Yesterday, I received a call from a journalist at one of the “biggie” national magazines. She is working on an article about moving to Vermont for the June issue. She wanted to know about kayaking on Lake Champlain.

Hmmm. Yup, I can talk about that.

I took her on a “verbal” tour of my favorite section of the lake – putting in at the mouth of Otter Creek where one might see osprey, kingfishers, turtles, beaver, mink, fox, deer, and dragonflies among the wealth of species that make their home where river meets lake. I described the backdrop of the Adirondack and Green Mountain ranges that flank the lake, the 200 foot-high cliffs that rise from the water where paddlers may sight a rare peregrine falcon, a species that was almost eliminated in the days of DDT and Rachel Carson’s “Silent Spring.”

I could hear the reporter yawning from her Manhattan office. “That sounds nice,” she said. “Are there any seals and sea lions?”

Seals and sea lions? On Lake Champlain?

It’s not the first time someone has asked if they might see marine mammals in our freshwater lake. I went on to explain that our lake is not connected with the ocean today, but that Lake Champlain was filled with saltwater for a period after the glaciers of the last ice age retreated 10,000 years ago. I told her the story of the Charlotte whale – bones of a beluga that were found by railroad workers digging a railway bed in the nineteenth century.

I could hear the yawning again.

My naturalist friends have a term for what the reporter was looking for. “Charismatic megafauna” – large animal species with widespread popular appeal. The polar bear. The Asian elephant. The giant panda. The blue whale. That’s what today’s ecotourist wants to see.

I mentioned the increasing number of bald eagle sightings, including the one that flew over the top of Gypsy Rose late last fall.

“That’s nice,” the reporter replied, but I knew that I hadn’t yet uncovered the big one for the story.

Despite our apparent lack of charismatic megafauna, the interview progressed. I moved on to the cultural highlights of the area. I spoke of the many shipwrecks on that section of lake, adding that the paddler can make a stop to learn more at the Maritime Museum along the route.

More yawns from Manhattan.

We’ll just have to wait and see what (if anything) shows up on those glossy perfumed pages when the article goes to print in a couple of months.

 I was still pondering the interview when an article in this morning’s New York Times caught my eye.

“TROPHY TRIPS”

“For today’s jet set it’s a braggart’s banquet.”

Here are a few excerpts:

“ . . . lately the idea of the trophy trip has reached a peak, as the travel industry keeps offering rarer and more meaningful ways to connect to the world.”

‘‘Most of our clients have ‘been there, done that,’ ’’ says Mollie Fitzgerald of the high-end outfitter Frontiers International Travel. ‘‘People are seeking richer experiences because the ‘flop and drop’ concept is passé.’’

“Trophy hunting comes at a price, of course, and as global wealth keeps expanding, there’s no shortage of punters. ‘For people at the very top, there are not many surprises left,’ says the Cornell professor Robert H. Frank, author of ‘Luxury Fever: Money and Happiness in an Era of Excess.’ Like modern-day Edmund Hillarys, the über-elite are going to the ends of the earth — and beyond — and they want to get there first.”

“Such is the power of bragging rights. As Ann Mack, who monitors trends for J. Walter Thompson in New York, puts it, ‘The more experiences you have — and the more obscure and upscale they are — the more interesting you are at cocktail parties, because you have done something that most people haven’t.’”

Okay, okay, now I get it. If only I could offer an exclusive opportunity to sight Lake Champlain’s legendary lake monster, Champ! Talk about charismatic megafauna! Talk about a Trophy Trip!

Wow! If I could have promised Champ, that upcoming article (and me) might even have had a chance at the front page!

Pilot gig racing is big sport in the Isles of Scilly. The World Pilot Gig Championships, held annually on the small islands southwest of Cornwall, England, attracted 103 men’s and 95 women’s teams for the 2007 event.

Here in the U.S., gig racing is little known, but for those who participate in North America’s only open water racing circuit, the annual Snow Row in Hull, Massachusetts is the signature event.

It was the coldest morning of the winter when we hitched up the trailers and began the drive south to Boston Harbor. Fifteen below zero outside Gypsy’s door and twenty-four below at Geoff’s home in Westford. A snowstorm was forecast for the return trip on Saturday evening, but bad weather wouldn’t deter the two crews that set out from the Lake Champlain Maritime Museum last Friday morning.

Among the sixty boats lined up on the beach for this year’s March 1st race, more than a dozen were gigs. Vermont is usually well represented in the race, but forecasts for a winter storm kept the youth crews at home this year. (The Champlain Longboats program at the Maritime Museum has been building a new pilot gig each year since 2000. Its fleet of nine boats is the largest this side of the Atlantic - perhaps even in the world!)

Above, one of the Vermont crews prepares for some pre-race practice in the Saturday morning rain.

Rowers compete on a 3.75 mile course at the southern entrance to Boston Harbor. The start is “Lemans style,” with all the bows on the beach and the crews standing ready thirty feet away. When the gun sounds, racers run for their boats, leap over the bow, and scramble to their assigned oar. The rower closest to the bow pushes the gig off the beach, hops aboard, and the race is under way. In tight quarters among the other 32-foot gigs, crews have to turn the boats 180 degrees before they can start pulling toward the first turn at Sheep Island. (We are the boat at the lower right corner of the picture above.) There are inevitable collisions and tangled oars, but soon the racers have settled into the rhythm for the haul.

The mighty “Fishcakes” have been rowing in the Snow Row for eight years. Above, our leader and coxswain, Geoff Kerr, steers us off the beach for a pre-race warm-up run. Below, the rest of the crew sits ready at the oars. I’ll be pulling the stroke oar. Next in line sits “Papa” Nick Patch, followed by Jeff Meyers and finally Jeff Severson on the number one oar at the bow.

We arrive each year in Hull with a few more grey hairs and admissions to being sorely out of shape. Moments before the starting gun went off, I turned to my teammates and confessed, “This is going to hurt really bad.”

It doesn’t matter. The bumper sticker we found years ago sums up the spirit of the event. “Row Hard, No Excuses.”

We finished well ahead of all boats in the four-oared class, winning our division. The following line from Geoff Kerr’s post-race email sums it up well.

“That was the best time in ages guys, thanks for letting me play too.  I can't help but be satisfied at how dominating we'd be if we gave a damn!  Between natural ability and evil genius we are tops.”

*My ability to photograph the event is limited by the fact that both hands are clutching an oar, but you can Click Here for photos from the 2007 race.

On November 21st, I reluctantly motored Raven north from my mooring on Shelburne Bay and came to a rest against the dock at Shelburne Shipyard. The crew was waiting with the marine travel lift. Within minutes the slings were placed around Raven's hull and she was hoisted from the water and placed on the steel cradle for the winter.

Various delays led me to December 14th before putting the winter covers on. On that day, I drove down Bay Road and looked out at the lake, basking under an unusually warm sun and waters that seemed to say, "You still could be sailing."

It was over 60 degrees when I finally pulled the tarps over the frame above Raven's deck. We're on track for a record warm December. Sadly, as this warming trend continues, we will be left with an expanding worldwide shoreline to explore in coming years . . .

Years ago, I couldn’t help but notice an ad on the back of a Maine newspaper. It was promoting the catamaran ferry that runs between Bar Harbor and Nova Scotia. The picture was of an enormous boat, skimming across the water at high speed on its state of the art hydrofoiling hulls. In addition to noting the gambling and gift shops aboard, the ad tried to lure the traveler with the prospect of “all this while watching the scenery speed by at 55 miles per hour.”

What the . . . ?

Last week, I heard an ad on the radio for a local shopping mall. The marketers appealed to the desire to control our environment with the claim, “where the temperature is always 72 degrees.”

Hmmm. If the marketers are on to something here, I suppose that sailing is not for everyone. When schedules must be kept, the notion of languishing on windless waters can really make a mess of the timetable displayed in digital precision on a PDA. When the leading edge of a squall turns the weather cool, foul weather gear may be in order rather than peering out from a climate controlled interior.

Those of us who enjoy sailing are typically searching for more intimate connections with natural rhythms rather than fooling ourselves about any notion of dominion. We accept that much of life is out of our control. Rather than fight it, we let nature dictate the pace. We are humbled by the storms. We slow down when the winds stop blowing. We dip in the water when it’s hot or put on a sweater and “foulies” when it’s cold.

Last weekend’s promise for 10-20 knots of wind went unfulfilled. On Sunday, my friend Marion and I took ten hours to cover 4.5 miles. Three consecutive log entries placed our position “just south of Diamond Island.” To the west, the 1000 foot-high Snake Mountain ridge rose sharply from the water. A flock of perhaps 50 Canada geese drifted along noisily to the east. Sunny skies and 85 degree air warmed our bodies after weeks of seemingly endless rain. Much of the time we just sat in silence - watching, listening, feeling. No hurry. Nature’s pace. It was good.

I sit at my desk aboard Raven, snugged up to a mooring in Burlington harbor. There is a bronze oval portlight above the desk, framing the view of the city immediately to the east of me. The sounds of the urban world filter in – the hammering of new construction along Battery Street, automobiles darting about, sirens in the distance, children playing in the park.

Another portlight frames the view to the west. Juniper Island floats on a watery foreground. The Adirondacks rise from Lake Champlain’s western shores. A squall has wrapped the peaks in cold, wet clouds that have now descended to the lake. They are moving quickly eastward toward Vermont.

     “Talk of mysteries-Think of our life in
     nature-daily to be shown matter, to come
     in contact with it-rocks, trees, wind on
     our cheeks! the solid earth! the actual world!
     the common sense! Contact! Contact!
     Who are we? where are we?”

Ever since first reading Thoreau’s essay, “The Maine Woods”, I’ve thought long about his words.

     “Contact! Contact!”

The modern world lies to the east of me, the approaching storm and wildness to the west.

     “Who are we? Where are we?”

I’ll climb the steps of the companionway. In the cockpit of my floating home, the views that I now see separately through two bronze windows will combine as one.

     "Contact! Contact!"

When it came time to launch Raven this year I was reminded once again that Nature does not cater to our artificial schedules.  The week prior we had a spell of glorious weather. My schedule did not allow me to use any of that time to work on Raven. The week after the launch was warm and sunny, too, but I had made arrangements with the Shelburne Shipyard to have Raven lowered into Lake Champlain on Friday, April 7th. I reduced my flexibility even further by asking that Raven be launched at 3 PM, to accommodate my son's school schedule.

So, it wasn't perfect. As I busied myself with the last minute tasks during the two days prior to the launch, the temperatures hovered around 40, with a biting northwest wind. Then, on Friday, the forecast was for cold rain beginning in the afternoon. Fortunately I finished my work by the time the rain started at 2 pm. It was pouring while I drove to Burlington to pick Jackson up from school. (David was unable to make the launch because of an aftershool practice.) Jackson emerged from the elementary school wearing only a cotton sweatshirt. "Now I'll have hypothermia to deal with," I thought.

We didn’t have time to go dig out his coat. I bundled him up in one of my raincoats and he gained extra insulation from his PFD. We left the mooring area in the inflatable Zodiac for the 3-mile run to the shipyard at the mouth of Shelburne Bay. The fog was thick. The rain continued. The air temp was 40. The water temp was 35.

I've always been impressed by the staff and services offered at the Shelburne Shipyard. Launch day was no exception. The staff were standing by as we motored to the dock. They are very well equipped and very professional. Raven was put in the slings of the Travelift, moved out over the water, and lowered in. I fired up the diesel and we motored out into the fog, setting a course to our mooring.

Saturday dawned clear and cold. A layer of ice covered Rosie (the Zodiac inflatable). Mansfield shone white with new snow. A loon drifted slowly off our starboard side. Canada geese honked above. Not another boat on the lake. It was glorious. I busied myself making breakfast for the boys and we all remarked about how good it was to have Raven back afloat.

This three and a half day hands-on experience will give you the necessary skills to plan your trips and navigate your kayak adventures with confidence and safety. The program focuses on time-honored, traditional navigation skills. (I've often thought about subtitling the class, "What to do when the batteries die.") You'll learn how to arrive at your destination by observing the world around you, aided by a chart and compass on the deck of your boat.

Our "classroom" offers the very best of Downeast Maine. Beginning with a stay at a cozy bed and breakfast in Stonington, we paddle for three days through the island-studded, wildlife-rich waters between Deer Isle and Isle Au Haut. We spend two nights at island campsites, dining on hearty meals that include fresh mussels and lobster (of course!), before returning to Stonington on Sunday afternoon.

To learn more, click here, or send me an email, or give me a call at 802.238.0674.

Kevin Rose

A BRIEF HISTORY OF PADDLEWAYS
PaddleWays has its origins in a lifelong love affair with water. My interest in boats developed out of practical considerations. I needed a means for exploration.

I grew up near the Connecticut River, in Bradford, Vermont. As a young teen, I often spent the early spring days playing in floodwaters that had crested the riverbanks. Our first "boat" was born when a friend and I lashed a plank to a pair of 50-gallon drums and floated out onto the swollen river. An idea was born. That idea eventually took the form of a raft, a wooden platform supported by six steel drums, sixteen feet long and seven feet wide. Think of it as a dock that is not attached to shore - set adrift on the river with two wide-eyed teens aboard.

"Foxy Lady," as we named our raft, was fitted with a homemade charcoal stove at the bow, supply boxes for food and clothing, and a tent that was pitched on deck for sleeping at night. Each spring for three years, my friend and I took our raft on a week-long trek down the Connecticut River. We would haul the craft to a location just downstream of the Rygate, Vermont dam, leaving it for a day with all of our supplies. We'd then continue on to Littleton, New Hampshire and the Ammonoosuc River where we'd launch our canoe (also named for a Hendrix tune, "Wild Thing"). After twenty miles of whitewater paddling, we'd reach the confluence with the Connecticut River and rejoin the raft. From there, we'd shove off for a week of drifting downstream through the rural farming communities along the Vermont, New Hampshire border.

Years later, I moved to the "big city" of Burlington, on the shores of Lake Champlain. There, in the backyard, were hundreds of miles of new shoreline to explore. While my first forays onto the broad lake were in my trusty canoe, I soon learned that the open waters of Lake Champlain requred a vessel better adapted to wind and waves. It was then that I discovered the sea kayak.

The kayak met all of my criteria for lake exploration. Easy to transport, light, suitable for solo travel, secure storage for gear, and aesthetically pleasing. I was ready to paddle the miles, but I also knew that open water paddling has its inherent dangers. I set out to find other paddlers who had discovered the sea kayak. That quest led to the formation of the Champlain Kayak Club in 1991.

The Champlain Kayak Club grew steadily from three initial members to an affiliation of hundreds of area paddlers. In those early years, I spent much of the time that I was not on the water writing and editing articles for the club's quarterly newsletter, Blazing Paddles. Our weekly Wednesday night paddles were well attended and we also organized several weekend and overnight paddles throughout the year. It was great fun and I made many lifelong friends in the process.

By 1996 virtually all of my non-working hours were devoted to the Champlain Kayak Club. It was a natural progression to begin entertaining the idea, "Wouldn't it be great to make my living by doing something that I love?" I answered yes to that question and PaddleWays was born.

Ten years have passed. I have had the great pleasure of paddling with thousands of PaddleWays guests. We've shared many miles, many laughs, and many challenges along the way. With those memories and experiences to guide me, I'm looking forward to the next ten years of adventure and I hope to see you along the way.

Kevin Rose, Founder/Owner
PaddleWays, Inc.

Beginning with the Summer, 2006 season, PaddleWays will offer half-day and full-day sailing charters departing from Burlington, Vermont.

Details coming soon!