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- Thread starter memaquay
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I'm gonna need a bigger chair
Our last day of paddling dawned clear and bright. That was a nice change. We took our time packing up and getting on the water.
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Unlike the previous days of ragged clouds and gusting winds on this day we enjoyed soft breezes and endless blue.
We stretched a morning paddle into an all day affair. Stopping off for soup and a snooze seemed fitting.
One last hug in the sunshine and it was time to go.
Looking forward to brighter tripping days next year. Peace.
We stretched a morning paddle into an all day affair. Stopping off for soup and a snooze seemed fitting.
One last hug in the sunshine and it was time to go.
Looking forward to brighter tripping days next year. Peace.
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dang, that is a lot of snow!
Bob.
Bob.
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Not a paddling trip, a September backpacking trip in the Wind Rivers. We were up in Cirque of the Towers when it began to snow lightly. A guy hiked past our campsite and called out “Ah, it’s benign”. Next morning it was no longer benign, it was snowing like an SOB and we were a long dang ways from any trailhead.
We hiked out 10 or 12 (16?) miles that day, to a different trailhead than the one where we had left our truck, post holing it every step of the way for the last few miles. And found that same guy sitting in his little Mazda hatchback in several feet of snow. We reintroduced ourselves by banging on his snow covered car window and shouting “Let us in!”
The next morning I woke up in his car and discovered snow level with the bottom of the car window. This is him, Dr. Mike from Kentucky, the next morning.
EK_0041 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrWe were miles up dirt roads through the Indian reservation. A day later two NOLS instructors and two Yellowstone Rangers hiked out to join us. Getting the vehicles out was a long strange trip.
Wow, what a story ... even I my younger days,I want nothing to do with that kind of slog!
Bob
Bob
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Bob, that was an awesome trip, with one of my best backpacking partners (useless as a paddler through), at least until what the Mazda’s radio next morning termed “The biggest summer snowfall in Wyoming history”. It was still, technically, late summer.
The post vehicular escape was more challenging than the miles of post holing.
Mid morning on the day we awoke in the trapped Mazda the Yellowstone Ranger couple and the NOLS instructors couple managed to hike out to their vehicles at that trailhead. I have never been as well loved by strangers as their greetings; they said they could smell my pipe tobacco for miles, and knew they were getting close to something.
The first thing the NOLS couple did was fire up their stove, melt a stick of margarine (butter?), and drink it. Eh, no thanks, I’m fine
The Ranger couple was kinda freaking out; already a day overdue they were concerned that their friends back in the Park would report them missing, and there would be some embarrassing S&R that they would never live down. They were determined to get the hell off the mountain.
And equally determined not to leave us behind. They had a lifted pickup truck. And chains. We shoveled out (we didn’t actually have any shovels, just pots and pans and, thank god, plastic storage boxes) a path forward. Mr. Ranger got running start and plowed ahead (no actual plow) until he could push the snow load no further. Then we “shoveled” that bumper pile away and repeat, and repeat.
When we had 100 yard cleared he backed up, tow-cabled Dr. Mike’s Mazda to his truck and used it as a lower ground clearance “snow plow”. The NOLS couple could then (usually) drive that 100 yards and we would start all over.
The turn off for our hike-in trailhead, and Jim’s pickup truck, was along our route down the mountain. With Mr. Ranger “plowing” the way and our company of valiant pot shovelers we dug our way in and freed Jim’s Toyota to join our caravan.
The snow level gradually decreased as we got to lower elevations, but the hairpin turns often had too-tall drifts. Mr. Ranger got pissed at our lack of progress in the drifts and commenced to back way up, and ram the drifts with his truck. And high center it, so we had to dig his truck wheels-elevated truck out. Several times. There was, I think, some despair as to whether we were getting out that day
It took a long, hard day, working ‘til dusk, to dig/plow/smash our way out.
Our reward was a celebration, eating (and drinking) together a restaurant in Pinedale, the Cowboy Bar IIRC. I remember that when the waitress came, and everyone requested steak and potatoes, I took the liberty of ordering for Jim – “And my friend here would like water, and the vegetarian platter, no dressing please”.
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Time to revive Memaquay’s most long running (since 2013) and posted-to (87 pages) thread. 70,000+ views, but only two “Likes”, must be something about Memaquay. Oh, wait, now it has three “Likes”.
As usual, a story. Years ago, when I belonged to two local paddling clubs and organized group Duckhead trips, one summer event was the “Anything that floats Trip”. One University co-worker, where the Duckheads got their start, despite my cautions, brought his Zodiak.
This was an easy water Potomac trip below Harper’s Ferry, Brunswick to Mouth-of-Monocacy. But still, 12.5 miles is a long way for some folks, especially if they are rowing a freaking Zodiak.
One year, for some wild hair reason, that trip was not only on the Duckhead schedule, it was also on the schedule for the Baltimore Canoe Club and the Monocacy Canoe Club. I should note that the shuttle for those 12.5 miles is like 50 miles of backcountry roads and waiting for Mr. Peabody’s coal train to pass.
Boat laden cars kept freaking arriving at the put in, and the crossloading plan of boats for the shuttle was revised several times. There were, by necessity, some pyramid stacks.
Arriving at the put in I realized this was a massive group, with a fair number of novices, and decided to send them off five minutes apart in groups of 10 or 12, with more experienced paddlers in front and back. That worked well for sending off the first few groups, but two young couples had staged their boats on the ramp, and I gently chivied them along by saying “Ok, ready to go? You’ll be with this group, Bill there will lead you and Dave there will bring up the rear”
To which they replied “We’re not with your group, but thanks anyway”
I took the last group out, my wife and sons and another dozen. Late arrivals were still showing up at the put in – with no shuttle plan. One of them managed to capsize in the flattest of flatwater, all of 30 feet from the launch. What have I impetuously gotten myself into?
But we managed to cat herd them all downriver, and leader Bill (Will Derness here on Canoe Tripping) knew a broad sandy beach half way down where a side stream came in, for a group gathering, headcount and picnic lunch respite.
I could not fit them all in one photographic field of view, even from up on the hill. I had no wide angle lens.
EK_0045 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
I remember the numbers; 64 paddlers, and 40-some boats.
It was a zoo, but gawd it was fun. And tasty too; everyone had outdone themselves with lunch foodstuffs, and wanted to share their wares.
Like the line in cop-buddy movies, “I’m too old for that crap”, but it was awfully entertaining while it lasted.
As usual, a story. Years ago, when I belonged to two local paddling clubs and organized group Duckhead trips, one summer event was the “Anything that floats Trip”. One University co-worker, where the Duckheads got their start, despite my cautions, brought his Zodiak.
This was an easy water Potomac trip below Harper’s Ferry, Brunswick to Mouth-of-Monocacy. But still, 12.5 miles is a long way for some folks, especially if they are rowing a freaking Zodiak.
One year, for some wild hair reason, that trip was not only on the Duckhead schedule, it was also on the schedule for the Baltimore Canoe Club and the Monocacy Canoe Club. I should note that the shuttle for those 12.5 miles is like 50 miles of backcountry roads and waiting for Mr. Peabody’s coal train to pass.
Boat laden cars kept freaking arriving at the put in, and the crossloading plan of boats for the shuttle was revised several times. There were, by necessity, some pyramid stacks.
Arriving at the put in I realized this was a massive group, with a fair number of novices, and decided to send them off five minutes apart in groups of 10 or 12, with more experienced paddlers in front and back. That worked well for sending off the first few groups, but two young couples had staged their boats on the ramp, and I gently chivied them along by saying “Ok, ready to go? You’ll be with this group, Bill there will lead you and Dave there will bring up the rear”
To which they replied “We’re not with your group, but thanks anyway”
I took the last group out, my wife and sons and another dozen. Late arrivals were still showing up at the put in – with no shuttle plan. One of them managed to capsize in the flattest of flatwater, all of 30 feet from the launch. What have I impetuously gotten myself into?
But we managed to cat herd them all downriver, and leader Bill (Will Derness here on Canoe Tripping) knew a broad sandy beach half way down where a side stream came in, for a group gathering, headcount and picnic lunch respite.
I could not fit them all in one photographic field of view, even from up on the hill. I had no wide angle lens.
EK_0045 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrI remember the numbers; 64 paddlers, and 40-some boats.
It was a zoo, but gawd it was fun. And tasty too; everyone had outdone themselves with lunch foodstuffs, and wanted to share their wares.
Like the line in cop-buddy movies, “I’m too old for that crap”, but it was awfully entertaining while it lasted.
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Snow Fun
We enjoy oddball snow play. On a late spring trip out to the mountains of western Maryland there was a surprise snowfall. Meanwhile, back 200 miles east in town, the Tulips were poking their heads up. We felt it only right and proper to share our crystalline good fortune with the folks back home, and built a snowman in the bed of the pickup.
Well, a snow woman, with big bazongas. So that she would survive the trip east to warmer climes we iced her down the evening before we left.
EK_0028 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
She not only survived the ride back, she made a full 50 mile circumnavigation of the Baltimore Beltway, much to the horn honking thumbs-up delight of our fellow travelers. Such a worthwhile endeavor.
Even more worthwhile, when the boys had just started in elementary school, we had a rare December blizzard that dropped three feet of snow. Our dirt driveway is steep, and 440 feet long, and we were already accustomed to parking up top when it snowed and trudging up to the cars every morning to go to work and school.
Rather than have to joylessly trudge down each evening snow we decided the best solution was to each carry a sled up in the morning, when the boys went to meet the school bus in the morning and when we went to work, and at least partake a free ride down when we returned in the evening.
BUT, there is a barbed wire farmer’s fence on one side, which did not bode well for sledding miscues. So we built a luge run, with high walls and banked turns, shoveling snow into the driveway. I had to dash out of the house a few weeks later and stop one of my helpful neighbors from plowing our driveway before he made it to the steeply angled / starting platform.
This is the luge run some months later, when much of that blizzard and subsequent snowfalls had finally begun to melt.
EK_0034 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
It is hard to tell, but there are two parallel tracks that run down the driveway hill, converging just past the tree line, and a banked half-circle run out just at the front door, should you decide to turn there and stop at the house.
No need to stop if you didn’t want to, we extended the luge past the house, through the woods and all the way to the creek. It was a long, exhilarating ride all the way to the end, which did a few times end up with one of the boys returning wet from the stream, but happily victorious in distance covered.
The best part of that driveway luge was only realized the next spring, when our neighbors at the top of the driveway related how they enjoyed watching my business-dressed wife return from work, put on a pair of boots, grab a sled and fly down the hill, clutching her briefcase in her lap.
Man hauling trash and recycling cans up, strapped to a toboggan, was a PITA. Bringing groceries home was easier, provided you didn’t crash half way down and spill the beans. It was well worth it.
We enjoy oddball snow play. On a late spring trip out to the mountains of western Maryland there was a surprise snowfall. Meanwhile, back 200 miles east in town, the Tulips were poking their heads up. We felt it only right and proper to share our crystalline good fortune with the folks back home, and built a snowman in the bed of the pickup.
Well, a snow woman, with big bazongas. So that she would survive the trip east to warmer climes we iced her down the evening before we left.
EK_0028 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrShe not only survived the ride back, she made a full 50 mile circumnavigation of the Baltimore Beltway, much to the horn honking thumbs-up delight of our fellow travelers. Such a worthwhile endeavor.
Even more worthwhile, when the boys had just started in elementary school, we had a rare December blizzard that dropped three feet of snow. Our dirt driveway is steep, and 440 feet long, and we were already accustomed to parking up top when it snowed and trudging up to the cars every morning to go to work and school.
Rather than have to joylessly trudge down each evening snow we decided the best solution was to each carry a sled up in the morning, when the boys went to meet the school bus in the morning and when we went to work, and at least partake a free ride down when we returned in the evening.
BUT, there is a barbed wire farmer’s fence on one side, which did not bode well for sledding miscues. So we built a luge run, with high walls and banked turns, shoveling snow into the driveway. I had to dash out of the house a few weeks later and stop one of my helpful neighbors from plowing our driveway before he made it to the steeply angled / starting platform.
This is the luge run some months later, when much of that blizzard and subsequent snowfalls had finally begun to melt.
EK_0034 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrIt is hard to tell, but there are two parallel tracks that run down the driveway hill, converging just past the tree line, and a banked half-circle run out just at the front door, should you decide to turn there and stop at the house.
No need to stop if you didn’t want to, we extended the luge past the house, through the woods and all the way to the creek. It was a long, exhilarating ride all the way to the end, which did a few times end up with one of the boys returning wet from the stream, but happily victorious in distance covered.
The best part of that driveway luge was only realized the next spring, when our neighbors at the top of the driveway related how they enjoyed watching my business-dressed wife return from work, put on a pair of boots, grab a sled and fly down the hill, clutching her briefcase in her lap.
Man hauling trash and recycling cans up, strapped to a toboggan, was a PITA. Bringing groceries home was easier, provided you didn’t crash half way down and spill the beans. It was well worth it.
Two photos from a one night canoe camping outing in October. When I headed out it had been raining all day, temps in the 40's and a stiff north wind. Although I made it to the island I planned to camp on, I had to abandon the usual site and make camp in sheltered spot at the downwind end of the island.
Just before sunset the front moved through, the wind began to abate, and there was a peek of clearing in the west.
The next morning, it was a new lake.
This was the north shore of "Plum Island" on Third Machias.
Just before sunset the front moved through, the wind began to abate, and there was a peek of clearing in the west.
The next morning, it was a new lake.
This was the north shore of "Plum Island" on Third Machias.
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I love this longest running CT thread. Thanks Mem.
Some long gone Duckhead lore. Years ago, on the same weekend the Pope visited Baltimore, we had a Duckhead trip scheduled to western Maryland. It was a tough decision for some of our more Catholic friends, but most of them opted to head west, for communal worship of a sort in the mountains.
Having set the trip schedule a year in advance I felt some responsibility for their missing His Holiness. What to do? How can I make that up to them?
I know, a surprise visit from an alternative Holiness.
EK_0020 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
So yeah, I’m going to hell. I expect to meet a lot of old friends there.
That headdress and overalls vestments are not actually the official robes of the Chief Duckhead. There is ceremony and dignity in holding that (accent on the) high office.
EK_0019 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Some long gone Duckhead lore. Years ago, on the same weekend the Pope visited Baltimore, we had a Duckhead trip scheduled to western Maryland. It was a tough decision for some of our more Catholic friends, but most of them opted to head west, for communal worship of a sort in the mountains.
Having set the trip schedule a year in advance I felt some responsibility for their missing His Holiness. What to do? How can I make that up to them?
I know, a surprise visit from an alternative Holiness.
EK_0020 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrSo yeah, I’m going to hell. I expect to meet a lot of old friends there.
That headdress and overalls vestments are not actually the official robes of the Chief Duckhead. There is ceremony and dignity in holding that (accent on the) high office.
EK_0019 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Observed on my local lake:
This Whitetail doe apparently got tangled in the shoreside morass of sticks & mud after going in for a drink. I would judge it to have been a yearling of about 50-60 pounds. Paddling by I mistook the floating portion of it's hide for a seat cushion and I was going to fish it out of the drink to dispose of it when I realized it was a deer carcass. Unfortunate certainly, but we're overrun by deer where I live so no great loss to the local deer herd!
This Whitetail doe apparently got tangled in the shoreside morass of sticks & mud after going in for a drink. I would judge it to have been a yearling of about 50-60 pounds. Paddling by I mistook the floating portion of it's hide for a seat cushion and I was going to fish it out of the drink to dispose of it when I realized it was a deer carcass. Unfortunate certainly, but we're overrun by deer where I live so no great loss to the local deer herd!
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A couple more 70’s Assateague canoe trip photos.
My backpacking partner Jim was wonderful hiking companion, but absolutely useless at providing any bow propulsion with a paddle. He did make an effective tow mule across the shallows.
EK_0027 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
My all-time favorite backpacking and cross country travel partner Brian on one Assateague trip brought his then girlfriend, who shall remain nameless.
EK_0029 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
(Love that garbage bag storage; I don’t think we owned a single dry bag between us)
Brian was the calmest, quietest, most even keeled guy I have ever known, days would pass on long cross country trip and we wouldn’t exchange a dozen words. Didn’t need to, we knew each other’s moods, intentions and desires on sight. The extent of our daily conversations would consist of a few dozen words; “Hungry?”, “Yup”, and “Stop soon?”, “Eh, not yet”
Ellie – I mean she-who-will-remain-nameless – was a piece of work. Three days into that trip we were windbound at a peninsula site, and stayed windbound for a couple days. Our site became an island in its own right, surrounded by water on all sides, as the wind continued to howl. We were OK on potable water (and beer), but running a bit low on victuals.
Fortunately we had a clam rake, and between the steamed clams and mussels (and a bottle of Tequila) muddled through, until a Ranger waded over to our “island” on evening and said “This isn’t gonna let up, we’ll evacuate you up the beachfront tomorrow morning. Paddle over to the shore around 10 tomorrow and we’ll give you a ride back”.
Crossing that 200 yards of shallow water in high wind was, uh, challenging, especially because I had Useless Jim as my bowman. It could have been worse; half way across I heard calm, quiet Brian bellow “Jesus F@#$*&% Christ, give me something to work with!” and looked behind to see them spun around facing in the wrong direction, going nowhere.
(I still bellow than phrase at him occasionally, just for the hell of it)
We, and they, did eventually make it across to the beachfront, where the Rangers were waiting with a 4WD pickup and a canoe trailer. Racked the canoes, climbed into the pickup bed and had a glorious ride up the beach front back to our trucks at the launch
“Glorious” in part because we have saved our last four beers for that ride out, and because the Rangers would occasionally swerve into the surf and douse us. Our appreciative hooting and hollering only made them do that into the surf-swerve more frequently.
Still one of the most memorable Assateague trips ever.
FWIW the Rangers do not provide rescue for the weather watch ignorant these days; you are on your own, hike out along the beach front if need be.
My backpacking partner Jim was wonderful hiking companion, but absolutely useless at providing any bow propulsion with a paddle. He did make an effective tow mule across the shallows.
EK_0027 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrMy all-time favorite backpacking and cross country travel partner Brian on one Assateague trip brought his then girlfriend, who shall remain nameless.
EK_0029 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr(Love that garbage bag storage; I don’t think we owned a single dry bag between us)
Brian was the calmest, quietest, most even keeled guy I have ever known, days would pass on long cross country trip and we wouldn’t exchange a dozen words. Didn’t need to, we knew each other’s moods, intentions and desires on sight. The extent of our daily conversations would consist of a few dozen words; “Hungry?”, “Yup”, and “Stop soon?”, “Eh, not yet”
Ellie – I mean she-who-will-remain-nameless – was a piece of work. Three days into that trip we were windbound at a peninsula site, and stayed windbound for a couple days. Our site became an island in its own right, surrounded by water on all sides, as the wind continued to howl. We were OK on potable water (and beer), but running a bit low on victuals.
Fortunately we had a clam rake, and between the steamed clams and mussels (and a bottle of Tequila) muddled through, until a Ranger waded over to our “island” on evening and said “This isn’t gonna let up, we’ll evacuate you up the beachfront tomorrow morning. Paddle over to the shore around 10 tomorrow and we’ll give you a ride back”.
Crossing that 200 yards of shallow water in high wind was, uh, challenging, especially because I had Useless Jim as my bowman. It could have been worse; half way across I heard calm, quiet Brian bellow “Jesus F@#$*&% Christ, give me something to work with!” and looked behind to see them spun around facing in the wrong direction, going nowhere.
(I still bellow than phrase at him occasionally, just for the hell of it)
We, and they, did eventually make it across to the beachfront, where the Rangers were waiting with a 4WD pickup and a canoe trailer. Racked the canoes, climbed into the pickup bed and had a glorious ride up the beach front back to our trucks at the launch
“Glorious” in part because we have saved our last four beers for that ride out, and because the Rangers would occasionally swerve into the surf and douse us. Our appreciative hooting and hollering only made them do that into the surf-swerve more frequently.
Still one of the most memorable Assateague trips ever.
FWIW the Rangers do not provide rescue for the weather watch ignorant these days; you are on your own, hike out along the beach front if need be.
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Best and worst of boats
Among the best decked canoes ever produced. Foreground, Clipper Sea1, Kruger Sea Wind. Background, Sawyer Loon, Bell Rob Roy (all kevlar*)
EK_0012 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
*That is actually a carbon/kevlar Loon, from the last iteration of Sawyer; pretty hull, but the bottom oil canned in even minor waves.
Among the worst open canoes ever (mass) produced. Foreground, Old Town Ojibway, background Mad River Adventure 16
EK_0006 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr
Neither of those are actually bad canoes for causal paddling, but they weigh a poly ton, have no yoke and the molded “gunwales” are massive wide, and impossible to grasp even if you could somehow get the dang thing on your shoulders. There is a reason so many Adventure 16’s (and 14’s) are for sale used.
The Ojibway deserves special dishonorable mention, it was actually a nice padding poly hull, unfloppy stiff with a shallow arch bottom and some rocker.
But, big but, or maybe tiny butt, the stern seat, set within the massive molded gunwales, was only 12” wide at the back end, no one’s arse would fit on that seat. The only way to paddle from the stern seat was kneeling, provided your butt fit on the still very narrow front, sharp edge of the seat, or to sit atop the huge stern deck plate with a large rubber carry handle wedged in your butt crack.
The Ojibway made me curious; did no one at Old Town even try paddling a prototype of that canoe before they started popping them out of the mold? dang shame; with a workable stern seat the Ojibway might have been one of the better poly canoes.
I believe OT only produced the Ojibway for a single year. Little wonder why.
Among the best decked canoes ever produced. Foreground, Clipper Sea1, Kruger Sea Wind. Background, Sawyer Loon, Bell Rob Roy (all kevlar*)
EK_0012 by Mike McCrea, on Flickr*That is actually a carbon/kevlar Loon, from the last iteration of Sawyer; pretty hull, but the bottom oil canned in even minor waves.
Among the worst open canoes ever (mass) produced. Foreground, Old Town Ojibway, background Mad River Adventure 16
EK_0006 by Mike McCrea, on FlickrNeither of those are actually bad canoes for causal paddling, but they weigh a poly ton, have no yoke and the molded “gunwales” are massive wide, and impossible to grasp even if you could somehow get the dang thing on your shoulders. There is a reason so many Adventure 16’s (and 14’s) are for sale used.
The Ojibway deserves special dishonorable mention, it was actually a nice padding poly hull, unfloppy stiff with a shallow arch bottom and some rocker.
But, big but, or maybe tiny butt, the stern seat, set within the massive molded gunwales, was only 12” wide at the back end, no one’s arse would fit on that seat. The only way to paddle from the stern seat was kneeling, provided your butt fit on the still very narrow front, sharp edge of the seat, or to sit atop the huge stern deck plate with a large rubber carry handle wedged in your butt crack.
The Ojibway made me curious; did no one at Old Town even try paddling a prototype of that canoe before they started popping them out of the mold? dang shame; with a workable stern seat the Ojibway might have been one of the better poly canoes.
I believe OT only produced the Ojibway for a single year. Little wonder why.
G
