Assateague Solo and then some

[Mike_McCrea]

Day 1

An intense work schedule and a several months in the making Assateague group trip had left me frazzled and needing some solo time. OK, admittedly, I had been planning on heading in a day early for several weeks, but the weather forecast for my jumpstart paddle in was ugly – 4 to 6 inches of snow and high winds.

That forecast covered the entire region, but damn the snowplows, full speed ahead. Or 15 mph ahead if you are following a fleet of 3 abreast on the Jersey Turnpike.

Outa bed at 4 and into the car before 5am and, as I drive eastward, the forecast snow line moves east. Ominously the only heavy snowfall is predicted right where I’m headed; all of Maryland’s lower eastern shore county schools are closed in anticipation. Yikes.

I drive on. All I see are wet roads, not a drop of precip. There is old snow on the ground from the previous double whammy blizzards in the woods and on the fields, and a little additional white dusting here and there.

Except, when I arrive, at Assateague. Bare ground, sand and pine duff, that’s what I’ve been longing to see. Barrier Island heaven.

I check in and pull a seasonal entry permit and a solo backcountry permit from a nice, low-key understanding Ranger and load the Monarch at the Old Ferry Landing. The strong west winds, sweeping across the 5 mile fetch of the shallow bay, have combined with near full moon tides to drive a surfeit of water onto the western shore of Assateague, enough that the landing fully submerged and I unload the boat in the parking lot itself.

I had test packed the Monarch at home with an admittedly immense load of gear; I’m bringing in everything I need to be self-sufficient for 6 days (5 planned plus one insurance day) including potable water, plus my part of a large group dinner, as well as assorted toys (bocce and cyalumed kites for night flight), pre-planned birthday gifts (with a theme of “pink”), tarpage and trinkets.

It all fits, but it was so tetris packed in the bow and stern that I had to make a packing sequence diagram to remember where it all went. It looks choppy out there, even from the protection of the ferry landing channel; I check the weather radio before launching “Winds west 20, gusting to 30, changing to west 25, gusting to 40”. Whoopie.

In went the massive gear load and off went I. That shallow 5 mile fetch is rolling and whitecapped, roiling at the Assateague bayside and my paddling route.

I find a quartering angle into the waves that suits the loaded Monarch and carry it as far out as seems necessary to turn, quarter back with the wind and wave and clear the next peninsula south bound. OK, not quarter back; I can go outboard, slowly and laboriously, at a near 45, but coming back inboard I don’t have a lot of angle to play with, I just kind of have to surf the waves back in as best I can.

Into the waves is, of course, more secure and much more work, but turning to run with the waves is a double challenge.

First challenge – The pivot. Scope out the sequence of rollers and find the couple or three wave pause between them. Then honk that 17’ of hull around; stand on a rudder pedal, sweep, sweep, lean, backpaddle and brace, then hit it hard to stay on the wave.

Second challenge – Surf those waves back inboard as far as I dare. Not much choice of angle there, just try to keep her from breeching between the rollers. Into the waves I can see the big rollers coming and commit, but surfing them downwind I can only feel them as they come knocking on the rudder and get ready.

The saving grace with this west wind is that if I lose it I’ll wash up on shore beside the boat in minutes. And it’s a wonderful rush of senses.

But still, an hour’s worth of outboard struggle vanishes in 5 minutes of E-ticket wave surfing inboard.

The sneak route through the Tingles Narrows was as welcome an Assateague respite as I’ve had in near 30 years of paddling there. And clearing that last peninsula at the exit of the wind protected narrows and finding a return angle aimed at the second sneak route was as challenging as anything I’ve ever done in a boat.

I had confidence now, and one more hard push would finish the nasty stuff. I cut the second sneak route into the marshes short, knowing that the wind and tide would have filled the marshes to overflowing.

They were, and they continued to be for the next 5 days. That is helpful for piecing together extended sneak routes, but tough on topography recognition; the bayside marsh looks much different with an extra couple of feet of water flooding in.

I cut the sneak route on entrance short, and after a briefly perplexing where-do-I-go-from-here hooked up with the inter-island sneak route after a single shallow water drag. I needed to stretch my legs anyway. And stop my knees from knocking.

A short into-the-wind-again exit at the end of the marsh sneak and I paddled into the Pine Tree site. Almost literally; the water is again well up onto the landing and I simply paddling onto the grass and step out.

I haul my gear far back into the site, both to be out of the wind and to leave room for later arrivals. With a clean camp established – tent up (and sand staked out with multiple extra guylines and all gear stowed inside or in the vestibules - the only thing visible is the tent) I walk back and secure the Monarch well up the beach for the night, tying off both bow and stern.

It’s blowing like stink and I know that if I go into the tent to change out of my paddling clothes I’ll be loath to remerge, so I fill a nylon daypack with essentials and head for the beach, still in my Mukluks and body-heat drying capilene fleece and Goretex. Well, not just Mukluks; Muks over Sealskin socks over Smartwools. Day long comfortable. A Topher trick. And I’m wearing two hats; another Topher trick.

The same combination I expect to wear, plus or minus, for the next 5 days, still dry and still comfortable after a spray and occasional errant wave dousing over the gunwales trip in.

Across the island and down to the beach, look at the ocean. OK, been there, done that and it’s blowing like stink there too.

Back acamp I rig a crude windbreak by staking and lacing a sacrificial blue poly tarp between two conveniently spaced trees. It may not be paradise by the dashboard lights, but it’ll do.

Soon enough though the allure of a good book, a flashlight and a warn tent and sleeping bag wins out. Plus everything I hauled in within easy reach in the vestibules. Thus endeth a glorious day 1. Still no sign of snow though. Bummer; I worked this hard to get here and I’ve yet to ever see Assateague in the snow.

Time to attend to de-salting drying and storing some gear. Day 2 to follow.

[TommyC1]

Nice Mike,
So far what I've read of this trip left me glad to stay home and paddle New England whitewater this past weekend.
Now after reading yours I'm wishing I was there.
Sounds like the Monarch was in her element.

[Mike_McCrea]

Friday dawned with the wind still howling, but the inside the tent is snug and warm. So snug and warm that it’s early to bed and late to rise.

The morning’s weather radio check “Gale warnings throughout the coastal region, winds 30, gusts to 50 mph. Ain’t nobody paddling anywhere today.

I am anti-electronica in most things backcountry, but I make an exception for a weather radio on coastal trips. The area specific NAOA forecasts for wind speed and direction can be a critical part of route planning and should-I-stay or should-I-go decisions.

I am certain that my anticipated companions have enough experience and judgment to have hunkered down at the launch to wait out the weather in hopes of a Saturday put in.

Outa bed, breakfasted and toting a second cup of coffee (I have nothing but time) I wander the Pine Tree site and located a magnificent windbreak behind an arcing strip of thick bayberry. Bit by bit most of my camp moves into that windbreak, and I finally get my Assateague snow as a brief spell of wind driven flurries swirls down.

A beach walk, a progging explore of the marsh edges as the wind abates a bit and where did the day go? I never moved more than a mile from the site and an entire day vanished in a relaxing dawdle.

I organize some gear for a day paddle on Saturday and check the morrows forecast “Winds 15 to 20, diminishing to 10-15 in the evening” Ditto for Sunday and Monday. Doable.

As I head back to the Old Ferry landing the next morning the wind is at its most manageable in the past 3 days, but the peninsula-clearing angles on the route back are all wrong; I can maintain the same 45 degree outbound, but to clear the points of land when surfing back in I have to head much further out into the bay. The Monarch is mostly empty, just day food and water and a spare set of clothes and essentials and it handles the conditions admirably. Without the massive overload it is far easier to turn the hull between wave sets and establish a workable surf angle.

My plan is to head back to the Ferry Landing launch to meet and greet the belated arrivals, grab a load of firewood and an 8-pack of Guinness cans that were orphaned in the car and head back to camp. A long day’s paddle in the wind; 5 miles each way if I could paddle straight in and out, but with my wind and wave necessitated zig-zag course probably closer to 10 miles on each leg in and out.

Halfway back I encounter the lead paddler; Andy S is far out in the bay and I give up some hard won distance to intercept his course. We have time for little beyond shouted salutations and half-heard route suggestions before the waves carry him inboard and I continue on. Matt and Doug soon appear and I change course again for another brief hail and well met.

I see the Bloody Mary in the distance, all unmistakable 22 feet and 48” beam of her
http://www.clippercanoes.com/mariner.php
I love that boat, and have had the pleasure to race her in some challenging conditions as part of an 8 man crew, but her 39” high stems are doing no one any favors in this wind. With four paddler and god only know how much gear aboard they are struggling to maintain course. Well, god knows how much gear, and the Bloody Mary’s crew knows, but I don’t know because I never see them again.

Back at the Ferry Landing, ballasted out with firewood and Guinness and back at it and back into it. Sometimes at Assateague all you can do is keep on keeping on. Persevere.

I spot two canoes in the distance, beached at the landing for the Tingles Island site 2 miles in. Matt and Doug perhaps, judging by the hull shapes and colors. I expect they are hunkered down, taking a break and waiting for a lull in the wind.

The Tingles site is at the entrance to a wind protected sneak route, after which there remains only a single hard push around a long peninsular point to reach a 2 mile long wind and wave protected sneak route leads all the way to the Pine Tree site.

The entrance to that sneak route is best denoted by a duck blind at the apex of a Y. The right arm looks open but soon dead ends, but the left arm continues on into a sheltered haven.

The duck blind proves the perfect place to beach the Monarch and wait to signal northbound paddlers “turn here” for the entrance to the second sneak route.

Perfectly positioned and perfectly comfortable; tall plywood sides to block the wind, a bench seat along the rear wall and a fine view of the open bay stretching out to the western horizon. And a shelf along the front wall ideally suited for perching a Guinness while scanning the horizon for dawdlers.

Scanning, scanning, scanning. No paddler traffic yet. I crack a second Guinness and take a progging walk along the marsh edges, all the while keeping a weather eye on the bay for arriving paddlers. Lots of mussels to be had, but the high water means they are all elbow deep. Maybe later. A pristine diamondback terrapin shell. A couple of derelict crab pots that I haul as high and dry as possible and smash as non-functional flat as I can.

The pristine diamondback shell may have been unfortunate detritus from the derelict crab pots. Those lost pots can last for a decade or more and are death traps for all manner of creatures, including diamondbacks. There are estimated to be hundreds of thousands of lost pots in the mid-Atlantic and no one really knows the toll they take.

I can’t do more than disable them; they’re too freaking large and heavy to haul much further away, but there must be some way I can disable them more easily and effectively than trying to stomp them flat. Maybe a small set of cutters to nip the supports or even just occlude the tunnel opening. I’ll bring some nippers next trip and see what works.

Several hours and one more Guinness later, as dusk approached and the winds abated slightly, I realize that no one else is coming. They’ve driven here from New England and flown in from California and they’ve called it quits at Tingles. Time for this one to head the rest of the way back to camp.

Andy’s there when I arrive, with a fire going, and we pull up our chairs for an evening’s sit and sip. His GPS shows that he covered 12+ miles today on the route in. I’m a map and compass guy, so I have no clue how far I paddled today, but the route up was harder and further out into the bay than the route back. 20 miles? More?

It must be the boat, ‘cause I’m just an old arthritic fat man with average paddling skills at best. That Monarch must be a helluva hull.

An hour later a hoarse and raspy voiced hoot owl calls “Who cooks, who cooks, who cooks for me?” from the darkness. Matt has arrived, having set up camp at Tingles and then taken it all back down to sailed off into the gathering darkness in search of the Pine Tree site all by his lonesome. Literally sail; Matt is the only one to raise a sail all weekend.

And he comes bearing gifts, the excess beverages that he carried in to help lighten Andy’s burden, and, knowing my preferences in beer, a special growler of India Pale Ale. If I’m going to be windbound with anyone I want it to be Matt, Beknighted Bearer of Beverage Ballast.
Thus endeth the solo portion of my trip. Or at least the first solo portion of my trip.

More to follow.

[Mike_McCrea]

Now after reading yours I'm wishing I was there.
Sounds like the Monarch was in her element.

His GPS shows that he covered 12+ miles today on the route in. I’m a map and compass guy, so I have no clue how far I paddled today, but the route up was harder and further out into the bay than the route back. 20 miles? More?

It must be the boat, ‘cause I’m just an old arthritic fat man with average paddling skills at best. That Monarch must be a helluva hull.

The Monarch performed wonderfully in very challenging conditions, but I wasn’t exactly singing la-la-la-la-la all the way there and back again.

Sometimes at Assateague all you can do is keep on keeping on. Persevere.

[Andysz]

The Monarch performed wonderfully in very challenging conditions, but I wasn’t exactly singing la-la-la-la-la all the way there and back again.

You weren't, but I was. Truth is, you and I had the only boats that could handle those conditions well. Regardless, it was a tough paddle in, and tough leaving too. It was good to spend time with you and Matt.

Grouped, but not in any particular order some photo's.....

http://sports.webshots.com/slideshow/576892516bpIdRO

Andy

[Mike_McCrea]

Day 4

“Who cooks for me?” is a good question. We each have something representing our own breakfast and (maybe) lunch, but dinners were planned as a group trip feed. We had pre-arranged dinner for 15 well in advance. Three groups of 5 cooks and bottle washers, with each of the five taking care of either appetizers, entrées or desserts. A full roast turkey dinner one night, chicken stew, kielbasa and sauerkraut, tamales and green chilies, assorted pies.

All of that however is on the Tingles site. Andy had to leave the kielbasa and kraut in his car. Matt has a pemmican-like fruit cake. Andy has some freeze dried stuff.

I had appetizers. We have lots of stuffed olives (Matt’s favorite), a yard long hard salami, sharp cheese, a loaf of pumpkin bread, and other assorted crudities and candies. Also a couple of Jet-Boils, a lot of aluminum foil and a campfire. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

We didn’t go hungry, or lack calories to burn, but it was interesting easting. And I still came out with a day’s worth of food. OK, I came out with Cup-a-soup mixes, hot chocolate mix and some hard salami.

I may never eat hard salami again.

Enough foodstuffs for a Sunday full of lazy pleasures. Dayhikes to the beach and other walk dawdlings, a long group respite with chairs and IPA in the bayberry windbreak (a very tasty micro IPA it was….it needed a dusting of fresh pepper though) and a fireside linger behind a re-rigged blue poly tarp. The smoke gets in your eyes.

Early to bed. I guess; I hate to check the time when camping. The evening’s weather radio check reports Monday “Winds west 20, gusts to 30 in the morning” Fugly.

Day 5 – I awoke with the refrain “Gusts to 30 in the morning” in my dreams. And turned over and went back to sleep. Matt and Andy were soon up and packing for an attempt at an early take out, and I stayed behind to break camp, de-rig the wind break (solo folding a large blue poly tarp in the wind was an exercise in futility until I dragged it down near the launch and into the bayberry wind shelter), policed the sites, checked the firepits and otherwise postponed as long as I could. I don’t want to go, but I’m down to a couple of liters of potable water.

I finally load the boat and go. Not nearly late enough in the day to miss the “Gusts to 30 in the morning”. The sneak route is fine, but as I exit past the duck blind and into the v-shaped inlet the wind and wave slow me to a bare crawl. A bare crawl at 90% power. I need to clear a point a couple of hundred yards ahead.

I almost make it before the “Gusts to 30” arrive. Trying to paddle out past the wind’s focal point on the vee I’m giving it everything I’ve got and I’m not making any progress. I have no choice but to slack off and do a controlled drift backwards – no way can I turn the boat around in these rapid rollers.

A nice controlled drift backwards, bow to the waves. Fast. Much faster than I thought. Within 30 seconds I’ve drifted backwards fast enough to ground the stern in a marsh gut. The bow swings around in a micro-second and the waves are hammering the boat into the flooded shore.

I said a bad word. Maybe two. But I was out of the boat on the leeward shore in a flash. And the loaded Monarch, freed of my tonnage, caught the next couple of waves and beat me about the shins and ankles in an attempt to steamroller me into the marsh muck. I said another bad word. A really bad word.

After the bad word, which I admittedly made last for a good 30 seconds, I hauled the Monarch across the marsh, got it positioned head into the wind in another narrow gut and tried again in what I mistook for a coming lull.

No such luck, I get in the boat, take a single stroke and the most malevolent wind of the trip hits. Gusts 30 my ass.

Before I can take another stroke the wind whips the boat sideways, the waves pick it up and slam it into, and then onto, the narrow marsh banks. The stems are on land, I’m suspended in the middle. No one has ever jumped over the side of a boat faster.

(BTW – The Mad River Monarch is plenty tough. I checked the hull inside and out when I got home and, other than some necessitated drag marks - more on that later - on the gel coat there’s nothing but new scratches. Tuff enough for me.)

OK, fool me twice and go to plan B; head back into the long dead end gut that aims at the Tingles Narrows and see what I can piece together through the flooded marsh to get out to open water. That back marsh route leads nearly to the Tingles site, but it angles away from open water the further you go. At some point I’ll have to drag or carry west to find open water.

But for now it is somewhat wind and wave protected. Not a lot, and in the low spots the wind still howls toward the ocean. In one of those low spots I spy a welcome sight – Matt’s MR Explorer, beached on the downwind side of a protected outboard island.

I’d really like to get to him, or him to me. It would make me feel found, I’m not completely unsure of where I am, but I’m optimistically hoping that the stand of trees ahead is the Tingles site.

Note: I was using a map and compass, Matt and Andy had GPS with their routes in marked. None of that helped in the flooded marsh interior.

After a line, drag and gear portage, drag and more drag of the Monarch through the marsh (badge of honor scuff marks I’ll call ‘em) I make the point, to be joined by Matt and, from out of nowhere, Andy. Andy had been up every blind gut searching for a magic route, some of them twice.

It isn’t the Tingles site, but it’s the next best thing; a large hammock of trees a half mile from Tingles as the crow flies.

If only we were crows. We take a windbreak and rehydrate there, and hit it once again.

Matt picks out yet another sneak route and drag combination, Andy and I head hard for the lee of Tingles Island and follow it as far north as we possibly can before turning inboard for yet another episode of wave riding. Happy were we to beach our boats at the campsite entrance.

Matt though is still battling his way toward us, paddling and dragging through the flooded marsh. His last challenge is to cross an open, windswept gut, with little choice but to take on the beam wind and waves. That may be one of the hardest of Assateague challenges, especially in an open canoe.

He makes it. Clean. And I had the camera ready just in case. What I didn’t have, for the first time in several year, in violation of my own necessities edict, was a throw rope. Who need a throw rope on a coastal bay? If he’d dumped it there I could have reached him with a long toss and saved him a 100 yard wind and wave ride towards the beach

Who need a throw rope on a coastal bay? Me. Every trip from now on, no matter what or where.

We take the now customary hunker down windbreak at Tingles. I haul various bags and containers of sustenance out of the Monarch. Ummm, salami and cheese. I’m not quite sure exactly where I’m crammed everything for the trip out, so I damn near empty the Monarch hauling various drybags up to the windbreak site.

Hunker and turn on the weather radio yet again. The weather radio is a PITA to listen to; I seem to turn it on in time to just miss the local forecast (“Chincoteague Bay from Ocean City to Chincoteague”) and have to listen to a whole 30 minutes mind numbing sequence as it runs from the top of the bay south and then covers the Atlantic from north to south. Where we are comes dead last.

But, eventually, “Monday evening, 15-20, winds diminishing”. Good.

And then, Tuesday’s revised forecast, “10-15 in the morning, diminishing to 5-10 in the afternoon”. Better. “Highs near 50”. Good, better, best.

Matt HAS to be at work tomorrow. Andy HAS to be at work tomorrow. I’ve been coming to Assateague for 30 some years and made damn sure I didn’t HAS to be anywhere tomorrow. Plus I’ve already hauled nearly everything out of the Monarch except the giant 115L bag with my tent, pad, sleeping bag and spare clothes.

“10-15 in the morning, diminishing to 5-10 in the afternoon”? I’ve worked too hard to get here, and 5-to-10 is an Assateague rarity. I can’t pass on that kind of opportunity to laze my way out.

Freak it, I’m staying.

Matt lightens his much-needed bow ballast load by resupplying me with ample water and a mix of leftover beers, and I see my wind-battler companions down to the landing and watch them paddle off into the not-quite sunset.

Solo again, with the promise of a beatific Assateague day. Thank you boys. Thank you more than you could know.

[Mike_McCrea]

Matt and Andy depart and I set up another cozy and well-organized camp, taking stock of my remaining provisions and fluids. More than enough. Soup and salami, hot chocolate and pumpkin bread for dinner. Breakfast tomorrow looks to be the same. Maybe lunch too.

Day 6

I’m up at a reasonable hour, especially since I intend to linger long enough to enjoy that “diminishing to 5-10 in the afternoon” for the paddle out. Linger long enough and I can miss evening rush hour around the Baltimore beltway. No reason to hurry today.

I diddle away the morning hours with a beach hike and march edge prog and spend the afternoon re-organizing and re-packing gear. A good opportunity to review what worked and what didn’t, and what I need to upgrade, replace or make.

My typical off season attire worked perfectly; the capilene long underwear, fleece and Goretex was comfortable in all conditions from wet and windy paddling to 20 degree nighttime sit and sips. I had an insulated one piece jump suit, but it was completely unnecessary.

The Smartwools, Sealskinz and Mukluks combination kept my feet warm, dry and comfy, despite considerable wading and marsh dragging.

The new Jet-Boil was perfect and I quickly developed a morning routine, starting with warming the canister in an inner fleece pocket and, once lit, heating three pots of water in quick succession. The first hot pot goes into my coffee press and coffee mug to pre-heat them against the morning chill. When the second pot boils I empty the warming water from the press into my ½ full and still warming coffee mug and use the 2nd pot of jet-Boil water to make coffee in the press, then empty my coffee mug warming water back into the Jet-Boil to re-heat as a 3rd pot for oatmeal and clean up.

I never even set up my new 12x20 Tundra tarp. It was intended more as a group covering and was never needed. A wind break tarp was an absolute necessity (and I wasn’t chaffing the sil-nylon tundra tarps against trees in that guise) and the cheap blue poly served its intended purpose in that regard. I would like to find a similar flat tarp that was lighter but still inexpensive enough not to fret about hard use wear and tear as a vertically tied windbreak.

Foodstuff could have used improvement, but I had enough to feed a couple of extra mouths for a couple of extra days. Being self-sufficient with an insurance day’s worth of food is always a good strategy, no matter what the meal plan.

The Sails were superfluous. I took the Pacific Action sail off when I returned to the Ferry landing on Saturday; with the waves washing over the deck the PA sail was a PITA sail. I carried the Spirit sail through the trip since it was small, lightweight and packs away innocuously. The loaner sails and temporary sail mounts I brought along all stayed in the car for the duration.

Camera – As much as I love my old 35mm Nikon it’s simply too big and too heavy in comparison to modern digitals. There’s a waterproof, shock-resistant digital in my future.

Weather radio - An absolute godsend on coastal trips for route planning and decision making.

Boat – Yeah, I think I’ve found my boat. That was a fantastic challenge of the Monarch’s capabilities in adverse wind and wave conditions, loaded and unloaded. If Andy’s GPS mileage for Saturday was correct that was close to a 20 mile day for me.

I'm already planning to head back sometime in April for a long weekend solo trip. I want to see how the Monarch packs and handles with a dedicated solo kit, sans the overload of unnecessary group gear, food, toys and trinkets.

I think solo trips with me and the Monarch may be the start of a beautiful relationship.

BTW – for anyone who has read this far and is still wondering “What and where is this Assateague place”
http://www.nps.gov/asis/planyourvisi...ry-camping.htm

[Mike_McCrea]

A good opportunity to review what worked and what didn’t, and what I need to upgrade, replace or make.

One of the “makes” is an improved daypack/cooler combination. I’ve been using a stovepipe foam padded Baja 10 bag as a padded case to store my camera, weather radio and etc for 10 years or more. They help keep the sand out of things on coastal trips too.

But then I realized that they make excellent, leak proof mini-coolers.

http://good-times.webshots.com/album/569198921PkpDVH

I made a batch of them using cheap sleeping pad foam and freebie swag bags and just got another batch of bags to play with.

Apparently that idea has occurred to others as well
http://www.icemulecooler.com/

One creature comfort I always bring on trips is a small nylon daypack. We used it on Assateague for a variety of purposes.

And eureka! It occurs to me that if I can find the right size and shape daypack I can just slip the drybag cooler inside and use the external pack pockets for carrying miscellanea.

Time to go daypack shopping for something with a Baja10 bag sized top opening and a couple of external pockets. And as few zippers as possible; salt and sand kill zippers.

Hmmmm…a removable inner-sleeve in the drybag for easy rinsing, maybe an optional outer foam stovepipe to surround the drybag if there is room inside the daypack for hot summer trips.

I bet an insulated drybag inside a daypack would retain cool for a long time.

Roadtrip to some outdoor shop soon with a couple of padded drybags in hand to look for the right daypack.

[Mike_McCrea]

Assateague is about a lot of things; open bay and protected marsh routes, tides, ocean beach, piney hammocks, Atlantic barrier island history, an odd mix of flora and fauna. But sometimes, perhaps more often than not, it is about wind.

In the right circumstance it offers wonderfully benign waters for developing wind paddling skills; the water is often but a few feet deep, and on fall trips is still warm enough to wade. The frequent peninsulas and scattered islands provide sheltered respites.

And the lessons are a little different every time; winds from the west piling water on the Assateague bayside open up sneak routes in the marsh, winds off the ocean push the water away and necessitate swinging w-i-d-e of the peninsulas and further out into Chincoteague Bay. Winds north or south can be a wild surf, or a pleasant sail. Or a wading slog; at low water that actually a pretty good option.

All of that – wind speed and direction, tides and windwater depth, islands, peninsulas and marsh sneaks – makes route finding a strategic experience of planning several moves ahead that is peculiar from even big lake travel.

I need to get back before the season* is over; I bought a set of cutters and want to experiment with disabling derelict crab traps, and I may have found an extended sneak route from the Tingles Island channel all the way to Pine Tree.

*Generally mid-November to mid-April is ok. Fall is often more gentle, but the bayside backcountry sites close during deer firearms (including the regular Maryland firearms season starting the Friday after Thanksgiving, and two different Youth Hunt Saturdays prior to that). The mosquito, fly and tick populations make it far less appealing in the warmer months, and they can hang on into even December in a warm winter

It’s one of those places that shouldn’t be missed if your travels take you north or south along the mid-Atlantic region with a few days to spare. For I-95 travelers it’s less than 3 hours east of Wilmington Delaware or Washington DC.

[Mike_McCrea]

Reading what I wrote about the windage routes in and out I realize that I need to clarify that “near 45” into the wind.

I can go outboard, slowly and laboriously, at a near 45, but coming back inboard I don’t have a lot of angle to play with, I just kind of have to surf the waves back in as best I can.

the peninsula-clearing angles on the route back are all wrong; I can maintain the same 45 degree outbound, but to clear the points of land when surfing back in I have to head much further out into the bay.

That 45 degrees was the wind-ferried course of my route; I could manage maybe 15 degrees off the wind and wave (sometimes less when I saw a big series of rollers heading my way), but carrying

[Mike_McCrea]

Oops, I meant "That 45 degrees was the wind-ferried course of my route; I could manage maybe 15 degrees off the wind and wave (sometimes less when I saw a big series of rollers heading my way), but carrying that angle out into the bay would wind ferry me much further south than west."

[ozarkpaddler]

Enjoyed the report. That Monarch is a darn fine boat, isn't it? Fortunately, my old Monarch is returning home this summer. A friend was looking for a boat for the MO 340 race and one e-mail led to a dozen and I'll get to see and paddle my old friend again!

It's also a great benefit when you get a chance to test your limits, and a boat's limits without serious consequences, huh? I recall surfing 3-4' rollers on Gunflint Lake in the BWCAW one time. Winds out of the NW, I paddled 20-30 yards off the south shoreline. We may have gotten wet, but would have washed up on a benign, flat shoreline like flotsam! Thanks for taking us along for the "Ride." TW