Of Swells and Surf

A particular danger of the sea is the fact that after successfully getting through one wave, you discover that there is another behind it.

(Stephen Crane, “The Open Boat”)

Today’s jaunt was supposed to be the last in open ocean as I would cross over into Shinnecock Bay at Shinnecock Inlet. However, I had been warned by Chris Paparo, naturalist, writer, photographer and friend, about today’s maritime weather. There’s a bit more wind and bigger swells, he offered. hmmmm.

When I arrived at Sagg Main Beach, the only person around was a young man fishing from shore. I dragged the kayak to the ocean’s edge and readied myself for taking on the surf. I asked him how it was going. Good, lots of hits. Oh, and I saw a shark fin in the water, he offered in a deadpan voice.

Overnight, it seems, newly placed old signs about least tern and plover habitat were put in. Dunes to the south then were closed to the public. It was a cloudy and windy day, but nothing ominous. Spray skirt on, and few pushes put me into the first wave. A few more to crash through, and I was beyond the surf only a bit wet for the wear.

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Gentle reader. At this point you might expect a few nice photos of the rolling ocean as in the day before. You will not see these for two reasons: first, the rudder line fouled and did not allow me to lower the rudder; two, the swells were already about two feet high, and the wind and current were stronger than I had noticed on shore. I thought about heading ashore and fixing the rudder, but that meant dealing with the landing and I thought to myself … let’s see how it goes. So the camera did not leave my pocket during the first few hours as I concentrated on keeping the kayak upright!

The menhaden were going about their work of finding striped bass mouths, and I remained on alert for sharks, though I think the young fisherman was trying to create a feeling of adventure for me. He didn’t need to. As I paddled west, pushed by wind and current, the swells grew by the hour. It is a bit of an exaggeration to say I sailed past the Bridgehampton Tennis and Surf Club. It was clearly more of a tennis day as no surfers made their way past the waves.

Soon I could see the area where Mecox Bay sometimes cuts its way to the ocean; however, often these days, local officials decide to bring in heavy equipment and artificially open it in order to flush the pond and lower the risk of blue-green algae blooms. It gets complicated again by locals wanting to open the trench to keep Mecox clear of harmful algal blooms but can’t disturb the terns and plovers, some want the pond flushed to lower the water levels which sometimes flood basements, and others want the beach to remain as is because of erosion concerns. My students like to use the word “natural” about places they see as less-developed. I often will introduce the word “anthropogenic” (meaning originating from humans) to remind them that often areas we might see as “natural” might also be anthropogenically shaped, perhaps even created. I offer them that there is likely nowhere on the globe that we might call “pristine wilderness” because climate change and human impact in one way or another has shaped likely everywhere. Now what do we do? Lament? Or think carefully and critically about how to balance interests of nonhuman and human. It’s never as easy as signs, bulldozers, and nostalgia. Their generation needs a better imagination than mine about how to integrate good science with personal hopes for a healthier environment and balance impacts with our desires for dry basements.

To say I was sailing westward is an overstatement, but my paddling was more about keeping balance in the now 3 ft. swells, and I was being pushed quickly westward by a strong wind. The swells had increased within the first hour from the put-in. Needless to say, without a rudder making the kayak less stable and needing to work harder to keep it outside the surf and not too far out to sea, I became interested in swells. Larry Swanson, Professor in SoMAS, later explained to me that the energy for swells begins potentially a thousand miles away where storms and wind blow across the ocean surface creating friction. This continued friction transfers energy from wind to ocean and swells are formed. Without immediate objects in the way, these swells move from far away, so swell doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with local weather. As these swells get closer to land, the energy comes into contact with the ocean bottom and slows the bottom of the swell and as the top moves faster a wave begins and eventually, here, surf. A sea kayaker tries to find that area beyond the bar of sand where swell becomes wave because fighting cresting waves all day isn’t just unpleasant, it’s dangerous.

However, on a day like today, riding the swells up and down about fifty yards offshore, is also a little unnerving. At the bottom of these 3 ft. swells, I could see only the water around me, and the cresting waves to my right. I learned to let the right-handed side of my paddle ride flat, down the backside of a swell to stabilize the kayak and paddle a little harder when heading up the swell. The few folks walking along the shore watched me disappear and appear behind the swell and waves. I went on the hypothesis that they were worried about my safety, but concomitantly, they likely had a sentiment about that dumbass out there on a day like today. I had a little of the same thought about myself.

I hung on for a couple of hours in this situation–a good sea kayak but no rudder, a blustery wind, 3 ft. swells and growing. I knew Shinnecock Inlet was 7-8 miles away, and I was hoping to arrive when the tide was going in because I would lose any fight against the tide there. But I was making at least 2-2.5 miles an hour and soon saw Cooper’s Beach and the restaurant there. I weighed my options: try to get to the inlet about 2-3 miles away or land here and see if it was possible to carry my boat down Meadow Lane to the beginnings of Shinnecock Bay. The waves and surf were large, but it seemed the most prudent choice.

The lifeguards were still setting up at 10 Am, but they saw me and seemed to understand my situation. A few folks seemed intrigued that I would land in the waves and one took out her cell phone to hope for a youtube moment. Somehow the oceanic gods smiled on me as I entered the waves and rode the cresting waves like a very nervous beginner surfer. When I got to shore, I was able to slide far enough up the beach that next wave didn’t crash the kayak into me. The young woman near where I landed put down her phone with a hint of disappointment. It was usually doesn’t go that well, I said. She returned to Instagram.

I dragged the kayak far enough up the beach to avoid bothering the few beachgoers and left my soaked spray skirt and hat to dry on the boat. I was checking my phone to see how far it would be to put in on the bay side, but the Cooper’s Beach Cafe was just opening and the idea of a good breakfast sandwich deeply appealed to me. I left my Tevas and dry bag outside where a couple of guys were putting a new coat of white paint on the trim work on the deck. How’s it going? I offered. They laughed, Better than for you. I guess I looked like what my mom would call a soaked cat. Inside a young person asked me what I’d like and the chalkboard menu listed all the breakfast sandwich possibilities. One was called something like The Chunk, The Kitchen Sink, or The Everything and More. Sounded good.

As I sat on the deck, a stocky 40-something year-old came out and asked me how I was. He’d seen me land and had readied himself to help if it didn’t go well. Danny Sweezy was the new owner of the cafe. He told me he had retired early as a surgery nurse at Stony Brook Hospital because the hours were difficult on his young family. He said now he works his six to seven months of the year and can spend time with his wife and kids the rest of the year. Best decision ever! he noted. I told him about my circumnavigation, and he laughed a bit but also seemed supportive of this kind of encounter. He was a local, having grown up not far from here, and had made his way as fisherman to construction to school to nursing and to something new–a more common progression on Long Island than you’d imagine. I asked him about going back out to sea here and paddling through the Shinnecock Inlet. No, he said with the voice of someone who has worked in medicine dealing with unstable patients. My sandwich arrived with its multiple meats, cheeses, and perhaps a baker’s dozen of eggs. I ate every bite. A damned good hearty breakfast made into a sandwich!

Without saying anything, Danny got up and disappeared into the cafe. About the time I finished the sandwich, he pulled up in his Ford F350 and backed it up toward the deck. Get your kayak, he said. I’ll give you a ride to the bay put in. I don’t want to worry about you all day. I loaded the kayak into his truck and sat in the back to hold it down as Danny drove the mile down to the first dirt road access to the bay (Road A and Meadow Lane). He backed the truck down the road until the bay was only a few yards away. Sometimes, as a southerner, we hold to the idea that in the south people are more caring, sharing, and amenable to others. We think because we say howdy to most everyone we see walking down the street that we hold to our parents’ and grandparents’ values of being good people. Now that I’ve been on Long Island for four years, I have to say, yes, it’s different from the south that people don’t open up as easily, but when you need someone’s help, good people are good people, North or South. He shook my hand and gave me a quick nod to keep going on my trip. Someone needs to do it. It seems like it ought to be you.

I readied the kayak for put in around the Heady Creek area of Shinnecock Bay, directly south of the Shinnecock Bay Indian Reservation. The bay is shallow here, no more than 2-3 feet and lots of eel grass beds. I hung close to the southern spit of land, though that also meant I had to get out a couple of times and walk the kayak to deeper water.

The wind blew hard from east to west, so oftentimes, I didn’t need to paddle at all. As I got closer to the inlet, I noticed 9-10 boats lined up along the channel at the inlet fishing for striped bass. Ponquogue Bridge was my destination for the day, and it made its west horizon appearance as I rounded the busyness of inlet fishermen.

I pulled onto the beach-marsh area just east of the bridge. Old Ponquogue Bridge Marine Park gave me a place to wait for Maria to come and pick me up . It had been an adventurous day, perhaps too adventurous at times. I was thinking to myself that I also need to remind my students that as much we need to understand that “nature” might be anthropogenic, it does not mean it cares about us. Swells do what they do in becoming waves and surf. Sometimes we are just riding them in a rudderless kayak, hoping for the best.

And sometimes, along with hope, there’s a good breakfast sandwich.