Lake Umbagog, July 1,2,3

[PeterB]

(report delayed by trip overseas…)

On Saturday afternoon I launched from the public boat ramp on the south end of Lake Umbagog, crossed Sargent Cove and paddled up the eastern shore to Tidswell Point, where the lake makes a big right (eastward) turn. Looking around the corner here, I was inspired to paddle over to Tyler Cove, which is tucked into a southeastern corner of this part of the lake, about a mile and three quarters away. The wind, meanwhile, had picked up and was from the west. Here there is a west-east fetch of a little over three miles, and since the lake here is shallow (maybe 10 feet deep) I found myself amidst short, steep, breaking little wind waves, not much by ocean standards but these whitecaps packed so close together in ones rear can be “technical” in their own right (in the words of Alex L: ”I’d rather be out in the big honkin’ stuff..”) So I rode the following seas (following lakes?) down to Tyler Cove, and by the time I got there, whitecaps were close to 2 feet, and the entrance to the cove was a choppy mess of water. A few times on the way I was goosed from behind by a wave catching my (very low) stern deck, requiring a quick low brace, but it was a fun, fast ride.

Tyler Cove is probably the lake’s best beach, a sandy, pebbly affair maybe 100 yards long, and is often a favorite gathering spot for power boaters sometimes fondly referred to as “Bassholes” by us pious low-impact types. But on this windy, choppy afternoon, I had the place to myself. Weather was passing through rapidly; big Huthian cumulus clouds were off to the east, forming into textbook vertical columns right before my eyes, in almost surreal sharp focus, front-lit by the late afternoon sun, but moving along to make trouble elsewhere.

Tyler Cove was secluded, peaceful, a perfect rest spot , but my blood was up after my ride there, so I rested only briefly, stretched my legs, nipped some Gatorade, and was soon back in the saddle for the return ride, straight into the wind. Now armed with my Greenland stick, the weapon of choice in a headwind and short confused chop, I made my way from one short trough to the next , and was pleased to find that my boat, an Anas acuta, was the perfect mount for these conditions today : its rockered hull and hard chines seemed to the grip water slashing from many directions, and it was a very stable, comfortable, fun ride. Combine that with a Greenland stick and, aaaahhh, life is as it should be.

Wind waves on this lake can vanish as fast as they appear, and by the time I got back to Tidswell point and crossed to the lee of Big Island, things were back to “normal” and the rest of the ride was uneventful. I poked into Thurston Cove, behind Big Island, past more remote campsites (mostly unoccupied) , and paddled down the west shore of the lake, behind Big Island and back to the boat lunch, about eleven miles total.

The next day, on a calmer, sunny afternoon, my wife Bonnie and I had a fine afternoon on the water together , this time on the other (northern) end of the lake.

She and I don’t paddle together often, as she has MS and fatigues easily, especially in her arms, which limits her boating ambitions to short outings in calm conditions. I had read an article on towing by Wayne Horodowich in which he wrote that, since towing is associated with emergencies and rescues, its other benefits may be underrated , and in a non-emergency role it can allow paddlers of disparate abilities to paddle together, or allow a slow (read: outcast) paddler to keep up with a group. With this in mind, I had hit on the idea of towed outings together, which would enable us to go farther and stay out longer. So, with my tow line daisy -chained down to less than 15 feet so that we could easily converse while underway, we launched from just above the Errol Dam on the Androscoggin, paddled up the river about three miles to where it meets the lake at Leonard Pond, not a pond at all but where the Magalloway and Androscoggin Rivers meet in a lovely open, marshy delta (un unusual delta at that; the rivers run in opposite directions). Here a well known bald eagle’s nest sits in a solitary tall tree which towers over the marshlands. A few kayaks, canoes, and smaller motorboats came & went as we paddled around Leonard Pond for a while before returning the way we came. Along the way, there was the usual fare of loons, herons, ducks, and an osprey perched in a dead cedar with a red-finned pickerel in its talons. Kingbirds made abrupt, chattering forays from their perches, and I heard but did not see other birds: an olive–sided flycatcher (“pleased-pleased-pleased to meet-cha!”) and yellow warblers (”Sweet-sweet- I’m- so-sweet”)

All the while I was thinking: tows are good. We had never gotten this far together, (our outing totaled about 9 miles), and the tow felt easy, not a burden at all. Bonnie paddled when she could, rested when she pleased, and said afterwards that the benefit of the tow was as much psychological; knowing that she didn’t have to keep up helped her relax and enjoy the trip.

The next day I did a shorter (@ 6 mile), more business-like workout paddle, launching from the tip of Thurston Cove and circling Big Island. Along the way, a robust, very relaxed loon seemed not to mind my passing within 10 feet. The loons on Lake Umbagog seem very un-skittish, for some reason. The water level is very high this year and their nests, which are right next to the water, might have been washed away. Loons are swimming (not waddling) machines; their legs are designed for propulsion and are at the very back on their bodies, so they can only wriggle about on their bellies while on land.

At the take out a horsefly the size of a bumblebee gave me a hammer-like bite through my shorts; it did pack a punch but things could have been much worse; it was my only insect bite of note that day, a far cry from the marshes around Essex Bay and Cranes Beach, so: life is good.

[Rob Hazard]

Your report made nice reading, Peter.

I'd heard of Lake Umbagog (UMbagog or umBAYgog?) before, but never took the trouble to look it up. I did read Louise Dickenson Rich's book, "We Took to the Woods" years ago.Maybe that's where I found the name.

Sounds like you were in the Anas Acuta, no?

Cheers,

Rob

[PeterB]

It's Um-BAY-gog