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prudenceb

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  1. Another Phil and Lori in NSPN?! Welcome, and you will have to meet the other ("original"?) Phil and Lorrie! Anyway, wish I could join you all for trip but will be away doing a training over wknd - although weather is calling for rain for Sat, so the moon may be somewhat hidden... Hope for your sakes it is not! pru
  2. Lorrie - if you have trouble coordinating with Phil, I could pick you up in Brookline - or he could drop you off in Cambridge - and we could drive to launch together. I can fit two boats on my roof rack. pru
  3. I'm going to try and make it - pru
  4. Mucky water?? What are you talking about?? Walden Pond is wonderfully clear and clean! You'll love it! pru
  5. Sixth Annual NSPN Jewell Island Camping Trip, May 18-20, 2012 Fifteen of us gathered at the Cousins Island launch spot on Friday morning, planning for a 10:30 launch. The little beach was empty, the tide close to high, when we arrived. We rapidly filled it with our small armada. It was a sunny warm day, the start of a promised stretch of perfect weather for the sixth annual NSPN Jewell Island trip. We ended up launching in two waves, the first group on the water sometime after 10. The sky was clear but for streaks of milky clouds and there was little wind. We headed north to the north end of Great Chebeague and gathered up before crossing over to Bangs. As MITA stewards for this island, we came prepared for clean-up duty with gloves, black trash bags and a tidy-up mindset. We landed, and I headed immediately to pick up my first piece of flotsam - a chunk of white foam, likely part of a lobster buoy, sitting near the back of the beach to the left, up against the grass and brush beyond. Only to discover after taking several steps toward it that the white foam was actually an eider duck, sitting on a nest. We had learned before the trip started that Crow (another stewardship island) was off limits because of nesting birds, but had not received this warning about Bangs. Where there was one nesting bird there may be more, and our Trash Czar, Rob Hazard, made the decision that the planned clean-up was off. So instead, we set up on the rocks on the right side of the beach, ate an early lunch and awaited the arrival of the second group. After a time, we saw them in the distance, crossing over from Great Chebeague. We warned them away from the bird, which had not moved from his spot. This seemed somewhat peculiar, given the increasing numbers of large, brightly colored creatures that had invaded his beach. Closer examination (from a distance!) led us to conclude that the bird likely was not nesting, but may well have been injured. When it was time to go, we left him tucked up where he had been when we arrived. We could only hope that he was safe. And then on to Cliff Island to make the bumpy crossing to Jewell. The wind had picked up some, but it wasn't so windy - or wavy or swelly - that the washing machine action created by water bouncing off the island's eponymous cliffs, which I am told can really rock and roll a boat, was on anything but a gentle cycle, and it was an easy enough crossing. We arrived at Cocktail Cove where all but three of us landed to set up camp. The smaller group kept on past the cove to land at a camping spot further down the island. The cove was empty but for a fat plastic kayak tied off to a buoy. It was mid afternoon. Other than Mary's discovering that she was about to share her designated tent site with a rather large colony of ants, and Judy's realization that she had left her tent poles back home, setting up camp proceeded smoothly. Mary pitched her tent as far as she could from the ants in the limited area, and hoped that they would respect her space, as she was trying to respect theirs. Judy ended up constructing an absolutely elegant camp. She claimed a spot ringed by trees, ran rope in a circle around the trees, then suspended her tent from at least a thousand different spots - ok, maybe twenty different spots - with yellow line looped over the rope and over itself. She topped off this creation with a floating rain fly, and ended up with a shelter that looked like something out a fairy tale - a rather gossamer floaty structure hanging from the trees. How it would have fared in heavy rain and wind we'll never know - but fortunately it was never put to that test. (And speaking of camp sites, it should not go without mention that Cathy and Rob F - on their first non-car camping adventure ever - awed and amazed the group with the comforts they managed to bring with them: three-inch-thick foam full-length Thermarest pads covered with white sheets (!) and sleeping bags. Over the course of the weekend the Cathy and Rob Camping Experience amazement continued: from their well stocked larder came pots and pans, plates and utensils, packages of hot dogs and buns, pasta, a bag of marshmallows, and in the morning, a plastic egg container with a dozen eggs. And bacon. There were bags and bags of snacks. In short: they had it all! It helped that Rob has a large boat, although there was some discussion of whether it would make sense for him to design and build a small kayak-trailer that he could tow behind his boat for added space! Word was that they wanted to bring their full-sized Tempurpedic mattress from home for a guaranteed good night's sleep…) People began to gather around the fire ring. A container of humus and a small bag of carrots appeared. Then some cheese. Crackers. A container of humus. Another container of humus. Red pepper spread. More humus. Olive tapenade. Humus. Cut up peppers. Humus…humus….humus… In organizing this trip year after year, Gary has, in the spirit of the NSPN CAM model, asked for volunteers to fulfill various functions: Chief Navigator, Safety Officer, Meteorologist, Keeper of the Flame and so on. Suggestion to Gary: Please add "Head of Humus" to the list of tasks for next year. H of H will be responsible for designating who is allowed to bring humus, and how much. Appetizers morphed into the main course as Rob F, Keeper of the Flame, started up a fire. Over the next two evenings, I don't believe that he sat down for two minutes once fire duty had started. He did an amazing job of keeping the fire fed just so, and it was perfect! Gary served some mussels he'd harvested and steamed up, and Doug passed around his fabulous pulled pork with barbeque sauce. And then…and then… (the amazing things you people miss who don't come on this trip!), Cath pulled from a freezer bag a whole giant cheesecake. How had it fit into her boat?? And proceeded to slice up a slew of fresh strawberries with which to cover it. Not to be outdone, Mary produced an almond cake in the shape of a fish! Somewhere in the midst of all this eating and drinking and fire tending, the sun began to set. And sometime before it did, we watched seals playing in the water right in front of our campsite, eliciting Ooohs! And Ah's! from the appreciative crowd, as if we were watching fireworks and not a seal launching from the water and splashing back in. No one went to sleep that night hungry or thirsty. It was a cool quiet night. Those camped at the edge of the island could hear soft sounds of water against rock. The rest of us: just quiet and then birdsong come morning. While Gary - who had been out on the water for several days earlier in the week - Rob H, Mary, Rob and Cathy F remained behind to spend a day exploring what Jewell has to offer, the rest of us launched into an almost cloudless sparkly blue day. Again, there was little wind, but more was forecast for the afternoon. Warren, the group meteorologist, informed us that it was to be less windy on Saturday than it had been on Friday. (Hah! So much for forecasting.) We headed for Eagle Island, Admiral Peary's summer home, where we were to meet up with Peter, our esteemed club president. Again, while there was some bump as we crossed an area of underwater ledges, it was all calm enough, and we chose to go east around Eagle to the landing spot rather than taking the usual western approach. This required either going through, or navigating around, a surfy area, which all accomplished without problems. Until it was time to land. At which point, Roger in his beautiful hand-built strip Night Heron, side surfed to shore on a tiny wave and managed to land on one inconveniently placed, shaped and sized rock - and put a through-and-through crack into his recently re-finished boat. It was an impressive sight to see those who converged on his boat - which Roger had pulled out of the water, off the beach and turned upside down on the lush green unmowed dandelion-strewn lawn below the Peary house - with suggestions, expertise, and repair materials. Paul, Doug, Peter and Roger examined the damage, debated the relative merits of various approaches to a temporary repair, and then effected that repair. After lunch - and for some, a doze in the dandelions - the group split up. Some - including Roger, who worried that his boat might leak - elected to head back to Jewell, while eight of us decided to continue on for a trip north to Whaleboat Island, where Warren was - as is his wont - anxious to check out a potential future campsite. Our passage was protected and the water calm. As we paddled along at a leisurely pace, we saw many jellyfish in the water. Some, a few inches across, were clear. Others, which Peter identified as lion's mane jellyfish, were bigger and a muddled reddish color with long trailing tails of rusty red. We were hot in our drysuits, and I wanted to try a roll with the euro paddle I was testing out. However, the numbers of jellyfish were a disincentive. Imagine rolling and coming up with a jellyfish plastered across your face! Peter said that there were likely also fragments of tentacles and other stingy things floating in the water. Thank you; I decided to remain upright and sweaty. Whaleboat Island is a long slender island with a central meadow accessible when approached from the east side. We got out of our boats at a little beach. The broad meadow sloped upward. It reminded me of the one in the Wyeth painting - only substitute a figure in a red drysuit for Christina. Warren led us up to the top until we were looking out over the west side of the island. I only realized then that on a day trip last year I'd paddled along the west side of Whaleboat, which is very rocky along its length, never realizing what the interior looked like. It was gratifying to be stitching together a map of Casco Bay from the different trips I've taken there. Warren found a sweet spot at the top of the meadow with an expansive view to the west and proclaimed it his. He lay spread-eagled on the grass, and we took photographs to memorialize his possession. On the way back, Judy pointed out lush stands of blueberry bushes interspersed in the grass. Plump berries - whitish still in color - were already formed. Give it a month and you'll have a feast. From there, we hugged the coastline to the north end of Whaleboat and on to Little Whaleboat. Along the way, we saw several ospreys circling above us. There were two Canada geese standing on a small beach watching us go by. Half of us took a narrow passage that led us to the south end of Little Whaleboat, while the others went fully around. We saw a seal pup hauled out alone on the seaweed covered rocks in the passage and hurried on by so as not to disturb it - or the mother, wherever she was. In the distance, we could see dozens of seals on a rocky island to the south of Little Whaleboat, and while we tried to keep our distance, our presence still flushed them out and into the sea. It was at that point, having seen in a short time so many jellyfish, birds (cormorants, osprey, eider ducks, seagulls, geese) and seals that I was struck out the sheer quantity of life that we were observing. Birds, nests, seals, pups, the lime green of delicate early foliage… A wonderfully rich time of year. We headed back over to the west side of Whaleboat, hugged up against the rocky coast sheltering from the increasing wind. We all gathered up at the south end, and facing a four mile trip back to Jewell - straight into the wind - shared some snacks. And then the slog began, into the wind that had been picking up as the afternoon wore on. (So much for weather forecasting!) Two long crossings until home. Southern end of Whaleboat to northern tip of Ministerial. Northern tip of Ministerial to Jewell. Paul offered tips on paddling in waves (dig in at the crest of the wave, not in the trough, to avoid paddling uphill). Off we went. The first leg offered some shelter from the wind as we approached Ministerial. We assumed the same would be the case when we got into the shelter of Jewell. Not so. So much for the image of reaching the calm of Cocktail Cove. There were now four boats moored there for the night. "How far from the island do you think it will be before we feel the effect of the island's shelter?" I asked Warren, next to whom I paddled for both crossings. Answer: About three feet from where we got out of our boats at the end of the day. If anything, the wind became more intense as we paddled into the cove. It was a relief to be at the end of the day's trip - although Peter had at one point mentioned how nice it would be to circumnavigate Jewell. Once out of the boat, no way I was getting back into it until the next morning. We hauled the boats up off the beach (low tide now, so a bit of a walk) and staggered up the stone steps to place them in the grass and away from the high tide (we learned our lesson about that last year…). We found that the stay-at-home crew had had productive days. Gary borrowed a chain saw (don't ask!) and cut up a large tree that had been lying all the way across the main camp area when we arrived the day before. I was sufficiently tired that I didn't even notice that the tree was gone until someone pointed it out. Gary also saved ticks that had hitched a ride on his legs and put them in a small ziplock bag for everyone's viewing enjoyment. Cathy and Rob explored the island, climbing the towers. Rob Hazard and Mary…looked for birds? The crew that returned from Eagle did whatever they did all day. Napped? Sat on the beach? Enjoyed the beautiful day? Bill circumnavigated Jewell alone, discovered that that had not been such a great idea, but fortunately returned safely. It was good to find out that Roger's boat had not leaked on the trip back; the patch held. And then…supper. All potluck, almost all leftovers. Humus. More humus. Even more humus. A fresh batch of Doug's pulled pork. Vegetables that Judy steamed in foil. Hot dogs. Leftover cheesecake. Brownies. Chocolate chip cookies. An entire watermelon. Libations of various kinds to wash it all down. (Beware the clear liquid, purportedly made from prunes, sent by Rene's relatives in Czechoslovakia!) Rob F got the fire going earlier than the night before. We sat talking, and were joined by three other island inhabitants: a solo paddler who had come ashore at the south end of the island earlier in the day, and two men from Peak's Island (OK, the guys with the chain saw) who were camping for the week on Jewell. The latter arrived clutching beers, carrying two comfortable fold-up chairs, and sat with us asking questions about how we managed to carry all our gear for camping with us. It was colder the second night than the first. I don’t know when the wind died down, but come morning, the cove was flat calm; the sky once again clear blue. Then it was only a matter of packing up our gear, cleaning up the campsite, checking once again to make sure we didn't leave too much for the chain saw guys to find with their metal detectors (!) when we left. We launched at 10 am into a very warm, very still morning. We paddled south, passing the chain saw guys' campsite. They stood on the bluff of their campsite, high above the water, waving goodbye. We picked up our other three at the lower campsite, and off we went, crossing over to the south end of Cliff and through the waves and swells there. A crossing past Hope and Great Chebeague Islands. We spread out in the channel, aware that if it were a month hence we would need to be more mindful, to stay closer together. But on this May weekend, even though it was very warm, there was little boat traffic. We ran into a pod of five or six kayakers - some of whom were known to some of us. And then there were two ducks, swimming miles from land with a small brood of tiny chicks hustling along between them. Mary shouted out for us to give them a wide berth. Parent ducks have been known to fly off when spooked, leaving the chicks vulnerable to predators from above. We gave them their wide berth, and they all swam on. We continued to paddle at a leisurely pace in the heat and sun, to the south end of Cousins, where we got out to stretch our legs beneath the attractive (not!) backdrop of the imposing power plant. An anxious black dog bounded up the beach, barking and wagging his tail - unsure of exactly what to make of us or how to greet us. He was joined by a woman and a man, with whom we chatted about the beauty of the day. From there, more calm water back to our original launch spot. Although when we rounded the point under the bridge, it was a surprise to see the beach filled with small children in bathing suits, parents in shorts and t-shirts. Some of the little ones looked in awe as our massively overdressed crew pulled ashore. Another hour of unloading boats, changing clothes (heaven!), hauling boats up the path to cars, and saying goodbyes. As Rob and Cathy F brilliantly suggested, let's make it four days next year for those who can do the extra day. Time for the water, the land, paddling and walking, napping and adventuring. Although it may be too much to hope for a duplicate of the three-day stretch that we had, where, yet again, the Weather Gods smiled down for sure. Thank you, Gary, for organizing this special trip! Pru
  6. As always, Doug, your pictures are terrific. I particularly like #14! pru
  7. Ooops - sorry David - I wrote your name as John - of which there were many on the assessment day. The aging brain is a terrible thing... pru
  8. Because they will likely be too modest to toot their own horns, I'll do it for them: I had the pleasure to be one of the volunteers for John Carmody's two day BCU 4* Leader Award assessment this past weekend. Congratulations are very much in order for the NSPN members who underwent the assessment: Peter Brady, Phil Allen, and John C (sorry, John, I don't know your last name!) all passed! Just another confirmation of the incredible level of talent in this club. pru
  9. On Saturday morning, I left damp, gray, murky Massachusetts for heavily overcast Maine to meet up with Warren and a friend of his, Dave, for our first overnight of the season - on Muscongus Bay. On the way up, I passed from late spring back into early spring with forsythia blooming and trees just beginning to be covered with a haze of soft green leaves. The week had been rainy and gloomy, and we'd worried that we would be faced with a choice of camping on a cold, wet island or staying home. I chose this time not to pray to the weather gods, reasoning that it was better to leave such invocations for longer and more adventurous trips, when the conditions would really matter. For this trip, we'd planned to visit some islands in the northern part of the bay that we hadn't gotten to last fall, when Warren and I closed out our camping season with a glorious three days over Columbus Day weekend, when the weather was most unseasonably warm. We wouldn’t be far from the mainland at any time, and reasoned that the forecast, which promised at the least gradually improving conditions, would allow us to proceed. Warren, Dave and I met at Muscongus Harbor. Temperature was in the 40's but there was no rain. We loaded up and were launched by 10 am. We paddled across to Hog Island, rounded the south tip, then paddled up the east side. It wasn't flat calm, but it was pretty darn close. We hugged the shoreline, looking down into the weather and over at the rocky shore. The moss hanging from the trees looked lusher and greener than it had last fall. The thick evergreen woods were very dark and gloomy. Our destination was Crow, where we planned to set up camp. Last fall, we had stopped at Crow just for a visit, and there were a number of other people camping there. This time, there was no one. And indeed, that was the theme for the weekend: We had the entire bay entirely to ourselves, or so it felt. We landed at Crow and searched out campsites on this open and hospitable island. Because we had it all to ourselves, we spread out across the island. I found a nice spot toward the south end, Warren in the middle, and Dave at the prettiest site right at the north tip, with a view over the rocks out across the water and to the mainland to the left and other islands ahead and to the right. But this was the most exposed site, and if there were north winds, they would blow right into Dave's brand new tent. We headed out again at around noon, a bit past high tide. We paddled over to Strawberry, the little island that you can't see on a chart, but which Warren and I had found before. I remembered what it looked like, and Warren had the waypoints in his GPS, so between the two of us - my conviction that it was Strawberry and Warren's GPS - we knew we were in the right place and pulled ashore to check out the island's campsite and to have lunch. Sweet spot! Although I suspect that the grassy enclosed little camping area might be bug heaven come summer. We walked along the rocks on the west side until we found a nice spot to sit for lunch. It felt cold, and it was still completely cloudy. Warren's lunch provided proof that a Nutella wrap is not improved by the addition of grape jelly. We launched into a lowering tide, pushing our boats over seaweed-covered rocks. Our next destination was a private MITA island that we reached by passing south of Bremen Long Island and then heading north again. This island, for which Warren expressed disdain ("You don't even know it's Maine, this could be anywhere, it could be Gloucester!"), but which I rather liked for its numerous large, still bare, trees, featured the fabulous Equilateral Rainbow One Holer, the nicest privy I've ever had the pleasure to visit. From there, we headed north to Hungry Island, another spot that Warren wanted to check out for camping possibilities. We encountered our first currents, but they were entirely manageable. Warren and Dave disembarked at Hungry while I stayed in my boat to spare my poor aching knees the out-and-in strain. I dangled my feet in the water, and looked at the rocks and shells in the shallow water. Warren and Dave discovered that it was a muddy slog of some distance to get to solid ground, only to find a not particularly nice campsite that had not been worth the effort to find. Warren's pronouncement on Hungry was that he would never go back there again. We debated going up the Flying Passage against the outgoing tide, but it had been a long day, and we decided it would be nice to be back at camp. So it was southbound again, around the tip of Bremen Long Island. Then the weirdest thing happened: It had been completely cloudy all day. We had seen perhaps three tiny peeks of blue sky all day. There had been no wind to speak of. But as we rounded the end of Bremen Long Island to make a fairly straight shot back to Crow, the sky was suddenly, and rather magically, more blue than not. How did that happen? We had no answer, but blue sky and sunshine were an extra gift. In fact, the whole day had felt thus far like a blessing. Other than two lobster boats, we saw no other signs of human life all day. We saw lots of seals. Poking their heads up, staring for a bit in what I could only think was alarm and annoyance, they ducked back down again. I imagined that they were thinking, "@#$%$!*, those #$%^%ing kayakers are back again!" They had had the bay all to themselves for months, and now, the invasion of the scary long skinny boats had started up once again. We, on the other hand, were happy to see them, and to share this still and magical world with loons and various other seabirds that I wish I knew enough to identify accurately. By the time we got back to Crow, it was near low tide, and our beach was - as we knew it would be - now some distance up a long but not terribly steep or treacherous stretch of seaweedy rocks. Warren and Dave carried the boats up to the camping area. Warren and I, remembering from our WFA training that most kayaking accidents happen on shore, were glad that everyone survived this process without need for using our newfound skills. Open heart surgery, anyone? We changed out of drysuits into comfortable clothes, and sat on the rocks by Dave's campsite. By now, the sky was almost completely clear. (How did that happen??) We sat in the warmth of the lowering sun, celebrating Cinco de Mayo with a lovely meal of jumbled up courses: appetizers and wine, followed by dessert, followed by a hot meal that we shared from a freeze-dried pouch. Warren had been looking for eagles all day, without success. But as we sat, there one was! - shooting off to the east high above us. We had thought that we would never make it awake to see the rising of the full Flower Moon - the closest the moon will be to earth for some time, as I understood it. But we talked about this and that, about life passages and how fortunate we were to be where we were (another recurring theme, I have found, on these trips), and time passed, and we had the sun almost setting to our left and then the moon rising to our right. It was a cold still night. It was the first time I've ever been cold camping out at night. I donned extra layers and slept well the rest of the night. Warren was up by six (three hours later, he said, than his usual rising time!), and Dave and I an hour later. We joined him on the rocks on the east side of the island. It was a bright blue morning, not a cloud in the sky and completely still. We ate. We talked softly. We sat. And heard a splash, and looked out to see a seal playing in the water - launching up out of the water and back in - splash! - up, out and back - splash! - and again several more times before he disappeared for good. We packed up in a leisurely fashion and were launched by nine. By now, a wind from the north had begun to pick up, and we headed into it and across to see the wreck of the old ship. Warren and I had been shooed away last fall by an unfriendly lobsterman, but this time, we had no problem paddling right up to it and checking it out. Then it was southeast toward home. We paddled to the mainland shore, rounding a small promontory and coming upon a cormorants' nest high up in a dead tree, and two cormorants who were very unhappy to see us. They swooped away and around, disappeared in the distance and returned, swooped away again until we had drifted, pushed by the north wind, away from their tree, their nest. When we were safely well past, they returned and both sat on the nest ("Those #$%^%$ing kayakers!"). From there, with change-of-weather clouds blowing in, and the wind at our backs, it was a short way back to the harbor, checking out the empty high-priced real estate along the way. So…two days, one night, three lobster boats (two on Saturday, one on Sunday morning), numerous seals, two cormorants, one eagle, many loons, other seabirds that I can't identify and NO OTHER PEOPLE. We were the first to make 2012 entries in every MITA logbook that we found. Muscongus Bay was ours! We were the 100%. Come July, that won't be so…but for one weekend in early May, three people in skinny boats occupied a glorious piece of the Maine coast with some wild creatures, while the skies cleared, the sun came out, and a full moon rose and set. Oh, and there wasn't one wretched mosquito. A splendid start to the camping season.
  10. Actually, the $35 season pass is not just for Walden Pond; it gets you into all DCR lakes statewide as well - plus other places. If you sign up, they give you a handout that lists the many many places that you can then go to. pru ps - looking forward to the start of the wednesday night sessions!
  11. Are you doing your nice paddle at a high rate of speed, or at one that allows you to stop and smell the....whatever....on the Charles? pru
  12. Bob, I'm glad you survived your entanglement. Cautionary tales about the stupidest-little-things-that-you-would-never-anticipate that might go wrong are instructive. But I always wondered why you feel the need to detach your hatch covers when you transport your boat; just leave 'em tethered in - especially when you're just driving a ways down the road to get to your launch spot. pru
  13. Welcome to nspn! Hope to see you on the water - and the message board! pru
  14. Wish I could join you all, but 7:30, alas, is my arrival-at-work time. Maybe someday if I'm not working I'll be able to participate... pru
  15. John Carmody,kayak teacher to many nspn'ers, recommends NOT feathering the paddle at all - or that's what he told me. pru
  16. I'm looking forward to the trip and would be glad to help with some clean-up. We should decide on what equipment we all should bring to help out. Weather permitting, I would think Friday would be the better day - particularly if we can get launched on schedule and etc. pru
  17. The NTSKW was a great success! A beautiful day (despite three raindrops as we were setting up at 7:30) and a really good program that I think inspired a number of attendees to think about moving from fresh water to salt water. Al, Leslie and Kevin's presentations were informative, funny and engaging. Al, with his high school teacher experience, managed to manage a bunch of opinionated NSPNers (herding cats!) to get the the formal educational part of the day organized. Blaine went above and beyond in taking care of tons of stuff. Ernie, Lisa, Rene, Jeff, Doug and Doug, Peter, Glen - oh dear, who am I forgetting! I'm sorry! - brought a willingness to work, boats, gear, and knowledge. The attendees had lots of good questions not only during the presentations, but at the break and lunch afterward, when we were able to chat with them at greater length, and folks looked at and sat in the many boats. And if any of you attendees are reading this - either as new members of NSPN or not - thanks for coming and hope we'll be seeing you out on the water! pru
  18. If you're new (sort of) to kayaking, you may enjoy going out with others and learning from/with them. I'm glad to see you've joined NSPN. Keep track of the "trips" message board. As the ocean temperature warms up into May and June, more trips will be posted. All of us are wearing dry suits (or maybe wet suits) at this time of year because the water is so cold. There will be trips to join almost every weekend through the summer. So join us on the water! You can check out everyone's gear, learn about new places to paddle, meet new people, and have a good time. pru
  19. Thanks everyone for your advice. I will check when I got camera, and in any event send it back to Panasonic for whatever they need to do with it. Hopefully it will be back and in working order for many scheduled events in May! pru
  20. Not sure exactly which model (I'm at work now) but I know it's the same one that Phil A has. I'll have to look to see if it's still under warranty - I bought it around a year ago. Definitely not my money's worth if it is dead and not replaceable...
  21. I have - and have been happy with - my (supposedly) waterproof Panasonic Lumix (same one that a lot of nspn folks have and have liked). Happy until I went to take some pictures of a huge tree that was just taken down behind my house and the camera was completely frozen up. While it turned on, none of the important buttons (shutter, zoom etc) worked. So no pictures of the cool downed tree. I was recently on vacation in the Virgin Islands and took a lot of underwater pictures, cleaned it (I thought) faithfully with fresh water after every use etc. Took it out this past wknd for a paddle and took some pix and everything was fine. But three days later, it doesn't work. So....does anyone have suggestions about best place to have camera diagnosed/repaired? Hunt's camera? Send it back to Panasonic? Thanks - pru
  22. Count me in for a Saturday evening after a paddle supper/talk/slideshow. pru
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