to serve him tomahto-bahsil soup for breakfast! Then we stopped in at the McDonald's for coffee and Wifi. Finally we returned to the station to find - HOLY CRAP! - the Left Luggage room had closed for the night. It hadn't occurred to me that such a place would close up, though indeed they did have hours posted. My mind immediately began to race with thoughts of having to book lodgings and alternative transportation back to London. Fortunately, we found a station employee who was willing to fetch the key and open the room so we could fetch our bags. Whew! We were quite happy to get on the train and settle into our wee berth.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/Nh7YrhQrbGMFemxE9
Today we got to paddle without taking a long drive first. Ele promised us 7 minutes to the put-in (the jetty, that is) and sure enough we were there in exactly that. We did a shuttle, starting on Loch Moidart and ending back at the inn. This was our longest day (about six hours on the water) and had a lot of highlights. First of all, the scenery was striking. Second, we stopped off at the ruins of a 13th century castle, Castle Tioram. Like everything in Scotland, Castle Tioram has a link to Bonnie Prince Charlie, a romantic figure from the 18th century who led the unsuccessful Jacobite Rebellion - an attempt to overthrow the Hanovers and return the more British Stuarts to the throne of England. The rebellion met its end at the Battle of Culloden, the location of which we passed on our taxi ride from the Inverness airport. I reckon Bonnie Prince Charlie, a valiant crusader for a failed cause, occupies a place in Scottish hearts similar to that occupied by the Confederacy among Southern Americans - except his cause was a more noble one of nationalistic pride, not preservation of slavery.
Anyway, we paddle out of Loch Moidart, past castle Tioram, around Eilan Shona, up around Smirisary and Rubha Gheed a Leighe, into the sound of Arisaig,
ending at Glenuig. The sea life was awesome as always: blue starfish, herons, cormorants, seals, and sea otter. We also caught a glimpse of porpoises, pronounced in Scotland as "poor-poises". This was also our roughest day. A number of people got a little freaked (though being British, they didn't much show it) and Sue was having a little trouble with boat control. No capsizes, though. Lunch was the "Crofter's Piece" - a selection of cheeses, a roll (everyone said that the cheeses should properly be eaten with oatcakes), salad, and shortbread biscuits. True to his green leanings, Steve packs everything in reusable containers. Ele, surprised at the poshness of the lunch, exclaimed "ooh, there's even a wee serviette!", something we Americans would call a "small napkin".
We paddled near here.
In the evening, it was back the bar. I have mentioned that Steve, the owner of the Glenuig Inn, likes to share his opinions on a variety of subjects. Tonight he told us the rationale behind his selection of spirits for the bar. He focuses on unfiltered whiskies. It seems that most distilleries cold filter their whisky, primarily because Americans, who put ice in their whisky (Philistines!) don't like seeing their drinks turn cloudy. However, cold filtering, while it solves the cloudiness problem, removes long-chain molecules which give the whisky its depth of flavour. So, Steve has sought out a number of unfiltered whiskies. At the bar he gave us some to sample, and in addition some Scotch vodka and Scotch gin. The vodka was quite drinkable. I don't like gin, but I must admit this stuff had a nice aroma. I was also partial to the organic Bruichladdich whisky, less so the Caol Ila which is Ele's preference. Oh, I should mention that part of the inn was burned during the Jacobite Rebellion - another connection to Bonnie Prince Charlie.
I had my one meat dinner of the week: Moroccan lamb stew, made from some poor local lamb. Teddy, near starvation, agrees to try (and likes!) tomato basil soup (pronounced tomahto bahsil), which he has with white rice.
After dinner we perused the ample collection of local outdoor and kayaking magazines, made a little use of the Wifi, then headed to bed.
Day 6
Our last full day of paddling. A relatively short drive to Arasaig. We stopped in town both to drop Sue off (she was a little achy and decided to stay on land) and to go to the convenience store where Teddy was able to buy some ramen and "crisps" (potato chips) to ward off starvation. This made him happy. The waters around Arasaig are known for skerries: "A skerry is a small rocky island, usually defined to be too small for habitation
We were kayaking near here.
This was our last night of the trip and so we toasted the trip at the bar. Ted had his by now habitual pint of cider. Dinner was, as usual, at the inn. Teddy had the tomahto bahsil soup once again, but was happier because he had been able to eat lunch (one of his ramen cups, made with some of our tea-time hot water).
Day 7
A short paddle today, putting in at the jetty just up from the inn and paddling out to an island in Loch Ailort. The island had some ruins which are said to the the remains of a Pictish (Iron Age people) fort - but some say it's just volcanic rock. AS we did our morning load-out Ted suggested that we leave some of the group "kit" (such as the tea equipment) behind since we'd only be out for a couple of hours. The group emitted a collective gasp at the notion of skipping tea. Sure enough, even though it made us late in getting on the road we stopped to have tea.
We were back at the Glenuig Inn in time for lunch, so I had my Crofter's Piece (more cheese!) at a table rather than on a rock. From somewhere Ali produced a package of oatcakes, which all assembled agreed greatly improved the enjoyment of the cheeses.
Then it was back into the van one last time for the ride back to Inverness. We said our goodbyes at the Inverness Railway station "car park". Ted and I had a few hours before our sleeper train to London left so we dropped our backs in a locker at the "Left Luggage" and went into town.
Ted chose our restaurant for dinner - an Italian place where he could recharge his depleted calories with pizza and "chips" (fries) - though he had convinced the inn to serve him tomahto-bahsil soup for breakfast! Then we stopped in at the McDonald's for coffee and Wifi. Finally we returned to the station to find - HOLY CRAP! - the Left Luggage room had closed for the night. It hadn't occurred to me that such a place would close up, though indeed they did have hours posted. My mind immediately began to race with thoughts of having to book lodgings and alternative transportation back to London. Fortunately, we found a station employee who was willing to fetch the key and open the room so we could fetch our bags. Whew! We were quite happy to get on the train and settle into our wee berth.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/Nh7YrhQrbGMFemxE9
UK Trip: Days 3 & 4
Day 3
This was our first full day of paddling. The day started with breakfast, both cold (cereals, yoghurt and prunes, of course toast) and hot (black pudding, ham, poached egg and sausage or haddock). We then all loaded into the van for about an hour’s drive to a put-in, including getting mildly lost along the way. Apparently GPS is unknown in the Highlands; the guides did everything the old fashioned way, with big fold-out maps and educated guesses.
Our paddle was, like the day before, on Loch Sunart, but much closer to the mouth of the loch – hence the long drive. We spent about five hours on the water, circumnavigating the Isle of Oronsay. Boy, it was gorgeous. Both green and rocky. Surprisingly clear water. And lots of sea life: seals, sea otters, terns, golden herons. While we were closer to the open sea, it was still a pretty calm environment, except when the wind kicked up at the end.
We were paddling somewhere around here.
Every day our lunch was provided by the inn. Today we had a choice of ham and cheese or “egg mayonnaise”. Well, ham and cheese was out of the question for me. The egg mayonnaise on white bread, gloopy enough at breakfast time, was totally unappealing to me after it had spent half a day in the hatch. Fortunately we traveled with a wide array of snack food and so I had plenty eat – dried fruit, nuts, chocolate bars and some novel (to me) UK foods: Tunnock’s biscuits, and "flapjack". Lunch, of course, concluded with tea and biscuits. I should mention that it wasn’t strictly tea, as every day we also had the choice of French press coffee (they call this type of pot a cafetiere, probably to avoid saying the word “French”, much as in America for a while we ate Freedom Fries) – apparently even the British are giving in to coffee culture.
I have no idea of the distances we paddled on any of the days, but this was one of the longer trips and it was good to get back to the inn and wash up. As always, the group met at the bar, where Ted’s drinking education continued. This evening he had a sweet hard cider which became his drink for the rest of the trip. I decided it was time to dip into the whisky myself and, after getting recommendations from the experienced crew, selected a Macallan 10 year. Good, with a splash of water.Not too "peaty".
Dinner for me was "veg flan” (known to Americans as vegetable quiche) with assorted veg, potato, green beans, salad. Ted had his third burger in three dinners. Having had a longer day on the water, folks turned in a little earlier, in fact just as it was getting dark (that’s a joke – it gets dark at 11).
Day 4
Let me start by quoting the "trip dossier": "Further west lies Ardnamurchan Point - this is one area that we will not sea kayak to as it is the most challenging section of the whole trail, and is for experts only!" So, where did we paddle today? Why, Arnamurchan Point, of course. The forecast called for unusually calm conditions and so the guides asked us if we'd like to take a chance and drive out to the point and see if it was paddle-able. Of course we all said yes! So, into the van we went for another long drive. When we got to the point conditions did indeed look good, however the only launching point was a jetty which appeared to be on someone's property. No one answered the door and so we were a little flummoxed about launching there.
Let me digress here for a second - "jetty" is another Britishism for what we would call a ramp or more generically a put-in. Scottish jetties are distinctive in that they are built with rough conditions and extreme tides in mind: long concrete ramps extending way out into the water so as to be usable under all tidal conditions. For me, the word has a nostalgic ring, as it hearkens back to the British Ant and Bee books I read as a child, one of which involved a trip down a jetty. For some reason I remember reading this word, which was not in our Brooklyn vernacular and seemed quite exotic.
Anyway, having failed to secure permission to launch we decided to drive up the road to the lighthouse. At worst, we'd take in the view. At best, someone might be able to vector us to another, um, jetty. The good news is we accomplished both - someone at the lighthouse knew the owner of the jetty-side house and was able to phone him and get permission for us to use his put-in.
Arnamurchan Point is the westernmost point on the British mainland, and is quite ruggedly beautiful. We had putzed away a bunch of time at the lighthouse and I think the guides were a little worried about conditions taking a turn for the worse and so we had a fairly short day of paddling but Ele, as always, had a good eye for the local sealife, pointing out anemones on the skerries (big rock outcroppings), cormorants and gannett birds.
Our other excitement for the day was Teddy's capsize - the only one of the trip. He was trying out edging technique and pushed a little too far - and over he went! The water in Scotland is pretty chilly (quoted in the dossier as mid fifties but I'd guess actually sixty-ish degrees) but fortunately Ted never feels cold. Also, we have practiced rescues plenty of times and so with Ali's help he was quickly back in his boat and fully recovered. The only real loss is that somehow in the process of falling out he had ripped open the day hatch and lost some of the contents - including his GPS receiver. Lunch, packed by the Ben View Hotel staff, was a nice brie and raspberry sandwich. I'm beginning to get a bettter understanding of Wallace and Gromit: the Brits do love their cheese (and their toast)!
Ted's capsize also leads me to point out an interesting difference between US and UK paddlers: they accept a lot more risk in terms of water temps. The guides were dressed in sailing pants, tucked into tall wellies (rubber boots), with a "cagoule" (paddling jacket) on top. This gear keeps you nice and dry if you launch from a jetty and things go as planned but fails if you capsizeas it does nothing to keep you warm or dry if you wind up in the water. In fact, I'd say the wellies are something of a liability in the water. I can't image a US group going out dressed this way in cool water - maybe it's just American risk aversion. For my part, I wore thin neoprene pants, shirt and socks all week.
We were paddling somewhere around here, with lovely views out to the Isles of Eigg, Muck and Skye.
The end of the day brought another long drive, this time to the Glenuig Inn, located directly on Loch Ailort. The inn had a modern feel to it and our room, unlike the other places, was quite spacious. It turns out the owner, Steve, had recently done a major green renovation of the place. Steve, we learned over the course of our stay, was always quite eager to discourse on his green innovations - as well a any number of other topics. Interestingly, I learned after the fact that Steve's renovation of the inn is quite controversial. If you look on TripAdvisor you'll see that certain people hate him for having ruined a local hangout by having turned it into a sterile place aimed at eco-tourists and serving nothing in the bar but foofie organic whiskies and ales but no lagers (the horror!). Other reviewers think he's created a pretty cool place. Since I arrived with no preconceptions of what a Scottish local inn should be like (and since I'm one of those eco-tourists) I put myself in the second camp.
Dinner for me was a nice spicy bean curry. Ted was beginning to go a little nuts since there was nothing for him to eat outside of breakfast and the nearest store is 20 miles away. After dinner, a little Wifi time and then off to bed.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/AZxFNapwYCvdp3MV8
This was our first full day of paddling. The day started with breakfast, both cold (cereals, yoghurt and prunes, of course toast) and hot (black pudding, ham, poached egg and sausage or haddock). We then all loaded into the van for about an hour’s drive to a put-in, including getting mildly lost along the way. Apparently GPS is unknown in the Highlands; the guides did everything the old fashioned way, with big fold-out maps and educated guesses.
Our paddle was, like the day before, on Loch Sunart, but much closer to the mouth of the loch – hence the long drive. We spent about five hours on the water, circumnavigating the Isle of Oronsay. Boy, it was gorgeous. Both green and rocky. Surprisingly clear water. And lots of sea life: seals, sea otters, terns, golden herons. While we were closer to the open sea, it was still a pretty calm environment, except when the wind kicked up at the end.
We were paddling somewhere around here.
Every day our lunch was provided by the inn. Today we had a choice of ham and cheese or “egg mayonnaise”. Well, ham and cheese was out of the question for me. The egg mayonnaise on white bread, gloopy enough at breakfast time, was totally unappealing to me after it had spent half a day in the hatch. Fortunately we traveled with a wide array of snack food and so I had plenty eat – dried fruit, nuts, chocolate bars and some novel (to me) UK foods: Tunnock’s biscuits, and "flapjack". Lunch, of course, concluded with tea and biscuits. I should mention that it wasn’t strictly tea, as every day we also had the choice of French press coffee (they call this type of pot a cafetiere, probably to avoid saying the word “French”, much as in America for a while we ate Freedom Fries) – apparently even the British are giving in to coffee culture.
I have no idea of the distances we paddled on any of the days, but this was one of the longer trips and it was good to get back to the inn and wash up. As always, the group met at the bar, where Ted’s drinking education continued. This evening he had a sweet hard cider which became his drink for the rest of the trip. I decided it was time to dip into the whisky myself and, after getting recommendations from the experienced crew, selected a Macallan 10 year. Good, with a splash of water.Not too "peaty".
Dinner for me was "veg flan” (known to Americans as vegetable quiche) with assorted veg, potato, green beans, salad. Ted had his third burger in three dinners. Having had a longer day on the water, folks turned in a little earlier, in fact just as it was getting dark (that’s a joke – it gets dark at 11).
Day 4
Let me start by quoting the "trip dossier": "Further west lies Ardnamurchan Point - this is one area that we will not sea kayak to as it is the most challenging section of the whole trail, and is for experts only!" So, where did we paddle today? Why, Arnamurchan Point, of course. The forecast called for unusually calm conditions and so the guides asked us if we'd like to take a chance and drive out to the point and see if it was paddle-able. Of course we all said yes! So, into the van we went for another long drive. When we got to the point conditions did indeed look good, however the only launching point was a jetty which appeared to be on someone's property. No one answered the door and so we were a little flummoxed about launching there.
Let me digress here for a second - "jetty" is another Britishism for what we would call a ramp or more generically a put-in. Scottish jetties are distinctive in that they are built with rough conditions and extreme tides in mind: long concrete ramps extending way out into the water so as to be usable under all tidal conditions. For me, the word has a nostalgic ring, as it hearkens back to the British Ant and Bee books I read as a child, one of which involved a trip down a jetty. For some reason I remember reading this word, which was not in our Brooklyn vernacular and seemed quite exotic.
Anyway, having failed to secure permission to launch we decided to drive up the road to the lighthouse. At worst, we'd take in the view. At best, someone might be able to vector us to another, um, jetty. The good news is we accomplished both - someone at the lighthouse knew the owner of the jetty-side house and was able to phone him and get permission for us to use his put-in.
Arnamurchan Point is the westernmost point on the British mainland, and is quite ruggedly beautiful. We had putzed away a bunch of time at the lighthouse and I think the guides were a little worried about conditions taking a turn for the worse and so we had a fairly short day of paddling but Ele, as always, had a good eye for the local sealife, pointing out anemones on the skerries (big rock outcroppings), cormorants and gannett birds.
Our other excitement for the day was Teddy's capsize - the only one of the trip. He was trying out edging technique and pushed a little too far - and over he went! The water in Scotland is pretty chilly (quoted in the dossier as mid fifties but I'd guess actually sixty-ish degrees) but fortunately Ted never feels cold. Also, we have practiced rescues plenty of times and so with Ali's help he was quickly back in his boat and fully recovered. The only real loss is that somehow in the process of falling out he had ripped open the day hatch and lost some of the contents - including his GPS receiver. Lunch, packed by the Ben View Hotel staff, was a nice brie and raspberry sandwich. I'm beginning to get a bettter understanding of Wallace and Gromit: the Brits do love their cheese (and their toast)!
Ted's capsize also leads me to point out an interesting difference between US and UK paddlers: they accept a lot more risk in terms of water temps. The guides were dressed in sailing pants, tucked into tall wellies (rubber boots), with a "cagoule" (paddling jacket) on top. This gear keeps you nice and dry if you launch from a jetty and things go as planned but fails if you capsizeas it does nothing to keep you warm or dry if you wind up in the water. In fact, I'd say the wellies are something of a liability in the water. I can't image a US group going out dressed this way in cool water - maybe it's just American risk aversion. For my part, I wore thin neoprene pants, shirt and socks all week.
We were paddling somewhere around here, with lovely views out to the Isles of Eigg, Muck and Skye.
The end of the day brought another long drive, this time to the Glenuig Inn, located directly on Loch Ailort. The inn had a modern feel to it and our room, unlike the other places, was quite spacious. It turns out the owner, Steve, had recently done a major green renovation of the place. Steve, we learned over the course of our stay, was always quite eager to discourse on his green innovations - as well a any number of other topics. Interestingly, I learned after the fact that Steve's renovation of the inn is quite controversial. If you look on TripAdvisor you'll see that certain people hate him for having ruined a local hangout by having turned it into a sterile place aimed at eco-tourists and serving nothing in the bar but foofie organic whiskies and ales but no lagers (the horror!). Other reviewers think he's created a pretty cool place. Since I arrived with no preconceptions of what a Scottish local inn should be like (and since I'm one of those eco-tourists) I put myself in the second camp.
Dinner for me was a nice spicy bean curry. Ted was beginning to go a little nuts since there was nothing for him to eat outside of breakfast and the nearest store is 20 miles away. After dinner, a little Wifi time and then off to bed.
Photos: https://goo.gl/photos/AZxFNapwYCvdp3MV8
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