Ghost Meeting

Day 52:

Today I paddled from Piombino to Marina di Grosseto.

 



I had fought a fish on my line but it got free. A few hours later I caught a fish.

The fish I caught I kept on my back deck. It would flap occasionally until it stopped.Catching fish is depressing business, I hope that adding the fishes strength to my own will do it justice.

 



I arrived in the marina hoping to meet the Lega Navale people there. My host from the night before had arranged for the someone from the Lega Navale of Marina Di Grosseto to meet me. It turns out that there is no Lega Navale in Marina Di Grosseto. The port has allowed me to keep my kayak here but will not help me find a space of floor to sleep on.

A Date

This morning I bought a chart.  It's not waterproof so I won't be able to keep it on my deck but it's  better than nothing.  I also picked up and ate a couple of bars of chocolate, and that's the closest I get to high.  Please consider this in your reading, should you be so brave.

Day 51:

The day was bright and the air fresh and warm.  There was no wind to speak of and hardly a cloud in the sky.  The weather was perfect, better than perfect.  It was as though Mother Nature was flirting with me.

“So, when do you get off?” I asked casually.

The sun smiled and the sea blushed extra blue.  She was into me, yoww.



In the morning the water was glassy flat and tiny gentle swells caressed the side of myboat.  Sea gulls flying overhead squawked sweet nothings at me.  Occasionally, I would casually glance at her pretty Corsica.  I think she liked it.  I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with the pleasantness of it all.

In the afternoon she blew me a soft breeze from behind so I doodled my boat along the swells of her sea.

We saw a couple of swimmers out enjoying the weather as well.  They were the first I had seen since the summer.  They didn't last very long in the water.



Shortly after we passed three kayakers going in the opposite direction.  I said bonjourno and they said ciao, but didn't seem inclined to chat more.  It was just as well as my attentions were devoted to my lady.

In the afternoon she showed me a forest that came right up to the beach only a few feet from the sea.  It was amazing and went on for miles, if only I had met a girl that could do that years ago.

Time flew and I reached Marina de Cecina well before I was ready to call it a day.



“I had a wonderful time.  Thank you.  Just one thing, what's the story with Father Time?”

The sun set.

The nice people at the Lega Navale in Livorno told me that they would be unable to help me find a place for tonight.  The great mooring man that I met yesterday asked me where I was going today.

I told him.

“Oh really?  I know the place because I went there for a rowing competition once.  There's a big rowing club there.”

“Sure, I could call ahead for you.”

In the end I arrived a couple of hours earlier than I said I would but a couple of guys from the boat club were there to meet me with big smiles anyways.  I got a room, a hot shower, directions to the supermarket, a place to store my boat, everything a kayaker could ask for.

I had the time, and courage, to practice a few rolls before my shower.  I hadn't practiced rolling in a long time, but they came out better than ever, even in zero visibility water.

It was one of the best days yet.

Fishing Huts at Sea

Day 50:



Today I paddled one town over, to the port people were directing me to yesterday about ten miles on.  I needed a short hassle-free paddle after last night’s escape struggle.





There was a wind pushing towards shore so I expected slightly larger than usual waves. My boat had been parked for the night up a fat flat river.  The wind sent the current upstream.

On both sides of the river were shacks that rigged large nets up high over the water, two story buildings with the nets going out 30 feet or more from the second story.  On the right side of the river the shacks continued on a rock wall out into the sea.  The rock wall had either collapsed from its full height or been covered by the rising sea, because some of the huts were no longer reachable by foot.  I read that the sea is rising about one centimeter every three years.

As I approached the end of the river, the waves started to get big, turn back big.  But I expected* once past the mouth of the river they would calm down.  Frequently the sea exhibits odd behavior at the mouth of large rivers.  The waves were getting very big, two to three meters.

It may have been the steepest huge wave I have ever taken head on.  As I climbed the giant the front of my boat went way up while the back was still far below.  I feared for a moment that I would be flipped the long way and a pressure in my chest was telling me not to do this again.  Then I was over the top of it and my bow crashed down.

Out from the mouth of the river the waves were not quite as bad.  Still, I was frequently splashed with large quantities of spray or overrun entirely by heaps of breaking waves.  One large wave broke while I was half way up it.  At first I was shoulder high in crashing water, then sculling desperately on the down wave side not to go over.  On my second skull stroke a powerful hip snap brought me upright and saved me from checking for fish underside.

The strangest thing about the waves was that they were disproportionate to the wind.  The prediction was for five to ten knots of wind, and it felt like less than that.  But the waves were the kind that come out only for a special occasions.



At least the weather has been warm.

On land I followed a beach the whole way.  Just behind it were summer tourist buildings.  Shops, hotels, and beach clubs closed for the season.

The port I arrived at was a huge industrial shipping complex that I could have easily beenlost in, but I was forewarned.  I had studied a map of it the night before and knew exactly where to go.

The Lega Navale here is a welcoming place with an Internet connection I was able to contact my friends and family on a couch I will now lay down to sleep on.



*Translates:  Hoped desperately.

[slideshow]

A Letter to Fishermen

This morning I took my time.  I went shopping for food and looked for a place to connect to the internet.  After, all manner of people stopped by to visit with my host and be introduced to me.  One of them had asked me about fishing and I went to show him my set up only to discover my reel and lure were gone.

Odd.



My reel had been solidly tied to my boat with a quick release clamp.  I found the reel,floating in the water not far away.  The marine string was torn and the clamp missing.  The lure was gone also.  A mad thing in the night, perhaps a monster risen out of the filthy harbor, had its way with my fishing stuff.



The man who had asked me came back a while later and gave me a new lure as a kind gift.

By 1:00 I had left after saying a dear goodbye.

Day 49:

My host had called ahead and got me a place to stay in Marina de Pisa, at the Lega Nevale there.  I paddled all afternoon at a good clip.  I followed a beach with a large forest behind it to arrive in the evening.

Oh, and I lost my new lure.

Open Letter to Fishermen:

Dear fishermen,

If asked by a kayaker where the nearest port is please consider the following:

If the weather is good and there's still plenty of light:  Tell him were the nearest port is.

If the day is almost out:  Tell him where the nearest boat ramp or dock is and then where the nearest port is.

If already dark out and a horrible lightning storm with frequent orange and red double lightning bolts is rushing towards your location, as was the case today: Tell him where the nearest safe place to get off the water is, then tell him about that place not far away with all the docks that all the local boaters use to get on and off the water even though it's not officially a port. After that, if you must, tell him there is a port one town over that he couldn't possibly make it to without getting destroyed by lightning death.

DO NOT LEAVE OUT THE FIRST TWO STEPS YOU FIL-ª& !·”?@#+¡¿'?$).

This letter has been written in light of the persistent failure of multiple fishermen to adhere to common sense.

Thank you for your consideration and for your future assistance to fellow boaters.

Dov Neimand

My Savior

I woke up one town over from Lerici in the comfortable hospitality of the sailing school.  I was just across the bay from my boat and the director of the school had offered to give me a lift first thing in the morning.  He was punctual and I was fifteen minutes late. I don't like to be late.

With a friendly face he invited me onto a large old motorboat and we cut across the bay in much less time than it had taken me to get to the school by car on Friday.  I had asked if we could sail across the bay but was told it would take much too long.



Aside my boat in the Lerici harbor I packed up my things and prepared for my day.  Boththe Director and a nice chap from the Erix boating club watched, chatted, and took pictures.  Erix was the boating club that helped me find a place to stay on Friday.

My paddle float was missing.  It wasn't likely it had been stolen, and sure enough it had been hung up to dry with my wet suit inside the Erix club.  A paddle float is a device that attaches to the end of my paddle turning my kayak into an outrigger.  I have used mine once to assist me in climbing up an extremely high pier.



 

Just before I was ready to leave, Chap gave me an envelope containing support from Erixfor my trip.  Thank you club Erix for your involvement.  May your members successfully pursue their own boating dreams.

 



Day 48:

From Lerici I paddled east, leaving the bay with the last of the coastal mountains on my left.  From the edge of the bay of La Spezia the land fell back to the north and became suburban beach as I continued straight on to Viareggio.

I was a couple miles out, well into the middle of nowhere, when a fisherman saw me in the distance.  He zoomed by to stare without saying a word.



The day was sunny and warm.  Plenty of clouds were in the northern part of the sky, butthe southern half was mostly clear.  There was a soft headwind and a current working against me, but the water was flat and the world was pleasant.  The sea can be one of the most devastating places, and one of the calmest.  Today was the latter.

 



I could see a sailboat moving along fairly close to the coast.  Other than that and the gawking fisherman, no one else was out there.

The sun set.  I pulled in my fishing line and turned on my lights by extending my paddle to the ends of my boat.  I had forgotten how pleasant night paddling can be, when the sea is soft and the air soothing.  I ran out of drinking water, but there wasn't that much left to go.  Usually, three liters is enough.

A buoy with a black flag waving from it was suddenly on my right, scaring the willies out of me.  But soon enough I had my willies back, only to lose them again when the light reflected oddly off of a small swell.  I got a grip on them and kept them in check for the rest of the evening.

The shore was gradually approaching and the red and green lights marking the entrance to the marina finally passed me on either side.  I had arrived.  The Director had kindly arranged for a fellow here to host me in his boat for the night.  I was looking for pier seven, I thought.

On pier eight there was a fisherman and another guy next to him.

“Excuse me,” he called out “Are you paddling from Lerici?”

“Yes” I said “Hi.”

“And are you going to Athens?”

I wondered how many people had paddled from Lerici today.  I felt like I had put in a solid day’s work; to think that I was one of many was disheartening.

“Umm, sort of.”  I answered.  I had hoped to paddle to Athens, but I won't make it in time to be back in school for February 20^th.  My initial delay in getting started lost me a month of long days and left me in the north for bad weather, slowing me down even more.

So I had not just a host, but a welcoming comity.  A couple and their daughter had me pose for pictures with them as soon as I got out of my boat.  It was the girl who heard me ask for, and got for me, some water.  She is my new favorite person.

I showered, ate, and slept in a small cabin of a beautiful sailing boat with a wonderful heater.  The space was small and I was too tired to open up my sleeping bag.  A couple of times in the night I would wake up and think about it.  I would sit up just a little, hit my head on the low ceiling, and go back to sleep.

A Place of Warmth and Sailing

Day 47:

Friday morning I paddled from Portovenere to Lerici crossing the Bay of La Spezia. The weather was ugly, rain and a 15 knot South East wind, but with only a short distance planned I wouldn't need to worry about getting tired. I could handle the weather just fine.

I had word that their was a boat club, Erix, in Lerici and I was counting on them to let me stay there for the Sabbath, which is why I chose it as my destination. I had asked one of the boat clubs I had stayed with previously to call ahead and set me up.

But I arrived and it was not to be. They couldn't let me stay in their club house or in one of their many boats for insurance reasons. The man who had told me this was happy to show me a place next to the building where he said I could sleep since bums frequently do.

I hung around and chatted amicably with the members of the club and brought my situation to there attention. People where annoyed on my behalf and a group of them began talking in Italian about my situation. After some time of debate, phone calls were made and a decision was reached.

The sailing school one town over would be happy to host me.

Centro Velico Caprera, one of the oldest sailing schools in Italy is a great place run by kind people. The director who I met Saturday morning told me that it's one of the goals of the school to help marine travelers such as myself. I got a warm bed and a shower. While I stayed here I was delighted to be a guest not only of the school, but of the current program. Some 30 people, mostly children of all sizes, were having a winter sailing session over break. The air was constantly filled with the sounds of happy youths, and that along with the blessed radiators warmed my heart.

 

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Centro-Velico-Caprera/169176639774640

[slideshow]

 

Fake Out

Last night I was invited to a friend of my host's to make use of an internet connection and shower.  I chatted amicably with the 72 year old kayaker on all manner of subjects including his grandkids, his kayaking trips in the area and “What?  You've never caught a fish?” He asked me in disbelief.

“umm, no.  Not one.”

“But it's easy.”  He said. “All you have to do is drag your lure in the water.  Are you using a small lure? You need a small lure.”

“I am.”

“Well, really it's very easy.  I catch one almost every time I go out.”

I went about my business on the computer.  I can't say that his words, undoubtedly meant to encourage, had a heartwarming effect.



Day 46:

I had hoped today to paddle to the tip of the Five Villages area and then cut across the bay to Lerici.  I set out under a light drizzle and low visibility.  The mountains above me were steadily growing in sheerness and one in every three or so was dotted with a quaint village.



Some of the villages were right above the water while others were much higher up,sitting on cliffs that descended hundreds of feet to the waves below.  A boat ramp would invariably snake down the side of the rock to the water.  Kayaks and other small watercraft would be near the bottom.

 

Just past a village, with the sea and the wilderness around me I passed over a thick underwater rope to nowhere.  Maybe it washolding a buoy in place out at sea, or had long ago lost its purpose.  The wind had begun to pick up a little and it's always neat to watch the waves interplay with the rocks.  It's much more exciting to paddle close to shore.  My boat was pulled to the left, and then my fishing line reel snapped out from under the bungees.  It was still attached by a cord; I was extremely excited to grab it and release the cord so I could start reeling in.  This had never happened before, and I dared hope that I had caught a fish.

I believe I was saying “Holy shmoley.  Holy shmoley.  Holy schmoley.”  Through most of the process.  I would reel it in a little and feel the pressure against me.  Whatever had the other end of my line was fighting me in a way that said “You haven't caught a rock this time.”  When it was pulling hard I let it pull, and when it eased up I reeled it in a little more, recalling the strategy I read about in The Old Man and the Sea.

I didn't know if the fish was pulling me or the wind, but I was moving towards a rocky area where I would have to abandon the beast if it came to it.  Sometimes I would let some more line out, just to make sure the lure was properly swallowed, but always I would get back to slowly bringing it in.  The beast was now pulling more down than away from me, and then I could see the large rope I had passed over earlier.

And then I realized that I had caught the rope.  The excitement wasn't over, I had to save my lure.  There were eight Euro at stake here.

If I had to, I could always cut the line; the lure had the rope firmly.  It was important to me that I not capsize while fooling around with hooks and fishing wire so I tread with caution.  I had my pliers out and was prepared to cut the hook, it would be much cheaper to replace a hook then a lure.  Finally I pulled the old slimy green rope up on my deck and studied the thing closely.  I cut away the rope from around the hook and my lure was free.  Free to catch another rope another day.  Free to get caught in my spray skirt as it did right away.  Free.

Aside from the villages, there was nothing but the woods and the rocks.  At times the rocks took on many different colors, reds and beige and black intermingling with each other to give way to the green woods at their tops.

And then above that another final rock white peak would look out over all.  I could not take many pictures because around noon the wind picked up and turned into a solid headwind.  I stayed as near the cliffs I could to escape the full force of it, but this provided its own set of challenges.

 



The headwind continued to pick up and the time came when I decided that I would get offthe water at the next opportunity.  Shortly after I made out a house halfway up the cliff and what might have been a way down to a rocky beach.  I studied the surf for a while before moving on.  The conditions weren't so bad that I would risk my boat in a tricky landing.

Later I saw a better beach, and above it five or six abandoned shacks that might have been from the beginning of the last century.  I didn't have enough food or water to camp out, so I paddled on.



The mountains grew more and more impressive, sporting exciting looking sea caves thatwere larger and deeper than any I had seen yet.

At the end of the peninsula I was traveling along I would find a port.  Just after that were a couple of islands.  I didn't know if the mountains ahead were islands or part of the mainland.



I hadn't seen a village for a while when I could make out a huge castle above me.  Wallsalong the top of the cliff ran to an old church above an outcropping from the sea.  It was an impressive fortification.  Around the church what I thought was a small gully turned out to be the sea before the first island.  I could make out the port.

The water between the island and the mainland was not rough as I expected, but a flat and safe harbor.  My wild ride had come to an end.  The port had a couple of emergency rafts, a few small fishing boats, and a line of sleek sailing racers that looked set to begin a race around the world.

In the port’s offices I scored the code to the shower room and an invitation to sleep on the floor.  I went back out to my boat and pulled it up onto the pier as I usually do, and saw my fishing line was caught on something.

As best I could make out, it was hooked either to the emergency life boat not far from me, or more likely, the life boats anchor rope.  I leaped from the pier into the life boat and walked to the stern as I continued reeling in.  I could make out the anchor rope and my line went down to it.  There was something shiny down there too big to be my lure.

A fish was there, and it was hooked on my lure.  The line was wrapped around the anchor rope many times, but not caught on it.  Some time in the craziness of my day I caught a fish and didn't notice.  I pulled it with me who knows how far, and when I finally stopped, Samson made one last wily effort to flee only to find himself getting pulled closer and closer to the anchor rope.  There he gave up, for when I found him he had no strength.

I gutted, scaled, and named Samson.  A great creature turned into a tasty treat.