Learning in Waves
Paddling out of the relative protection of the harbor, we met swells approaching head on. On occasion, a wave steepened and rose overhead. While “overhead” in a kayak is only three feet or so, it is nonetheless daunting to be looking up to the top of a wave.
Scanning the group, I checked for signs of each paddler’s comfort. Slower paddling, with a pause in the stroke as a wave passed underneath, would reveal a tentativeness about continuing further. Smaller movements, like paddling with just the arms rather than a twisting motion that incorporated the whole body, would also suggest an element of fear. As I checked the group, each paddler seemed to be paddling within their comfortable limits. Focusing on the wave in front of them, they paddled uphill, the kayak achieving a pitch angle not often experienced at sea level. Passing beneath, the wave momentarily cradled just the cockpit of the 16’ long sea kayaks. The bow and stern were left hanging precariously above the water for just a moment before then plunging down safely on the backside of the wave.
Still, despite the relative calm of their paddling, I noticed that conversation, which had flowed easily in the protection of the harbor, had trickled to near whispers. Silence hung in the air alongside the mist from waves exploding off shoreline crags, and was punctuated only sporadically by shouts of nervous excitement and involuntary yelps as a wave rolled through, steeper and larger than the rest, on its inevitable collision course with the rocks on our right. I wondered if, in the absence of conversation, the words of the dog walker, who had watched in the parking lot as we prepped our drysuits and kayaks, were echoing in their heads. As we described the route for our planned (almost) circumnavigation of Marblehead Neck, she exclaimed:
“Wow, really?! I would have thought it too rough to go around the Neck!”
We had reassured her that, while on somedays, it certainly was too rough, today’s conditions would provide a challenging but safe paddle. How many of them were now wondering if today was in fact “someday”?
As I examined the group, I realized that I too had fallen silent. I had been considering the group’s experience. For most in this group, the conditions were bigger than they had paddled before, but they had taken several clinics and courses that prepared them to handle a situation like this. We had trained on how to control our kayaks, paddle efficiently, brace, and, if needed, perform rescues. Despite the novel challenge, they were well-equipped. Calling out to the group, I reassured them that while these waves felt big, they weren’t breaking, and so were not threatening capsize.
Marblehead Neck is an almost island, connected to the mainland by just a thin causeway separating the Atlantic Ocean from the harbor sheltered harbor. The Neck is vaguely a triangle, with a line drawn from its base to its blunted vertex revealing a north-north-east orientation. Rounding the vertex, we were exposed directly to the building swell from the east.
As we paddled, we watched with one eye fixed on the incoming swells to our left, and another on the large, sharp edged rocks that lined the shore on our right. Ahead of us, the coast swept outward slightly, intercepting our path. At times, the idea of shore can provide welcome relief to a weary paddler. But here, we needed distance. If we traveled too close, the waves would start to feel the shallow bottom. The trough of the wave would catch, stalling long enough to send the top of the wave avalanching toward shore, threatening to surf anything in its path onto the waiting rocks. Reverently, we swung our kayaks toward the south, away from the shore. But as we did, breaking waves to our left betrayed a rocky shoal just feet below the surface. As each wave rolled over the rocks, it quickly steepened, broke, and sent a stampede of whitewater hurtling toward shore. The message was clear: We were to thread a needle of breaking shoreline on our right and cascading waves on our left. It was, to our delight, a relatively large needle, particularly with our narrow and agile kayaks pulling barely relevant threads behind us, but was a needle nonetheless, and we took care to adjust our course precisely as to arrive safely between the opposing threats.
Rounding the southernmost tip of the neck, Flying Point, we pointed our kayaks west, putting the swell almost directly behind us. As we passed in the lee of Tinker’s Island, the waves subsided some, the island absorbing the energy of the swell that had traveled such a long distance to get here. Having faced and overcome the direct exposure of unimpeded swell marshaling against the ocean-facing side of the Neck, we now relaxed in the relatviely calm approach to Deveraux Beach. At the mention of cookies brought for sharing, the group came together in a loose flotilla. Treats and laughs were passed around, and conversation flowed easily. Each paddler experienced the trip differently: Fun, a bit terrifying, invigorating, and challenging. But all agreed, they were glad they had gone through it, and knew that having gone through this experience would have made the next time they paddled feel much easier.
This paddle challenged some of our favorite, long term paddlers to leave their comfort zones. There is risk for sure, in leaving one’s comfort zone. But properly trained and managed, these risks can be minimized. What is the risk, we wonder, of never leaving one’s comfort zone? We know, at least for this group of paddlers, that question has been answered.
