Stupidity and Complacency Teach a Lesson on a Fun Day

[cfolster]

Stupidity and Complacency Teach a Lesson on a Fun Day

Pre-reading warnings:  On the Baxter trip report scale of length, this is about a 8.  Grammar nitpickers:  I change tenses because in remembering, I am sometimes there and sometimes here in the present; just go with it.  Lots more pics available, but still limited by picture size when uploading, so can't share all of them.

 

I’m back at Cohasset in the summer. It’s one of my favorite kayaking destinations for so many reasons – the water is warmer than up north, Minot light, pretty coastline, easy conditions in some areas or sporting if you choose, Little Harbor current, pretty walk from the car to the launch and back with view of the fast-moving water at the lobster pound, the racing dories, the little fish in the stream, and of course, a nice bathroom at the launch. It’s been slightly over a year since I was there to do this same trip – with some of the same people.  Last year’s trip was modified because we were socked in with fog, and I was too unsure of my navigational skills to paddle out to Minot light.   This day, however, there was no fog and the weather looked great – we were finally going to get out to the light!    

As a navigational exercise, the night before I had worked out the heading I thought we should use from the last little point of land on the west side of Scituate Neck. I gave thought to the shoals between the neck and the lighthouse, possible wind and how I might adjust the heading to accommodate. I also found the heading back to land from the lighthouse.  With no fog this day, on the crossing over I did my best to ‘pretend’ there was fog, not focus on the lighthouse, but instead on my compass, the water and my group.  It was an interesting exercise to keep an eye on the compass and the group.  It was like having a paddler that needed a bit more attention than the others.  We had a discussion about the 4 star assessment and whether it would be acceptable to delegate navigation to one of your led participants.  If you did, what would you do to be sure they were navigating correctly?  My answers led me to the conclusion that I would never truly delegate navigation – but that’s my philosophy of paddling – stemming from control issues.  I would never hand over control to another person and let them lead me blindly - I must always ‘know’ – location, technique, plan, etc.  Anywho – that’s a long discussion for another post . . .

It was rewarding to keep the compass right where I wanted it and occasionally look up and see we were heading nicely to the lighthouse.  I know I would not have that luxury in the fog and would be a lot more anxiety-ridden, so I enjoyed the ease of the exercise.  We stopped once to wait for a boat to cross our path – and Robert reminded me to take that stop into consideration on the overall time to cross – only 35 seconds or so, but a very good reminder.  We arrived safely and on time by my calculations – we were finally here!  A first time for many of us! 

We didn’t see any sharks, but someone thought they saw a seal, so there was lots of speculation and joking around about sharks.  We had been pre-advised that it is great fun to climb up the ladder and jump off.  Of course, climbing navigational aids is probably illegal, so of course, we wouldn’t do that, but here are some presumably photoshopped pictures of what it would have looked like if someone had done so . . . twice.

I shared with everyone that the lighthouse has a unique flash sequence of (1, 4, 3).  Dan shared with us the local lore that it stands for ‘I Love You’, with the origin being the lighthouse keeper flashing this message of love and endearment to his bride on the shore.  I choose to believe it because, well, love. 

There were lots of fishing boats around and once you’ve circled the lighthouse a couple times and not jumped off the ladder a couple times, and a couple people had done a couple rolls, it’s time to go.  So now I look back towards the shore and attempt to figure out where Little Harbor is visually (yes, I can use my chart to get a specific heading, but this was now a piloting exercise).  I think it’s right below the white tank between the two mounds of light colored rock, but have nothing but my gut to support this – I’ve never been this far off the shore in this area and the tank is not on my chart.  But, since conditions are benign, it’s early in the paddle, there’s light boat traffic and it doesn’t really matter where we hit shore – I decided that’s a nice visually distinct spot to head to and see if I was right.  Mike had taken a heading on his chart and felt my instinct was right. It was a pleasant paddle back to shore. We visited the day marker and just generally chatted and enjoyed the calm sea and this wonderful sport that we do.  I tried to race a small motorized dingy and was doing well until they throttled up and outpaced me.  Oh well, maybe next time.

So, as we drew nearer and nearer to shore, I saw that I was indeed right.  Yeay!

But now here we are at the famed Little Harbor – home of the fun current, the scary current, the wave with the big hole, the messy wave train, the deceptively safe eddies, a place of learning, of conquering fear, of pride and of humility.   If, as the coaches would say, “It’s just water” – how can it be all of that? But it is – and more.  The ebb had indeed started – it was about 12:15 or so and high had been at 10:54. There was a bit of current running out, but not much in the way of waves, so some of the group stayed at the lower end and some paddled in to play at the bridge and have lunch. 

I did a roll in the mild current at the lower end to remind myself that I could do it.  Robert did the same and reminded himself that he could get some air, retry and be successful!  Eventually all of us ended up at the bridge and stopped on the beautiful pebble shore to have a rest and a bite.  After lunch, a few headed out to play in the waves forming below the bridge. 

Some of us stayed on shore to bask in the sun, search for pretty rocks and dangle our feet in the cool water.  A couple boats made their way out of the harbor before the water got too low.  A family was having fun jumping off the rocks under the bridge, riding the current, landing in the eddies and walking back for more.  It looked like great fun. 

After a while, a small group of paddle boarders came laughing and screaming from under the bridge and one of them was almost dumped from their board as they hit the waves.  I (and others as it turns out), were silently scoffing at them for not wearing their pfd’s. But they were having so much fun and the water looked so inviting, as they passed by, I lept up from my spot on the shore, and jumped into the swift moving current to have a play.  It was exhilarating – a little cool, but fun with the waves and being swept along with the current.  But then, I got hit in the face with a wave and decided I should find an eddy and get out.  I swam towards the shore but couldn’t get there.  I swam with all my might, but could not escape the current.  I continued to be swept down the small river, with panic starting to rise in my gut and crowd my thoughts.  I looked back towards my companions on the shore as I rounded the corner and waved for help, but they interpreted it as a wave and one of them waved back.  I was now desperately trying to identify eddies and figure my escape route because I was heading towards the wave at the entrance, which hadn’t really started it’s pourover, but I didn’t know that yet. I tried again for an eddy, and couldn’t make it.  I looked upstream when I could, hoping to see a kayak heading towards me, but no one came.  I looked downstream and with my focus now there, I was relieved to see the wave still had not really started with any force, but also could also now see and hear the paddleboarders.  I called ‘Help’ and they turned to me.  I said, ‘Please, can I hang onto your board?’.  One of them turned to stay in place in the current and I started to swim with the current towards them.  I took in a little water as I hit the rougher water at the entrance and was coughing when I got to them.  I thanked them between gasps of breath and coughing, relieved for this relative safety.  As I caught my breath and looked around, I see Robert come around the corner, racing downstream to my rescue.  I feel even more relief and he is soon at my side.  I thanked the paddle boarders again, and Robert directs me up onto his back deck, where I lay low, and he paddled back against the current to bring me to shore. 

He’s glad I’m safe, but he’s mad – a little a me and a little at the group.  It turns out he was facing away from the group getting into his kayak when I made my impetuous leap into the current, and did not know what I had done.  Once he was on the water, I think they mentioned that he should go find me – and he was surprised to learn what I had done. 

Why had they not come after me?  Well it turns out, they all thought I looked happy and in control – and I was when I was still near them.  I think we were also lulled into complacency: because we’re all skilled at being on top of this current in our kayaks; because the swimmers were having so much fun; because it was such a beautiful day.

If you know this area, you know it’s really a short stretch of river I’m talking about.  If I had to guess, this all took place over 2 minutes at most – maybe 3 by the time Robert go to me at the mouth.  It was still some ways out to the island – which was my next thought of safety if the paddleboarders had not helped me.  The irony of the boarders without pfd’s rescuing the person with the pfd, who had just silently mocked them, was not lost on me.  I had lept into the water without a vessel or plan and in hindsight, the pfd actually probably hindered my ability to navigate the current in some ways.  The swimmers were unencumbered and could maneuver more easily. In one of my attempts to swim towards an eddy, I briefly thought the pfd was hampering my ability to swim. My pfd was also more easily swept along by the current. 

I AM IN NO WAY ADVOCATING GOING WITHOUT A PFD.  What I do need to do, as Bill pointed out, is take a swift water rescue course and learn how to swim in fast moving current, learn how to ‘roll’ into an eddy, etc.  I know about that roll technique, but have never done it.  It did not occur to me, nor did it occur to me to use my whistle or use my radio – all happening so fast.  I wonder if the paddle boarders had not been there, if Robert hadn’t been on his way and I had more float time out to the island, would I have thought of these things?  Would the current have lessened enough out there that I could get out of it?

I wasn’t in grave danger, but I wasn’t in a very good situation.  I had put myself there.  I have thinking to do.

 

So, after Robert dropped me off and paddled back up against the current, I walked back along the pretty stone shore, too tired and wound up to see those pretty stones.  I shared some of my tale with the group, but I downplayed it a bit, still in a bit of shock and processing.  I think this writing is probably the first time they will understand what it was really like. 

The day continued on with folks playing in the current at the bridge, which does have a temporary bridge set up, but nothing hindering play there, at least for now.  Bill, who has excellent white-water experience, walked up and over and lept in with the swimmers, and rolled beautifully into the first eddy.

Soon, we all moved down to the outer wave and it was really going by the time we got there.  The hole looked huge as we swiftly headed downstream, but we all crossed it with ease and no falling over.  Dave, Bill, Dan, and Mike attacked the wave, taking turns attempting to get right up to the top.  There’s a somewhat scary eddy in the middle that you can’t really see that sucks you right towards the hole.  I made one good attempt and once I got to the other side, was happily, and somewhat cockily, playing on the eddy line, when I suddenly went over.  I was too surprised, so had to wet exit.  I had my scaredy pants on by the time Bill got to me for the rescue and was done for the day mentally.  I enjoyed watching the others repeatedly try to conquer the water, with lots of great rolls and rescues when those did not work.

3pm approached and the water was getting shallow; it was time to return to the land.  We paddled back against a mild ESE wind that had recently appeared (but as forecasted) and passed the pleasure boaters in the harbor entrance, all the while hoping to see the ice cream boat.  I’m beginning to think that experience of a past trip was a dream, that I imagined a small dinghy pulling up with Haagen-Dazs in a cooler; but I hold out hope that I will encounter it again, dream or not.

We returned to the launch and slowly returned our belongings, boats and beings to their respectful places.  It’s always a bit of a tough mental transition for me, mixed with joy and tiredness.  After everyone is changed, dinner was discussed and we settle on Stars on Hingham Harbor, as recommended by Mike.  It did not disappoint!

Another day on the water.  Another great day.  Another fun day.  Another day of learning.  Another day of living.

Thank you to Jill, Dave, Judy, Bill, Mike, Dan and Robert for joining me on this adventure.  I hope we can do it again next year.

[prudenceb]

On the Baxter Scale, I'll give you a 9.2.  A long and fun report about just one day.

As for your swim...  it made me think of how everyone up at Cobscook jumped into what I'm sure was stronger current and rode it around a rocky point.  Great fun and nothing to worry about because 1) everyone was watching and onboard with the plan, 2) someone set up with a throwbag on the point to toss at the swimmer zipping by and 3) there was a backup swimmer-catcher in a kayak in case the swimmer missed the throwbag...or the thrower missed the swimmer.  Silly you!  Glad it turned out ok and that you learned something.

Wish I'd been there.  As much as I enjoy planning for and going on Big Trips, I really really really miss all the great paddles my friends are doing with each other in this great area thst we are blessed to have such easy access to.

Thanks for a  great report that made me really envious!

Prudence

 

[billvoss]

First, it was a good trip Cathy.  Thanks again for organizing and leading it Supreme Leader.

1 hour ago, cfolster said:

I think this writing is probably the first time they will understand what it was really like. 

Yes.  I would probably have suggested I spot you while you repeated at least part of your swim if I had fully understood your experience.

56 minutes ago, cfolster said:

I swam towards the shore but couldn’t get there.  I swam with all my might, but could not escape the current.  I continued to be swept down the small river, with panic starting to rise in my gut and crowd my thoughts.

Panic is always a potential problem.  It is certainly difficult to stay calm and think clearly when panic visits.

51 minutes ago, cfolster said:

Would the current have lessened enough out there that I could get out of it?

I wasn’t in grave danger, but I wasn’t in a very good situation.

In white-water, if you swim a rapid the basic rules are get on your back, get your feet up and downstream with your legs slightly bent, and time your breathing because sometimes your head might be underwater.  The extra credit options are maneuvering to avoid running into things like rocks, and barrel rolling into eddies.   However, usually you just wait because eventually the rapid ends and then either discharges into a pool, calmer current, or if you are a semi-crazy paddler playing above something dangerous like a waterfall you should soon see throw ropes coming your way.  Getting a huge adrenaline rush and finishing with very rapid breathing is a typical reaction.

In your case the current would have slowed and eventually discharged you into the ocean which was in a mellow mood that day.  In the unlikely event that nobody ever came for you, you could have lazily swum across the mild current like dealing with a riptide, then swum in to shore and walked back to the bridge.  Your PFD would have kept you breathing, and the conditions were warm enough that you had hours of functional self-rescue time available.  Assuming none of the Great White Sharks nibbled on your toes.

1 hour ago, cfolster said:

Bill, who has excellent white-water experience, walked up and over and lept in with the swimmers, and rolled beautifully into the first eddy.

That was my plan A.  Plan B was to catch a later eddy.  Play C was to float the entire rapid and then treat the current like a riptide swimming across the current and then in to shore.  Assuming of course none of the boaters I floated past offered me a lift.  I do have the advantage of having practiced those skills during multiple swift water rescue courses, not to mention the even more numerous unplanned swims I've experienced paddling white-water.

[dcycleman]

Awesome trip,

thanks for organizing it Cathy.

i think there was a bit of lack of communication as far as the swimming went.(for me) I watched you happily jump in the fast moving water and I thought your plan was to float down stream. As I was watching you float away , I was also watching Rob calmly put his spray skirt around his cockpit. I thought "oh, ok, this must have been the plan" (for Rob to knowingly go fish you back to shore). We were watching though, and had Rob not arrived when he had we quickly would have assisted. (But as Bill pointed out, you probably would have got to shore before then anyhow).

A great day had by all. Looking forward to next time. 

-Dave

[Dan Foster]

Thanks, Cathy, for leading a great trip, and for starting an open discussion about some of the issues that came up along the way.

I was still sitting by the water's edge and eating lunch when you began your float to the sea, and not a single alarm bell went off in my head as you went around the corner and out of sight. I only mentioned to Rob that you might appreciate a ride back because I thought it would be a challenging workout for him to paddle back up (presumably from the next eddy downstream) with you on the back deck. If that was what prompted him to look for you, it was a lucky break indeed. Thankfully those paddle boarders were there, and thankfully Rob decided to verify your safety rather than just assuming you were OK like I did.

Some thoughts on contributing factors and how we might deal with them in the future:

This was a led trip, not a CAM trip. I was only half-joking when I said I turned my brain off back at the parking lot. I left the chart, compass, radio, and tow belt behind for this trip. I definitely dialed back on the preparation and safety items I'd normally bring to a CAM trip.

Many of us had been to Cohasset together before, so there was some complacency in "familiar" waters, and we didn't spend much time talking about how we were going to play safely around Little Harbor.

Last year's trip to Minot Light got turned back by fog. So much of our group discussion this year was about navigation, compass bearings, sharks, and channel crossings. Apart from the "are you OK? / I'm OK" hand signals, we didn't talk about what was arguably the most dangerous hazard of the trip - the currents and features at Little Harbor.

We were presented with spur-of-the-moment opportunities to do new things that we'd never dealt with before. (Not jumping off of lighthouses, rolling in shark country, and swimming in swift water.) I think we do a very good job of recognizing the dangers of situations we've seen or been in before, but it's much harder to look at a new situation and evaluate the risk factors on the spot. If Cathy had come out of her boat below the bridge, pushed her boat to safety in an eddy, and then floated off around the corner, I think every one of us would have been running to our boats for a rescue. And yet, the same swimmer in the same current got a friendly wave and no further concern.

To echo Cathy's remark, I also have some thinking to do. (And some photos to sort through and post)

I had a great time at Cohasset and can't wait to get back out there again. I hope the lessons we learn from this trip and the ensuing discussion enhance our future paddles together as a group.

[Phil Allen]

Hey Cathy

Nothing worse than that scary feeling that things are bad AND you've lost the safety support structure of your group.  I'll share my cobcscook story with you sometime over ETOH.  I'm sure by now that you've figured out a bunch of things that could have made this not an issue. Otherwise it looks like it was a great trip on a fun tide.

phil

[Inverseyourself]

 

Cathy:

Glad you didn't get hurt. I can imagine that it was one of those "I'm in trouble but I don't want to create too much of a fuss"-situations, at least initially. Did you think of blowing your whistle? After doing an intense 2 day white water rescue course years ago, I have been thinking of getting back into an eddy as a horizontal version of a Dancing Dervish. Watch a Dervish dance on youtube and imagine doing it in the water :-) 

 

Phil:

I am home from work and over some ETOH....and so should you be at this time of the day. Why not share the Cobscook story now  ?

[prudenceb]

7 hours ago, Phil Allen said:

Hey Cathy

Nothing worse than that scary feeling that things are bad AND you've lost the safety support structure of your group.  I'll share my cobcscook story with you sometime over ETOH.  I'm sure by now that you've figured out a bunch of things that could have made this not an issue. Otherwise it looks like it was a great trip on a fun tide.

phil

I heard that story...admittedly second hand.  Can relate!

[cfolster]

Led trip: key point.  I made a conscious, but uncommunicated decision not to lead at little harbor.  I felt we all know how to look out for each other.  It was a very bad choice to not share that decision, even worse to make it at all.  A simple 1 minute huddle at the entrance where I remind everyone of the dangers, good communication, etc, and I could have continued with my very background leadership style -because that group really doesn't need much- just the occasional reminder as we get caught up in the fun, and a watchful eye.  Even if I'd just verbalized the thought that I know each of you is almost always watching and checking on others, and that I was going to step back and count on that, would have been good.  I know we split into two groups almost immediately, and I should have listened to my gut then.  And everyone DID watch out for each other and we had a good play because of it.  I'm just critiquing my own performance.

Still lots to learn - I hope others can learn with me as I lay bare my foibles on this forum.

18 hours ago, Dan Foster said:

If Cathy had come out of her boat below the bridge, pushed her boat to safety in an eddy, and then floated off around the corner, I think every one of us would have been running to our boats for a rescue. And yet, the same swimmer in the same current got a friendly wave and no further concern.

Dan, I was fascinated by this comment.  It's so true.  

I'm glad everyone had a good time; I know I did.  

[rfolster]

As some of you may know, I almost never fully "shut off" from leadership, even when I am not leading.  So when we first arrived at Little Harbor and people just started shooting upstream while others (including myself) were still at the river mouth, and then Cathy told me that she wasn't leading the group at that point, my alarm bells were ringing!!  However, knowing who was up there made it much easier to decide to let people go since the consequences were minimal because anyone in trouble would be coming back our way anyways.  However, after later hearing that someone rolled on their first run at the current both confirmed my theory (that they could take care of themselves), but also made me question my judgement at the same time.

After eating my lunch, I was watching the water and thinking that it would be more fun playing than sitting around.  As a powerboat came chugging through and kicking up the waves, I really wanted to be out there!.  So I pulled my boat down to get ready, but as I did the waves died down, so I was no longer in any rush.  Interestingly, as I was getting ready, I did notice Cathy leap into the water (and heard the giggles!) behind me, but I didn't think much of it since everyone else was on the bank right there, and so I continued to get ready to play in the current before it got "crowded" by those much more exuberant than me.

On 7/23/2017 at 8:00 PM, dcycleman said:

As I was watching you float away , I was also watching Rob calmly put his spray skirt around his cockpit. I thought "oh, ok, this must have been the plan" (for Rob to knowingly go fish you back to shore).

 

21 hours ago, Dan Foster said:

I only mentioned to Rob that you might appreciate a ride back because I thought it would be a challenging workout for him to paddle back up (presumably from the next eddy downstream) with you on the back deck. If that was what prompted him to look for you, it was a lucky break indeed.

When Dan suggested that I look for Cathy downstream, I was instantly shocked that she was gone because she had just been there!!  As I crossed over to the other side and looked downstream, I couldn't see her and thought that she might be on the bank where I couldn't see, and asked where she was.  When people didn't know, that is when I hit the current to get downstream as fast as I could.  Before I even rounded the bend, she was already out in the bay holding onto the SUP.    I was surprised to find her so far out, but not after a few aggressive strokes in that current had me on her in seconds.  Once I had her on the back of my Delphin, making it back to the shore was a challenge as the stern of that boat does not appreciate passengers.  Thankfully, I had practice doing this with a couple of different people in Cobscook,

All in all, I don't think that this was an epic event, but more of an interesting moment.  We have all had them, and sometimes we share, others we don't.  While we might want to focus on this one aspect, I think that it really was a very good day for everyone.  Starting with the relaxed trip out to the light house and back, and then seeing people in the rough stuff tearing it up and rolling up when it didn't work out as planned was really fun to watch.  Add that to the cooperative nature of the group throughout the day (said moment not withstanding) made this a really nice trip to be on.  Maybe next time we can all take a swim and experience the power of the current, but with a little preparation thrown in.

[jmcotton]

Thanks Cathy for your detailed post. It's really helpful to read the processing of this and to learn from it. Glad it all worked out! 

Janice

[Pintail]

<I shared with everyone that the lighthouse has a unique flash sequence of (1, 4, 3).  Dan shared with us the local lore that it stands for ‘I Love You’, with the origin being the lighthouse keeper flashing this message of love and endearment to his bride on the shore.  I choose to believe it because, well, love>

Unfortunately for you, Cathy, the local lore cannot possibly have any credence because morse code requires two different lengths of flash, doesn't it (shorts and longs)?  (Or "dots" and "dashes" or "dits" and "dahs")  I don't believe there are lighthouses that can perform that sort of differentiation?  (If "I love you" was transcribed into morse, by initial letters, then:  dit dit (gap) dit dah dit dit (gap) and dah dit dah dah would be what was required from that lovesick keeper)

Sadly, the morse code has now been officially dropped from (military) usage, AFAIK; but I am not sure about aviation navaids...?  There was a time when I was fluent in it.

[billvoss]

While it is possible the lighthouse keeper and his bride were both proficient in morse code, it seems more probable to me that the lighthouse keeper told his bride something like.  I'll flash the sequence (1,4,3) to say "I" one letter, "love" four letters, "you" three letters every time I'm out at the lighthouse thinking of you.

Like Cathy I choose to believe it may be true because, well love.