Thanks Epic

Special thanks to the good people at Epic. Their customer service, in quickly and without charge replacing my epic paddle is first rate. Thanks Epic.

Dov Day

I spent the Sabbath with the Jewish community in Florence, the city where they found the Renaissance. The synagogue is big and about 150 years old, give or take a few decades. I was walking around during services looking things over. I was up front near the elevated Torah porch, when a man wearing a black hat started hissing and grunting at me, waving his head, that I wasn't allowed to be there. Once I was sure of what he was saying, I gave him my own “bug off” face. I don't respond to grunts and gestures, and I don't take orders from people who haven't introduced themselves.* As a Jew, I won't be told that I'm not allowed to be up front in a synagogue sanctuary, even if I do look like a bum. It turned out the man was the rabbi.

On Sunday I arrived at my kayak too late in the day to make any real progress, so I decided to do some work on my boat. I have been meaning to attach bungees to the top of the cockpit making a shelf for my rockets. Armed with super glue, I managed to attach them to my fingers, but not the Kevlar lining.

Day 53, Tuesday Jan 18^th:



It wasn't a prophesy of doom and destruction like all the famous prophets had, it was more my style. It's not that I'm saying I'm a prophet, I'll leave it to you to read what happened and decide. However, if you don't come to that conclusion, know that you're wrong.

I woke up this morning with one line from a song in my mind: “the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.” It was there and it was strong so I sang out loud as I walked to the marina's offices to get a weather update and ask them to call ahead to arrange a place for the night.

There she was. At the desk, was the girl with kaleidoscope eyes. She was beautiful, and enthusiastic, and friendly, and helpful. Her eyes were amazing. Here's an excerpt from the conversation.

“So why are you doing this trip?” the girl with kaleidoscope eyes asked me.

I wanted to come up with an example of something hard that she had done that she found worthwhile. I went with languages, she spoke seven. “For you is learning languages easy?” thinking she would say 'No, but it's really great.'

“Yah, for me it's really easy.” She said.

Rats, I would need to come up with another way to relate the idea. At any rate, she gave me her contact information before I left.

“You are not only the most helpful secretary I have met, but the prettiest.” I told her.

I paddled from Marina di Grosseto to Porto Steffano.



The beginning of my trip took me along a mostly empty beach. There were piles ofwashed up pieces of wood and debris. A golden lab was out for a walk and saw me. Intensely interested he was clearly considering swimming out to get a closer look, but a man nearby told it not to, too bad. The man said something to me in Italian and I said “Ci” and smiled. The man said something else, and then seemed to understand that I'm an idiot and stopped talking to me.

I also saw a man on a chariot being pulled through the water by a horse.

As I made my crossing to the peninsula, I felt a tug on my line. I caught an old piece of plastic. I passed through a garbagy area, uchh.



Finally I pulled into an extremely large mostly empty port. I was paddling alongside amotor boat and called out to him asking where the capitaneria was. He couldn't hear me over the sound of his motor and told me so. I tried a few more times screaming, and eventually, rather then turn his motor off, he started to ignore me completely.

There are frequently castles above old ports, and I always think it's cool.

This port, like many others in Italy, is run by the Italian Coast Guard. I asked in the captain's office if I could leave my boat in the port over night. My boat was parked on the opposite side, about a 15 minute walk away. The answer was simple, I could not leave my kayak anywhere in the port area. Finally after much deliberation they showed me a beach just outside of the port where I could leave my boat. It was the sort of spot that shouted “Please steal anything you see here.” I said no problem thinking that my boat was just fine where it was, surrounded by mid level yachts.

The next problem I needed to solve was a place to sleep. As usual, all I needed was a spot of floor so I thought, unwisely 'It can't hurt to ask.'

“No, there is no place here for you to sleep.”

“What about there?” I asked pointing to a small storage shed.

“It's locked.” The coast guard kid said.

“Who has the key?” Locked shouldn't be a hard problem to solve.

“I don't know.”

I checked the door. It was held shut with a chain lock. It would be easy for me to squeeze through.

He said something to me in Italian that I didn't understand. At the end of his comment he put his hands together at the wrist, as though showing handcuffs. I didn't believe he was being so rude.

“I don't understand.” I said.

“If you sleep here, you will go to jail.”

He could have just said from the beginning that there were regulations against it or something, instead of the bit about it being locked. Either way, I solved the problem by shoving him into the harbor and kicking seagull poo onto him. Spectators cheered and declared a holiday in my honor.

Meanwhile, today I lost my spoon between the floor boards of the dock, I could see it beneath so I got out my screwdriver to take up the boards.** Unfortunately the screws were too small. I still have a fork though. Until now, it's been virtually unused.



* Or anyone else. ~ ed.

** Wouldn't it have been easier to find a new spoon? ~ ed.

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.