May 15 - How not to cross Lake Pepin

My third day on the river started leisurely, almost idyllic. I completed the first 12 miles very quickly. It was really calm on the water. Although I was aware, from listening to the weather radio, of a strong NW wind blowing, I was able to stay on the lee side by hugging the east bank of the river. With hindsight, that lulled me into far too relaxed a frame in mind.

I drifted through Red Wing, MN, a picturesque town with lots of old red brick buildings near the river, and the river curving lazily past the downtown area and ADM soy elevators. I even saw a young whitetail doe on the river bank just outside the town.

And then I got to Lake Pepin, a 20 mile long, 3 mile wide lake above Lock and Dam # 4. Once on the lake, there was nowhere to hide from the NW wind, which was blowing upwards of 20 mph by then. I have learned the hard way that a heavily loaded ocean kayak does not like the wind and waves pushing hard from behind. These boats are designed to track into the wind and oncoming waves; they're not intended to be surfboards. The situation didn't look too bad though: the wind was coming at a slight angle to my intended heading (ESE), just enough to take some of the edge off, and the waves were only around 2-3 feet high. I know from past experience that I can handle 5-6 feet waves with reasonable comfort, albeit with a lot of effort, out in the Pacific.

What I didn't realize is just how much the waves get amplified by the combined effects of the wind and current going roughly in the same direction, and more seriously, I was caught off guard by how quickly the wind can pick up speed and shift direction. I soon found myself surfing on top of 4 feet waves, pushed by wind gusts of 30 mph and more. I decided that my safest bet would be to try to get closer to the shore. If I get separated from the kayak, I could still make it to shore in more or less one piece. I pointed the boat's nose SSE, and paddled like mad. My plan seemed to work well, until about 30 yards from the shore, the wind shifted and started gusting God knows how fast, and the weirdest thing happened: I got blown right off the water! Literally. My kayak hit the rocky beach anywhere between 10 and 15 mph. I didn't quite know what the heck to make of the whole business. I just thanked my lucky stars (and some foresight on my part) that I was in a strong plastic boat. If I was in a fiberglass or Kevlar kayak, or even a lesser polyethylene one, I'd be waiting somewhere for a replacement boat, and most likely be nursing a few bruises; even a broken bone or two. So thank you Landis Arnold at Wildwasser Sport USA, and the good folks at Prijon who make these wonderful, indestructable boats.

Nor was this the end of my troubles. With the wind and the waves slamming into the beach relentlessly, there was no way I could get back onto the lake. The only option I had was to portage about a mile and a half, around a small bay, to an area that was a little more protected from the wind. I got the kayak onto the cart, fastened the straps and started dragging its 160+ pounds across, the soft, uneven, rock-strewn, debris-covered beach. It did not go well. The kayak was too heavy, the beach too soft, and my muscles too tired after the ordeal on the lake. Still, I plodded on, measuring my progress between rest stops in feet, not yards. After almost two hours, I reached a point where the beach sloped upwards about 15 degrees, and that stopped me dead in my tracks. I had to remove all my stuff from the hatches, carry everything over the hump, and haul the empty boat across the last 200 yards. That took another hour.

All my efforts were almost in vain. By the time I was ready to launch, the wind had shifted yet again, and I got swamped by three waves in rapid-fire succession before I had a chance to attach my spray skirt to the cockpit. That left me sitting in almost five inches of water. It is not pleasant to sit in five inches of water, and it completely messes up the kayak's balance. The water sloshes around every time the boat rolls, effectively shifting its center of gravity. I could not head out on the lake like that, so I slowly made my way to a spot only 40 yards away, beached the kayak again and set to work pumping out the water. After yet another forty five minutes, I finally managed to get back on the water with a kayak that didn't resemble a water tanker, in rough, but manageable conditions.

It took almost three hours to cross the next eight miles, to Lake City. I couldn't go on beyond that point. The wind was driving into my back at 20-30 mph, it was freezing, the waves were galloping along, pitching and rolling my kayak all over the place, and I was tired to the bone. The wind was blowing so hard that I couldn't make it around the small peninsula above the town to get out of the wind, so I had to camp in the howling, arctic wind blowing straight out of Canada. I dug in as best I could behind some logs and settled down for a chilly, uncomfortable night. There was no way to pitch the tent in that wind, so I had to sleep out in the open on my groundsheet, with my sleeping bag pulled close over my head like a potato sack. I didn't sleep well.

Strangely enough, my legs were more tired and sore than my arms and shoulders. I was working the rudder pedals so hard my legs felt like I had pedalled a mountain bike for 30 miles. It was a bit like landing a light aircraft in a 40 mph, gusting crosswind. You just keep pumping away at the rudder pedals and hope that you're doing more good than harm. And all the time it feels like the kayak is going to slip away from underneath you and leave you with your ass hanging in the waves.

I only had 22 miles to show for 12 hours of very hard labor. This lake should be renamed Lake Pepain