“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”
The Coast Guard vessel motored up along side of our kayaks...the young coastie said "You know there are severe thunderstorms today?" "Yeah, we know," was our response.
There are 18 barrier islands ranging 60 miles from the Maryland/Virginia border to the tip of Cape Charles where the Chesapeake Bay meets the Atlantic Ocean. The plan was simple. Strap surfboards to the kayaks, stuff camping gear in the dry hatches, and paddle out to one of these islands in search of potential surf.
I drove south from Delaware with my friend Paul to the tiny fishing village of Wacheaprague, Virginia. Here we linked up with my friend Tom from Virginia Beach. We referenced the charts and discussed the impending "severe" weather...as long as we could make it out to the island before the weather set in, we concluded we'd be fine.
So, we commenced to stuff our kayaks like Thanksgiving turkeys. Tent, sleeping bags, headlamps, stove, grub, H2O, bug repellent, sunscreen, wetsuits, first aid gear, etc. We knew we'd encounter some "conditions" out there, so we wanted to be ready.
The paddle out went smooth for the most part. The outgoing tide pushed our yaks out nicely until the channel widened into numerous bays. There we had to earn our stripes and fight some firm headwinds. Needless to say, we made it out to the inlet between Cedar and Parramore Islands in good time. Our destination was the island to the south, Parramore.
We recognized the need to find shelter sooner than later since there were potentially menacing clouds to the west. We worked against an outgoing current and skirted the westward boundary of the island seeking a small waterway called Clubhouse Gut. The chart depicted a trail or path of sorts near the head of the gut, and we felt this was our best option to move into the interior of the island for some refuge.
The gut led us to an old dock. The tide was almost dead low which placed us about 8 feet below the top of the dock, thus forcing us to hoist our kayaks up a muddy bank to the path. An expeditious 1/4 mile carry to the edge of the woods was next in order due to the discovery of a "no trespassing, no camping, no fires, no hiking, no anything" sign that was on the dock. It was too late to attempt to return to the mainland, and we did not think anyone would question our decision to find a safe spot to weather the storm.
Upon strolling a mere step into the wooded area, our bodies were beset with mosquitos. Our quasi-pasty white skin turned blotchy as the fear of west nile virus and other exotic insect transmitted diseases coursed through our bodies.
We were seekers of surf, so we decided to make a run down the path and reap our bounty. This proofed to be a near fatal experience due to blood loss from the swarms and swarms and swarms and swarms of skeeters.
The island also proofed to be larger than we imagined as we ran for at least a solid 1/2 mile or more before arriving at the beach. The beach was amazing. It was a beach without development, without "nourishment" from man, and without litter or cigarette butts. My friend Paul commented that the beach looked like Indo with it's bleached and weathered trees scattered about or barely standing on eroded-away roots.
We had the majority of the afternoon to explore the beach, nap (as Tom enjoyed), and witness the slow migration eastward of stormy weather.
Aside from the continuous skirmishes with mosquitos and the abundance of ticks invading our bodies; our main concern was for the weather and at what time to dine. The path had led to the ocean (which unfortunately did not afford a surf opportunity this time), however it originated next to an uninhabited old home. This home would be our sanctuary, our shelter from the storm.
To be continued...
Look, listen, feel,
Ostrich
0 comments:
Post a Comment