On an average day, I put on a suit and tie, jump in the car, and drive to work. At the day's end I loosen my tie, get back in the car, and drive home. This ritual does not demand much of me, physically or mentally. Paddle commuting is different, and not just in terms of physical exertion. Paddle commuting requires forethought. Some might say this is not my strong suit.
On the afternoon of Monday, June 6 my schedule was filled with meetings. By the time they were all wrapped up, it was late and I was tired. Perhaps it wasn't the best day for river commuting. So I got a ride home from a co-worker who lives in my neighborhood.
On the morning of Monday, June 13, I woke up eager to paddle to work. Unfortunately, my boat was already at work because I hadn't paddled it home yet and instead left it at Thompson Boat Center all week. Fortunately, a neighbor right across the street (not the ride-home-giving co-worker neighbor) had previously offered me the use of his kayak whenever I needed it (nice neighbors, right?). At the time, I saw no need to borrow his boat because it is the same model as my own, only blue. But on this morning, it was the same model as my own, only...available. Once again, good neighbors had overcome bad planning!
It was a beautiful early summer morning, and I was looking forward to soaking in the sights and sounds of the Potomac. On my way home from walking my kids to school, I gratefully picked up my neighbor's boat. Shortly thereafter, I was on the canal heading downstream and downtown.
Arriving at Fletcher's, I pulled the blue kayak out of the canal and carried it down towards the river at Fletcher's Cove. Walking out on the dock with the boat on my shoulder, I felt the urge to check my Blackberry to review my schedule for the day. Hmmm...it appears that I have a meeting in just under an hour...and I still need to paddle from Fletcher's to Thompson, stow the boat, walk the rest of the way to my office, shower and put on a suit, pull together what I need for the meeting, and get to the meeting on time. Hmmm...forethought...might not be my strong suit.
Just then, my next door neighbor pulled up to the dock in one of those flat-bottomed fan boats like you take on alligator-hunting expeditions in the Everglades, and offered to tow me in to Foggy Bottom. That last part wasn't true. You are not allowed to hunt alligators in the Everglades. Oh, and my neighbor doesn't have one of those boats either. I only wish he did. This time there was no neighbor to save me from myself.
The only sights and sounds I can recall from this morning's ride are: 1) my watch, and 2) my panting.
Upon my breathless arrival at Thompson, I hauled the blue kayak inside the boathouse only to find a yellow kayak already in my rack. Hmmm...can two kayaks fit in one rack space? Barely. Phew. Now if I keep hustling, I just might make it to my meeting on time.
As I took my place at the conference table with minutes to spare I was filled with an irrational, private self-satisfaction. Then a thought occurred to me. Hmmm...now I have two kayaks at work and none at home. I'm going to need to give this situation some thought.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Day four, Monday, June 6, 2011 - Free Fishing Day
I am not a fisherman, nor do I play one on TV. So, I was not aware that as part of National Fishing and Boating Week, June 6 is a "free fishing day" - a day on which a person may legally fish in the District of Columbia without a fishing license. And there I was, up the river without a tackle box.
When I arrived at Fletcher's Boat House and pulled my boat out of the canal, I immediately saw more activity than usual: at the bait and snack concession, on the dock, and on the water. I carried my kayak down to the dock, and as I set it in the water of Fletcher's Cove I was disheartened to see much more trash than usual bobbing on the surface. Looking out on the river, I could see no fewer than a dozen red, rental rowboats full of fishermen with their lines in the water. Not being a fisherman myself, I jumped to the conclusion that fishing season had begun, and that I would be encountering this level of activity all summer long. On one hand, I was pleased to see so many people out enjoying the river at 8:30 on a Monday morning. On the other hand, I was sad to see so many people simultaneously appreciating and depreciating their river. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?
(music swells) It's like ray-i-ain on your weddin' day...it's a free-ee ri-ee-i-ide when you've already paid...it's the good advice, that you just didn't take...and who would've thought, it figures. (music fades) Alanis Morissette flashback. My apologies.
Paddling out of Fletcher's Cove into the river channel, the boats thinned out quickly. By the time I rounded the first bend downstream, there were very few rowboats in sight. Soon, I had returned to the familiar solitude of the Potomac. While it is possible that the best fishing is right in Fletcher's Cove, I suspect that this morning's crowd was simply in no shape to row too far to catch a fish. They didn't bear much resemblance to the rowers I typically pass, skimming by in sleek skulls. I'm just sayin'.
Continuing downstream, I was troubled by the thought of encountering this garbage-strewn congestion all summer long. And, I was concerned for the river itself. I determined to get on the web and look into the duration of fishing season as soon as I arrived at my desk. In the meantime, I would enjoy the beautiful morning.
Most notable this day were the families of ducks and geese. It must be that May is the time for Make Way for Ducklings-style cute lines of fuzzy baby birds trailing behind their mamas. June turns out to be the time of avian adolescence. Gangly, mottled goose and duck teens were hanging around with their parents on the shore, the rocks, and the water. They didn't travel in coordinated lines, but rather in loose groupings with some straying off on their own, some mixing in with other groups, and many just lounging in the sun - napping, chattering, bickering. They were a lot like human teens without Facebook...and with beaks.
When I eventually arrived at Thompson Boat Center I saw rowers, and no fishermen. I racked my boat, walked up the street to my office, turned on my computer, opened a browser window, and Googled "DC fishing season." The first page to come up was "Fishing in the District" on the District Department of the Environment website. You already know the punchline. I learned that it was "free fishing day"- not the start of fishing season and a months-long assault on the river and its finny inhabitants.
Having had "free fishing day" sprung on me like this, I now find myself terrified of searching for a street spot on "free parking day," walking through Rock Creek Park on "free hunting day," and of being groomed by a lowland gorilla on "free the animals in National Zoo day." You just never know what to expect in the Nation's Capital.
When I arrived at Fletcher's Boat House and pulled my boat out of the canal, I immediately saw more activity than usual: at the bait and snack concession, on the dock, and on the water. I carried my kayak down to the dock, and as I set it in the water of Fletcher's Cove I was disheartened to see much more trash than usual bobbing on the surface. Looking out on the river, I could see no fewer than a dozen red, rental rowboats full of fishermen with their lines in the water. Not being a fisherman myself, I jumped to the conclusion that fishing season had begun, and that I would be encountering this level of activity all summer long. On one hand, I was pleased to see so many people out enjoying the river at 8:30 on a Monday morning. On the other hand, I was sad to see so many people simultaneously appreciating and depreciating their river. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?
(music swells) It's like ray-i-ain on your weddin' day...it's a free-ee ri-ee-i-ide when you've already paid...it's the good advice, that you just didn't take...and who would've thought, it figures. (music fades) Alanis Morissette flashback. My apologies.
Paddling out of Fletcher's Cove into the river channel, the boats thinned out quickly. By the time I rounded the first bend downstream, there were very few rowboats in sight. Soon, I had returned to the familiar solitude of the Potomac. While it is possible that the best fishing is right in Fletcher's Cove, I suspect that this morning's crowd was simply in no shape to row too far to catch a fish. They didn't bear much resemblance to the rowers I typically pass, skimming by in sleek skulls. I'm just sayin'.
Continuing downstream, I was troubled by the thought of encountering this garbage-strewn congestion all summer long. And, I was concerned for the river itself. I determined to get on the web and look into the duration of fishing season as soon as I arrived at my desk. In the meantime, I would enjoy the beautiful morning.
Most notable this day were the families of ducks and geese. It must be that May is the time for Make Way for Ducklings-style cute lines of fuzzy baby birds trailing behind their mamas. June turns out to be the time of avian adolescence. Gangly, mottled goose and duck teens were hanging around with their parents on the shore, the rocks, and the water. They didn't travel in coordinated lines, but rather in loose groupings with some straying off on their own, some mixing in with other groups, and many just lounging in the sun - napping, chattering, bickering. They were a lot like human teens without Facebook...and with beaks.
When I eventually arrived at Thompson Boat Center I saw rowers, and no fishermen. I racked my boat, walked up the street to my office, turned on my computer, opened a browser window, and Googled "DC fishing season." The first page to come up was "Fishing in the District" on the District Department of the Environment website. You already know the punchline. I learned that it was "free fishing day"- not the start of fishing season and a months-long assault on the river and its finny inhabitants.
Having had "free fishing day" sprung on me like this, I now find myself terrified of searching for a street spot on "free parking day," walking through Rock Creek Park on "free hunting day," and of being groomed by a lowland gorilla on "free the animals in National Zoo day." You just never know what to expect in the Nation's Capital.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Day three, Monday, May 9, 2011 - angle of the sun, rising of the moon
At 7pm, I dropped my kayak in the water off the big launch ramp at Thompson Boat Center. As soon as I sat in the boat, I immediately recalled something I had filed in my brain under, "Don't Forget This Again." Bring sunglasses.
In the morning on the way in to work and in the evening on the way home, the angle of the sun is perfectly aligned with my iris, striking hard at the spot where my optic nerve meets my retina. Translation - "Agh! Bright light...blinding...Jim...pass...glasses..." (end scene as Starship Enterprise careens into a black hole, or whatever) This has happened every time I have attempted this river commuting thing. And every time, I have thought, "I really need sunglasses to enjoy this." Well, I may file that thought under, "Christy told me to do such-and-such" instead. That tends to be the best place for me to file thoughts that I really intend to act on. The next post may prove or disprove that theory.
The conditions on the river appeared to be so perfect that I considered paddling up the river all the way to Fletcher's Cove, instead of going via the canal. However, by the time I was approaching Key Bridge, the persistent headwind and steady current let me know that I wasn't quite up for that challenge yet. That is, if I wanted to get home on the same day. Pulling up to the dock at Jack's Boathouse, I quickly jumped out of the boat, yanked it onto my shoulder, and hotstepped it up the stairs and onto Water Street, hoping that Jack's staff wouldn't object to me using their dock, or worse yet, think I was stealing a boat. From there, I crossed the street and ascended the cement staircase from the base of the bridge up to the canal. I don't mind the scent of urine in the stairwell as much as the thought of encountering the perpetrator while I have a boat on my shoulder - awkward.
Setting the boat in the canal, I was relieved to be on a body of water that was more like a skinny lap pool and less like an object lesson in "Man vs. Nature."
Again, the light was blinding. Looking down, the first thing I noticed was that the canal was completely coated in pollen. This transformed the usually glittering surface of the canal into what appeared to be a solid road of glowing white light. The second surprise dawned on me gradually. When I think of the canal, the first thing that comes to mind is not that it is a particularly pleasant olfactory experience. But on this day, that is exactly what it was. There were so many fragrant wildflowers in bloom, including honeysuckle and Rosaceae (or multiflora rose, which is incredibly abundant even though it isn't native), that every breath was perfumed. Seriously. This is not artistic license. I am a journalist and have my integrity.
The yellow iris was still blooming, in combination with wild geraniums, bluebells, violets, clover, wisteria vines, wisteria trees, and many others that I cannot identify. Oh, and just a touch of skunk cabbage. But hey, you've got to take the good with the bad. Which brings me to my next observation - garbage.
Not too bad. Just a couple of glass bottles, maybe a half-dozen cans, a few styrofoam and paper cups, and some assorted bits of plastic bags flittering in tree limbs. Idyllic - mostly - with the exception of the noise of cars and planes, and the aforementioned garbage. I am eternally grateful to the National Park Service and U.S. Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas (a story for another day, for those who don't know it) for the vision and resources to create and maintain this park. Thanks also to the Chesapeake & Ohio company, whose (arguably bad) investment made this park even possible.
Another constituency that is grateful for the park is the subject of this final section of today's entry: deer. I reached Fletcher's Boat House as the sun (thankfully) dipped below the tree line, casting the canal in a green, shadowy glow. As I paddled the final stretch from Fletcher's to the Crescent Trail bridge at Arizona Avenue, I was surprised to see how many deer began to emerge from the woods along the trail. In those final minutes of the journey, I glided past eight deer. And I actually saw sixteen deer, because as each stood at the water's edge, its image was reflected in the smooth surface of the water.
Now that the blinding sun had disappeard, I leaned back to look at the evening sky while taking my final strokes and saw the moon shining brightly. I immediately thought of how patient my wife is to actually encourage me to commute home by the slowest conveyance I could think of. I hoisted the boat from the water and hightailed it home.
In the morning on the way in to work and in the evening on the way home, the angle of the sun is perfectly aligned with my iris, striking hard at the spot where my optic nerve meets my retina. Translation - "Agh! Bright light...blinding...Jim...pass...glasses..." (end scene as Starship Enterprise careens into a black hole, or whatever) This has happened every time I have attempted this river commuting thing. And every time, I have thought, "I really need sunglasses to enjoy this." Well, I may file that thought under, "Christy told me to do such-and-such" instead. That tends to be the best place for me to file thoughts that I really intend to act on. The next post may prove or disprove that theory.
The conditions on the river appeared to be so perfect that I considered paddling up the river all the way to Fletcher's Cove, instead of going via the canal. However, by the time I was approaching Key Bridge, the persistent headwind and steady current let me know that I wasn't quite up for that challenge yet. That is, if I wanted to get home on the same day. Pulling up to the dock at Jack's Boathouse, I quickly jumped out of the boat, yanked it onto my shoulder, and hotstepped it up the stairs and onto Water Street, hoping that Jack's staff wouldn't object to me using their dock, or worse yet, think I was stealing a boat. From there, I crossed the street and ascended the cement staircase from the base of the bridge up to the canal. I don't mind the scent of urine in the stairwell as much as the thought of encountering the perpetrator while I have a boat on my shoulder - awkward.
Setting the boat in the canal, I was relieved to be on a body of water that was more like a skinny lap pool and less like an object lesson in "Man vs. Nature."
Again, the light was blinding. Looking down, the first thing I noticed was that the canal was completely coated in pollen. This transformed the usually glittering surface of the canal into what appeared to be a solid road of glowing white light. The second surprise dawned on me gradually. When I think of the canal, the first thing that comes to mind is not that it is a particularly pleasant olfactory experience. But on this day, that is exactly what it was. There were so many fragrant wildflowers in bloom, including honeysuckle and Rosaceae (or multiflora rose, which is incredibly abundant even though it isn't native), that every breath was perfumed. Seriously. This is not artistic license. I am a journalist and have my integrity.
The yellow iris was still blooming, in combination with wild geraniums, bluebells, violets, clover, wisteria vines, wisteria trees, and many others that I cannot identify. Oh, and just a touch of skunk cabbage. But hey, you've got to take the good with the bad. Which brings me to my next observation - garbage.
Not too bad. Just a couple of glass bottles, maybe a half-dozen cans, a few styrofoam and paper cups, and some assorted bits of plastic bags flittering in tree limbs. Idyllic - mostly - with the exception of the noise of cars and planes, and the aforementioned garbage. I am eternally grateful to the National Park Service and U.S. Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas (a story for another day, for those who don't know it) for the vision and resources to create and maintain this park. Thanks also to the Chesapeake & Ohio company, whose (arguably bad) investment made this park even possible.
Another constituency that is grateful for the park is the subject of this final section of today's entry: deer. I reached Fletcher's Boat House as the sun (thankfully) dipped below the tree line, casting the canal in a green, shadowy glow. As I paddled the final stretch from Fletcher's to the Crescent Trail bridge at Arizona Avenue, I was surprised to see how many deer began to emerge from the woods along the trail. In those final minutes of the journey, I glided past eight deer. And I actually saw sixteen deer, because as each stood at the water's edge, its image was reflected in the smooth surface of the water.
Now that the blinding sun had disappeard, I leaned back to look at the evening sky while taking my final strokes and saw the moon shining brightly. I immediately thought of how patient my wife is to actually encourage me to commute home by the slowest conveyance I could think of. I hoisted the boat from the water and hightailed it home.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Day two, Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Spring rains have been heavy and persistent. I have not had the opportunity to return to the river because it has been a raging, cappucino with foam on top, log-toting danger zone for weeks. The level has been consistently high even between rains. And on top of that, the canal birm was breached somewhere along the lock 4 to lock 5 stretch, so the park service had to drain it. Or, maybe it just drained itself. In any case, the breach was repaired and the canal refilled by Sunday, May 1.
I was eager to get back on water, and my schedule would only allow for me to paddle in on Wednesday of this week. When Wednesday came, the rain returned. But who cares? Water below, water above. Its just water. As a friend once said, "what are you made of, sugar?" Since I'm not, I put my work clothes in my dry bag, hoisted my boat on my shoulder, and set off towards the canal.
When I reached Fletcher's Boat House, I stepped out of the boat onto the dock so I could take a look at the river. It was still raging. Fletcher's Cove was not much of a cove at all, but rather just a fast-moving part of the river channel. Not for me. I decided to stay on the canal.
Continuing inbound along the calm, controlled environment of the canal has its pleasures. Within the first five minutes, a kingfisher appeared. It dipped and dived across the canal, alighting just ahead of me on overhanging branches several times. I didn't see what it was after. Perhaps it was just hanging out with me. It seems that the kingfisher is becoming a totem of sorts for me.
A Canada goose appeared around a bend, bobbing peacefully in the center of the canal. I wondered why a single goose was there all alone, until I spied another hunkered on small peninsula jutting out from the canal wall, just 3'x3' or so. The goose peered out from a tuft of tall grasses, and was clearly a female on her nest, tipping me off that the "lone" goose was her man, on patrol.
The other notable natural sightings were stands of wild, yellow irises. It appeared that about half of them were in bloom, and the other half were just about to bloom. I expect that you could still see them this weekend. I also saw a goldfinch, a bluebird (not a blue jay), and one big (12" at least) fish thrashing in the growth at the shallow edge along the towpath - after an unlucky bug, I presume.
On the un-natural side, there was not too much garbage in the canal. Although, I did notice that most of the floating garbage appeared where tributaries or other drains dumped into the canal. I am pleased to say that this makes me think that most of the trash in the canal is not tossed there by people enjoying the towpath. On the other hand, people need to remember that storm drains flow into natural bodies of water eventually.
After stowing my boat at Thompson Boat Center, I jogged the rest of the way to work through the steady rain. It took only a few minutes to put on dry clothes. But, it took about an hour for my hands to become limber again. They were pretty frozen.
I was eager to get back on water, and my schedule would only allow for me to paddle in on Wednesday of this week. When Wednesday came, the rain returned. But who cares? Water below, water above. Its just water. As a friend once said, "what are you made of, sugar?" Since I'm not, I put my work clothes in my dry bag, hoisted my boat on my shoulder, and set off towards the canal.
When I reached Fletcher's Boat House, I stepped out of the boat onto the dock so I could take a look at the river. It was still raging. Fletcher's Cove was not much of a cove at all, but rather just a fast-moving part of the river channel. Not for me. I decided to stay on the canal.
Continuing inbound along the calm, controlled environment of the canal has its pleasures. Within the first five minutes, a kingfisher appeared. It dipped and dived across the canal, alighting just ahead of me on overhanging branches several times. I didn't see what it was after. Perhaps it was just hanging out with me. It seems that the kingfisher is becoming a totem of sorts for me.
A Canada goose appeared around a bend, bobbing peacefully in the center of the canal. I wondered why a single goose was there all alone, until I spied another hunkered on small peninsula jutting out from the canal wall, just 3'x3' or so. The goose peered out from a tuft of tall grasses, and was clearly a female on her nest, tipping me off that the "lone" goose was her man, on patrol.
The other notable natural sightings were stands of wild, yellow irises. It appeared that about half of them were in bloom, and the other half were just about to bloom. I expect that you could still see them this weekend. I also saw a goldfinch, a bluebird (not a blue jay), and one big (12" at least) fish thrashing in the growth at the shallow edge along the towpath - after an unlucky bug, I presume.
On the un-natural side, there was not too much garbage in the canal. Although, I did notice that most of the floating garbage appeared where tributaries or other drains dumped into the canal. I am pleased to say that this makes me think that most of the trash in the canal is not tossed there by people enjoying the towpath. On the other hand, people need to remember that storm drains flow into natural bodies of water eventually.
After stowing my boat at Thompson Boat Center, I jogged the rest of the way to work through the steady rain. It took only a few minutes to put on dry clothes. But, it took about an hour for my hands to become limber again. They were pretty frozen.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Day one, 6 April 2011 - part deux
If anyone is reading this, you might have wondered, "How did he get home from work? Did he paddle? Was it dark out? He was going up river, right?" If you didn't wonder about any of those things, then you may want to choose something else to read.
The sky was still bright when I walked away from the Kennedy Center, crossed Rock Creek Parkway, and walked the short distance to Thompson Boat Center. It was like I was returning to a completely different facility than the snoozy one I had left my boat at that morning. At this time of day - around 6pm - Thompson is a beehive of teenage rowers. Kids are all over the place inside and outside of the boat house, and in and out of the water.
I pulled down my kayak from its rack, acutely aware of dull soreness in my back and shoulders. Carrying it down to the water, I weaved through crew teams and dropped the boat into the mighty Potomac off the upriver end of the dock. Just getting away from the dock was like a game of Frogger (for all you video gaming old-timers) because 8-person sculls were rowing up to the dock at what seemed like 15 second intervals (minor exaggeration, but only minor).
Once I was out in the river, I immediately answered the question I'd carried in my mind all day: "Should I paddle home on the river, or on the canal?" The strong, chilly wind was lifting a 6-inch chop from the surface, and I was not up for fighting my way through that on my maiden upriver voyage.
I turned downriver, re-crossed the line of hard-charging teenage crew teams, and paddled into the mouth of Rock Creek at Lock 1 of the C&O Canal. As soon as I paddled up behind Thompson toward the House of Sweden, I was relieved to find that I was sheltered from the wind, and that I was greeted by a Kingfisher, dipping and diving its way back and forth across the creek - barely above my head. A good omen for sure.
I won't bore you with the details of the brief stretch of Rock Creek that leads up to the true mouth of the canal at Lock 2, beside/behind the Four Seasons Hotel. From there, I had to take my boat out of the water and carry it three blocks through Georgetown to the top of Lock 4. I got some strange looks from passing bikers, pedestrians, and particularly from the cabbie who honked at me as I crossed in front of him on Thomas Jefferson Street with a big, yellow kayak on my shoulder.
At Lock 4, already winded and increasingly sore, I dropped the kayak in the grass alongside the canal for a breather. Noticing that I was right up the block from Baked and Wired, I popped in for a nut bar and an espresso. Solid.
Fueled up, I put the boat back in this placid, continuous section of the canal and began the meat of the journey home. The first stretch, in Georgetown, is fantastic because there are lots of people enjoying the canal - walking beside it along the towpath, and paddling in it. Several skilled, fit, and elegant paddlers cruised smoothly by me, bruising my ego while informing my technique. I also passed a group of novices taking a class, just above the Potomac Boat Club.
As I left Georgetown behind, falling in to a rhythm and pushing on towards the Palisades, I had a powerful realization: You can buy a boat, but you can't buy fitness. I was already pretty fatigued, with a long way still to go. Judging by walkers and joggers along the towpath, my pace was quicker than a walk, but slower than a jog. Ugh.
It took a good, long time to round a bend and see Fletcher's Boat House. Now I knew I could make it. Only moments after passing under the bridge at Fletcher's, I could see the Crescent Trail bridge at Arizona Avenue - the termination of this paddle. Pulling the boat out of the water, I was momentarily elated. Then, I hauled it onto my shoulder to lug it up onto the Crescent Trail, across Arizona Avenue, up through the steep, wooded hill of the park, and finally to home. Double-ugh.
Huffing, puffing, and questioning the wisdom of commuting on the river, my spirits were lifted when Si and Eva charged out from behind a tree to greet me screaming elated congratulations and welcome - undoubtedly the best part of the maiden voyage.
The sky was still bright when I walked away from the Kennedy Center, crossed Rock Creek Parkway, and walked the short distance to Thompson Boat Center. It was like I was returning to a completely different facility than the snoozy one I had left my boat at that morning. At this time of day - around 6pm - Thompson is a beehive of teenage rowers. Kids are all over the place inside and outside of the boat house, and in and out of the water.
I pulled down my kayak from its rack, acutely aware of dull soreness in my back and shoulders. Carrying it down to the water, I weaved through crew teams and dropped the boat into the mighty Potomac off the upriver end of the dock. Just getting away from the dock was like a game of Frogger (for all you video gaming old-timers) because 8-person sculls were rowing up to the dock at what seemed like 15 second intervals (minor exaggeration, but only minor).
Once I was out in the river, I immediately answered the question I'd carried in my mind all day: "Should I paddle home on the river, or on the canal?" The strong, chilly wind was lifting a 6-inch chop from the surface, and I was not up for fighting my way through that on my maiden upriver voyage.
I turned downriver, re-crossed the line of hard-charging teenage crew teams, and paddled into the mouth of Rock Creek at Lock 1 of the C&O Canal. As soon as I paddled up behind Thompson toward the House of Sweden, I was relieved to find that I was sheltered from the wind, and that I was greeted by a Kingfisher, dipping and diving its way back and forth across the creek - barely above my head. A good omen for sure.
I won't bore you with the details of the brief stretch of Rock Creek that leads up to the true mouth of the canal at Lock 2, beside/behind the Four Seasons Hotel. From there, I had to take my boat out of the water and carry it three blocks through Georgetown to the top of Lock 4. I got some strange looks from passing bikers, pedestrians, and particularly from the cabbie who honked at me as I crossed in front of him on Thomas Jefferson Street with a big, yellow kayak on my shoulder.
At Lock 4, already winded and increasingly sore, I dropped the kayak in the grass alongside the canal for a breather. Noticing that I was right up the block from Baked and Wired, I popped in for a nut bar and an espresso. Solid.
Fueled up, I put the boat back in this placid, continuous section of the canal and began the meat of the journey home. The first stretch, in Georgetown, is fantastic because there are lots of people enjoying the canal - walking beside it along the towpath, and paddling in it. Several skilled, fit, and elegant paddlers cruised smoothly by me, bruising my ego while informing my technique. I also passed a group of novices taking a class, just above the Potomac Boat Club.
As I left Georgetown behind, falling in to a rhythm and pushing on towards the Palisades, I had a powerful realization: You can buy a boat, but you can't buy fitness. I was already pretty fatigued, with a long way still to go. Judging by walkers and joggers along the towpath, my pace was quicker than a walk, but slower than a jog. Ugh.
It took a good, long time to round a bend and see Fletcher's Boat House. Now I knew I could make it. Only moments after passing under the bridge at Fletcher's, I could see the Crescent Trail bridge at Arizona Avenue - the termination of this paddle. Pulling the boat out of the water, I was momentarily elated. Then, I hauled it onto my shoulder to lug it up onto the Crescent Trail, across Arizona Avenue, up through the steep, wooded hill of the park, and finally to home. Double-ugh.
Huffing, puffing, and questioning the wisdom of commuting on the river, my spirits were lifted when Si and Eva charged out from behind a tree to greet me screaming elated congratulations and welcome - undoubtedly the best part of the maiden voyage.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Day one, 6 April 2011
Today I realized a long-time dream of commuting on the river, putting my boat in the C&O Canal at Arizona Avenue, and paddling to Thompson Boat Center. The reason that the dream was so long deferred was that in order to not have to lug my boat to my office, I had sumbitted my name to the waiting list for a rack space at Thompson back in 2004. While I have paddled the route before, I had only done so on weekends when I could be met by someone with a car, so that I could take my boat out, strap it onto the car, and drive it home - not exactly the full-on, eco-friendly, Potomac-loving dream.
Then last week, after a seven-year wait, I was offered a rack space (I gratefully accepted!). Now everything has changed. Today I left the house early with my boat on my shoulder, walked to the canal, dropped the kayak in the canal, and the dream became a reality.
The inspiration for this blog is simple: the river is different every day. And because I will be traversing the same stretch of the river over and over again, I have an opportunity to document that difference. In addition to appreciating the natural changes, I will also note the man-made differences - particularly garbage or other noticeable pollution.
Here we go...
The morning was clear and bright, and the river was placid. The recent rains and high waters seem to have flushed out any garbage in this stretch. Both banks were littered with dead-wood detritus, but little to no noticeable trash.
Notable brushes with fauna included paddling past colonies of cormorants. The scene was right out of a documentary on the Galapagos Islands, as the birds numbered around 100 in each of the two groups I encountered sunning themselves on rocks protruding above the surface. The next surprise was a close-range fly-by of a quick, blue kingfisher making its funny clicking/chirping call. The last encounter came when I passed under Key Bridge to find three 8-man sculls and a coach in a Boston Whaler coming at me fast. I aimed over towards Roosevelt Island, and followed that shoreline until I crossed back to the D.C. shore at Thompson Boat Center.
The notable brush with garbage was a bright blue thing about 2 feet long bobbing at the surface. When I paddled over to pick it up so I could put it in the trash, I found that it was a smooth stick reflecting the clear, bright blue sky on its wet surface.
A glorious first day of this ongoing river commuting adventure.
Then last week, after a seven-year wait, I was offered a rack space (I gratefully accepted!). Now everything has changed. Today I left the house early with my boat on my shoulder, walked to the canal, dropped the kayak in the canal, and the dream became a reality.
The inspiration for this blog is simple: the river is different every day. And because I will be traversing the same stretch of the river over and over again, I have an opportunity to document that difference. In addition to appreciating the natural changes, I will also note the man-made differences - particularly garbage or other noticeable pollution.
Here we go...
The morning was clear and bright, and the river was placid. The recent rains and high waters seem to have flushed out any garbage in this stretch. Both banks were littered with dead-wood detritus, but little to no noticeable trash.
Notable brushes with fauna included paddling past colonies of cormorants. The scene was right out of a documentary on the Galapagos Islands, as the birds numbered around 100 in each of the two groups I encountered sunning themselves on rocks protruding above the surface. The next surprise was a close-range fly-by of a quick, blue kingfisher making its funny clicking/chirping call. The last encounter came when I passed under Key Bridge to find three 8-man sculls and a coach in a Boston Whaler coming at me fast. I aimed over towards Roosevelt Island, and followed that shoreline until I crossed back to the D.C. shore at Thompson Boat Center.
The notable brush with garbage was a bright blue thing about 2 feet long bobbing at the surface. When I paddled over to pick it up so I could put it in the trash, I found that it was a smooth stick reflecting the clear, bright blue sky on its wet surface.
A glorious first day of this ongoing river commuting adventure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)