In February 2015, we were going to spend a weekend on Orcas Island in the Puget Sound of Washington. I started dreaming up a plan to paddle from North Beach (the north tip of the island) to the east, around Lawrence Point then to Doe Bay Resort. I calculated this to be about a 10.5 mile trip It seemed that all of the ducks were lining up perfectly: weather, wind, tide/currents, and time. And, yes, I planned a solo trip with full safety gear and dry suit.
So, I launched early and started my voyage. Yes, the ducks were lined up perfectly. A few miles on, however, I realized that I missed a duck. Yes, the wind and current was at my back, but there was at least 20 miles of open water for waves to build up. I was fighting 2+ft following seas constantly and tiring fast. Lawrence Point was about 8 miles from North Beach. IF I could pass the Point I would be sheltered from the wind. About 5-6 miles out was my Oh Crap! moment. I headed to shore and called 911, who patched me through to Coast Guard, who contacted the local Sheriff Marine Patrol. An hour or so later, the boat appeared. I paddled out and they kindly pulled my and the kayak onto their launch. One of the comments that they made on the way back to North Beach has always stuck with me. They said that they really prefer to rescue live victims to dead ones.
Would it have been different if I had paddled with another person or group? I donât know. I have a pretty strong self preservation mindset. Thatâs what put me on the shore before something bad happened. Would other paddlers have pressured me into continuing? Would I have been stronger with the support of other paddlers? In any case, Iâd love to try this trip again ~ with another paddler or group!
I was going for a routine paddle with the dog. Loaded the boat, put boat in water, got in, loaded dog, floated at shoreline while putting on paddling gloves and then shoved off. Quickly realized that I didnât have a paddle but now 10 feet from shore and headed downstream. No time to take gloves off so just said DOWN! as I leaned forward and frantically paddled to shore using my hands.
Well, this is a slowly evolving âcrap.â Iâve got 2 or 3 actually, but this one is timely in a sense given that it occurred on an Easter Sunday, nearly 40 years ago (maybe instead of an âOh Crapâ moment it was an âOh Jesusâ moment). Anyway, this was in Long Island Sound back when I lived in Connecticut. I hadnât been in my boat for a few months. The water was still frigid and the air was brisk but I was itching to get back out on the water after a winter layoff. And so I did. I was the only boat out there. I was quite alone. I guess everyone else was preparing their ham and whatnot. Anyway, I had been out maybe half an hour or soâŚa good bit offshoreâŚand something just didnât feel quite right. I continued to paddle, becoming increasingly ill at ease. Eventually, it became quite obvious that my boatâs trim was bad and getting worse. The bow was riding low in the water, then lower and then lower still. Obviously, something was amiss. Itâs really hard to make any forward progress in a boat whose bow is half submerged. The tide was ebbing (towards the open Atlantic) and the wind was blowing offshore! There was a low-tide-only rocky outcropping that was still above water, and close enough that I thought that maybe, just maybe, I would be able to reach. I paddled as hard as I could and managed, just barely, to reach it. I pulled by boat up on the rocks and popped the forward hatch cover and the compartment was more than half filled with water. Apparently, I had removed the inside neoprene hatch cover for cleaning the preceding season and just put it inside the compartment rather than around the rim. So the plastic hatch cover by itself, allowed some water entry as I paddled and as the bow got closer to the water, the water came in faster and faster. Lesson learned.
Lightfoote , a friend and I had a similar experience on Lake Hartwell. Got separated in a stiff wind. She called 911 and the Sherriffâs Dept boat eventually showed up, a story in itself.
The wind was gone and the lake flat; kind of embarrassing . We apologized but the officers said they enjoyed the outcome because we were alive unlike many of their customers.
They made us put our kayaks on their boat and took us to our ramp.
Zooming away from the boat launch on top of the world after nailing my first roll and realizing I hadnât tied the kayak down.
that endless frozen second sticking straight up in the air during my first reverse endo in an 18 foot sea kayak
the time I got heat sick woozies in 105 degrees and had to pitch a tent in the shade to lay down and recover, then when I continued on my way the most beautiful rainbow appeared in the most beautiful sky and for a moment I was pretty sure I had died
Some years ago my wife and I were paddling on Creve Coeur Lake in St. Louis County. Every thing was at flood stage. The creek from the lake that feed into the Missouri River was accessible by going thru a small rapids. My wife suggested this wasnât a good idea in our Old Town Loon 138. I went anyway no problem until returning back to the rapids after making it all the way to the river. Decided instead of portaging around the rapids I could paddle into this calm area .
All was good until when I went around the fast water and rolled the kayak when I came around. Dumped me out of the kayak and it float some distance back towards the river. The Loon 138 would not sink but there was no reentry when it is filled with water. The Creek had really high banks and had to find a spot I could pull it on shore and drain it. And did I mention it was in the high 90âs that day.
Brand new kayaker here, and I had my first âoh crapâ moment yesterday:
I (knowingly) paddled from Sausalito around Yellow Bluff into San Francisco Bay at PRECISELY max ebb current.
For the first time, I was in a situation I could not control - the current was FAST and it immediately pulled me out into the Bay.
SF Bay is no joke - there are surfable waves under the Golden Gate, and the currents can pull people out to sea.
But I reckon I did the right thing, told myself not to panic. Didnât fight the current but directed myself diagonally across it to the eddy just north of Lemon Point, and soon found myself washed up on some rocks.
Pulled out and hung out on a little hidden beach with the most amazing view for about three hours till near slack current.
WellâŚI was very new. Had purchased my first Dicks kayak and hit the channel. The channel that I refer to is a canal that opens to Lake Michigan in NW Indiana. It was a sit in and all was going so well. We (my wife, daughter an I) spent time paddling a little up channel with little to no current. We decided to paddle and explore a bit. We headed toward the lake, and realized that the current was strong enough that is was going to be a real workout to get back to our start point. I was ahead of the small pack, and paddled next to an old railroad bridge. The current and the swirling water next to the bridge abutment began to control my kayak, and I was now held against the concrete abutment. I knew I was going to be sucked down and would surely drown. My wife says that she has never seen me more âterrifiedâ as I was in fear of dying. I was finally able to paddle out of it and to shore. In tact !!! Definitely one of my scariest moments. Feel free to laugh at me, everyone does.
That reminds me of my first Dickâs 9 ft Perception Swifty. I never had a scary moment, but I learned about hull speed. I drilled a 1/4 inch hole at the top of the stern to drain water. I could figure out how I ended up with one or two gallons of water in the boat when i returned to shore. The water was there even if there were no waves. My son in law paddled with me on one trip and explained that the stern deck would sink up to within about six inches of the coming when I paddled hard. Water entered the drain hole while the deck was submerged. I bought a 12 ft boat, which solved the problem, then a 14 ft and finally a 17 ft.
10-15 years ago (still get an adrenaline hit when recalling this) in March (Michigan), I met some folks for a âfirst time out this yearâ run, despite miserably cold weather. Water was high from Spring thaw, and we hoped to do a little practicing on the few tame rapids downstream. I got stupidly distracted looking up high at some bird or something with my bow pointing upstream, and was oblivious to the fact the current had really picked up and I had rounded a bend. Someone yelled, âLook out!â I spun around and found myself just a few feet upstream of a huge tree that had recently fallen across the river. There was no time to ferry across to a clear slot at the river right bank, and I knew I wasnât strong enough to lean into the tree trunk and then inch my way over to the slot. I leaned upstream to quickly capsize and slip under and clear of the tree, and then rolled up downstream of it. It was pure dumb luck that I wasnât pinned by debris when I went under, and that I was able to roll up on the first try. Really, really scary.