I hit the road early,about 6:30 AM, on my way to Cobscook Bay, Maine, with BB King and Eric Clapton belting out "Riding with the King" on the CD player. Absolutely beautiful. From my house in eastern Connecticut, it's about 425 miles,only half of which is highway if you go up route 1. There are three ways of getting there, and all seem to take roughly the same amount of time, so I take the coastal route every time.

I was to meet up with Clark Bowlen and the Appalachian Mountain Club group he was leading for a week at Cobscook Bay state park in Whiting, and paddle in Whiting Bay, Cobscook Bay,and around Deer Island and Campobello Island in New Brunswick, Canada. Having been to the Bay of Fundy several times in the past, and having paddled in Nova Scotia the previous summer, I knew I was in for big tidal ranges (About 25 feet), fast currents, and cold water. Nothing scary. In fact, it sounded like good, clean fun. I arrived about 4:30 PM to the sight of Clark,Fran, Bill W., Bill K., Louise, and Brooks taking out after an afternoon paddle from the campsite. Introductions followed, and I realized that I already either knew or had met most of the people on this trip in the past. Cheryl came by, and we talked for a bit as I set up my tent. She had passed on paddling, and had taken a nap. Rick and Bonnie also introduced themselves. They had a double,and we all started kidding them about the reputation of doubles as being designed by divorce lawyers.

After setting up camp, we set in to really getting to know each other, and have a few glasses of wine. Dave and John showed up a little later, and the group was complete. We discussed the next morning's plans, and headed off to bed early, because the skeeters were getting nasty. I heard coyotes howling about 3:00 AM, which I thought was really great. I slept good this night.

For those of you not familiar with this general area, it's on the US/Canada border at the southwest end of the Bay of Fundy, which has tides as high as 58 feet further north. Passamaquoddy Bay drains into Cobscook Bay, which in turn funnels out into the Bay of Fundy. Which means that you'd better have some basic whitewater skills if you want to paddle here with confidence. There is a huge reversing falls at the meeting of Cobscook and Whiting Bays, which at it's peak appears to be class III+ or low class IV whitewater in spots. There's also a monster hole in the middle, and a train of large standing waves that run out into the bay. The outwash from the falls stretches several miles into Whiting Bay. Just amazing.
 
 

Anyway, Clark took uson a tour of Whiting Bay on monday, with the intent to take us through "The Narrows", which at maximum inflow is solid class II paddling. Good for learning eddy turns and peelouts, two skills we would all need for the whole week. We got there, and it was running good. Being that I paddle whitewater from time to time myself, this was great fun. I just had to remember that what I can do in 5 feet with my Pirouette S will take 30 feet with the Caribou, and maybe then some. I played for a while, and watched all the others. The cool part was watching Bonnie and Rick do a peelout into the strongest part of the current in their Necky Tofino. I think they got a huge ego boost from it. Bill W. capsized trying it a second time, and set up to roll on the upstream side. Big mistake --- always roll on the downstream side. Two failed rolls later, he stuck one, and paddled off. Dave capsized just seconds later, and rolled wihout a hitch.
 
 

Then Fran capsized right at the eddyline at the top of the narrows. She can't roll, so she bailed immediately. I yelled at her to grab the boat and stay with it, and peeled out into the current after her. Dave got there first, and we tried to set up an assisted rescue. Too many people, too much swirling current, and we're coming up on a blind corner. So Dave and I agreed that he'd ferry Fran to shore, and I'd bring her boat around, because she'd already been in the water too long, and only had a wetsuit on. I couldn't nudge her boat into an eddy, so I rode out the rapids with it until I found an easy eddy. Dave came down, because he already had his towing rig on ---- optimist. Mine was behind my seat, so Dave towed her kayak back up to her. In retrospect, either Dave or I should have taken command of the situation, done a scoop rescue, and helped Fran paddle into an eddy to pump out. Either a "T" rescue or an "H" rescue were out of the question in the current. There are times when being bossy is good. This was one of them, and we were far too polite to each other. At least nobody got hurt.

The rest of the day was uneventful, save for a few rolling contests, and Rick demoing Bill W's Sirius (And having to wet exit after a failed roll attempt). We paddled back to camp for showers. I went out on a beer run afterwards, and we had libations, dinner, and humor the rest of the evening.

Tuesday, we launched just up the road into Whiting Bay, and paddled north through some pretty islands, some very annoyed seals, and several immature bald eagles. We lunched atop a breach in the side of a cove, and waited for the tide to meet our boats. Now it was time to visit the reversing falls. You can hear them up 4 miles away. We got out of our boats, and walked along a short path to the observation area. Dave stayed in his boat, and paddled into an eddy right next to the fastest part. He kinda looked like he was considering it for a few seconds, and then thought better of it. It's very doable in a whitewater boat, and I know of two extremely skilled paddlers that did it in sea kayaks last year, but none of us were that skilled, and nobody brought a whitewater boat (Although I had considered it). Once the falls died down, we got back inour boats, and paddled the bay some more. Quite scenic. It wasn't along paddle in distance, but we took all day to do it. We went out for dinner in Lubec afterwards.
 
 

This night, we had two visitations --- a thunderstorm and the first wave of  the attack of the killer raccoons. And for the record, after last year's tent debacle in Nova Scotia, I did buy a new tent and it does not leak. At all. Very cool. Less cool was the raccoon situation. They are big, fat, numerous,and bold there. They'll raid your campsite in broad daylight while you watch. This first sortie was a surgical strike --- get Bonnie and Rick's chocolate chip cookies out of their van while they're changing their clothesin their tent. Bonnie came out at mid-raid, and shooed the chips ahoy commando away, and back into the woods. He came back later that night, and tried to paw his way into my tent, to which I responded by shining a flashlight in his face. Easy enough. At least now I could safely assume that rabies wasn't an issue, because I don't think a rabid animal would react that calmly, and just go away. I hope.

Wednesday's plan was to paddle off Campobello Island in Canada. The marine forecast according to Clark was borderline. The tides were right, though, so we put it to a vote, and decided to go for it. Clark is really concerned with the conditions, because of the currents. Any other factor cannot be less than optimal, or the paddle is beyond the intermediate level. If the currents weren't so spectacular, we could have done longer paddles in less favorable conditions with no problems.

So, we drove to the Canadian border, and as we were waiting for our turn at customs, I remembered that my flaregun was still in my boat. I carry a standard pistol, because they're the most reliable. I've seen too many tube flares fail to trust my life to them. I also remembered another Canadian customs agent telling me last year that the combination of an American and anything that goes "bang" makes Canadians (And most of the rest of the world) nervous. Can't saythat I blame them. I just figured I'd play ignorant if they searched my boat, and let them take it if it was an issue. I didn't bring it deliberately, and I have no desire to break their laws. No problem. Nobody asked or cared.

We got to the launch, shuttled cars, and hit the water. The wind was higher than predicted, maybe 20 knots, with gusts of 25 to 30 once we went around Head Harbour Light. There was also a tide rip just outside the cove. I was salivating at the sight of it. Clark went around the corner, and came back & said that the conditions were too severe out in the bay for the whole group. I know that Dave, John,and I could handle it, as could Clark, and Louise (Maybe some of the others could, too, but I don't know them that well), but he had to consider the group as a whole. A wise decision to abort. We stayed in the lee, and made the best of the day. We paddled into a protected cove that is a port for a small fishing fleet, and looked around for a while.
 
 

We came back to camp,and showered and made dinner after a grocery store run, and then made a campfire. Nice day after all. The raccoons made their next assault about 3:30 AM, and there were more food casualties. This one was done by a small platoon of 'coons, perhaps their special forces. We weren't pleased. At least they can't open a beer bottle........

The next morning, we decided to go back to Canada, and paddle around Deer Island. Just off the eastern point of the island is the Old Sow, the second largest whirlpool in the world. It's also supposed to be an incredibly beautiful paddle. You'll note I said "supposed". I had a '95 Mustang at the time of this trip. With two adults, kayaking gear, and two sea kayaks on the roof, a Mustang will inevitably lose its entire exhaust system trying to get on the Deer Island ferry. It was bottoming out all the way to Eastport whenever I hit a bump or a dip in the road. I took one look at the angle of the ferry ramp, and I knew for certain I couldn't clear it. I yelled to Clark that the car wouldn't make it, and I backed off the ramp. Clark told me that Fran & I would have to paddle on our own somewhere. I was upset only because I had inconvenienced someone else. If it were just me, I'd have taken it in stride.

So, Fran and I set out back to Whiting Bay. We launched at the boat ramp just outside the campground, and paddled the length of the bay northward into the Denys river. We had lunch just outside Denysville, and then headed back. By this time, the reversing falls were screaming, and the outwash was hitting us from the left from 3 miles away, still with respectable force. Add this to the river current behind us, a 20 knot wind from our right, and you have the recipe for a nice, swirling tide rip. Not one that you can surf out of, mind you, this one was going in all directions. I was in my glory. Fran, on the other hand, had a bit of a look of concern on her face. So, I suggested the shortest route out of the rip, and we continued on down the bay.

When we got back to the launch, neither one of us was ready to call it a day. I went up to the car, got Fran's car keys, and we paddled back to our campsite, which was about another 3 miles down. We shuttled cars, and I hit the showers. I looked at Clark's chart when the rest of the group got back, and found that we did about 11 miles. Average club paddle. John kept singing "LowRider" the rest of the night. I've since traded the car in on something more practical for kayaking & camping (VW Golf).

Another campfire, and then another raccoon raid. It was still light out, and the fattest raccoonI've ever seen walked calmly into the campsite, climbed a tree next to Louise's tent, and pulled a stale loaf of bread out of her garbage bag that she hung from the tree. And he did this in front of 5 specators,and calmly dragged the bread into the woods right in front of us. About 4:00AM, I heard Bill K. scream "get out of here" at the top of his lungs. Turns out 3 of the little buggers raided his campsite, and he tried to shoo them all at once. Yelling turned out to be the only thing that worked, as shooing them separately only let the other 2 go behind his back while he was distracted. He should have grabbed a paddle, and started swinging. No need to hit them, just get their attention.
 
 

Friday, we decided to re-try the Campobello paddle. Unfortunately, Brooks decided that he wanted to go home. Bill W. rode up with him, so he had to leave as well. I don't think Brooks was feeling very well. He hadn't been sleeping good. The weather forecast and tides were acceptable, and we were all up for it. So, we drove back to Canada, and unloaded. I left my flaregun behind this time. Clark was a little concerned about a fog bank off Grand Manan, and he asked what several of us thought. I said it looked like a "go" to me, because all we had to do was hug the shore, and know what compass bearing to keep if the fog hit. Also, the fog was actually low clouds, and we'd likely have decent visibility at kayak level in any event. So, we compromised, and took a ride out to Head Harbour Light after we shuttled cars to the take out, and gave the ocean a look-over. Looked good. Clark decided to go for it.

We launched, and headed to the lighthouse. The tide rip was back, and Clark gave everyone pointers on how to skirt it. Not me. I headed right into it, and swung around the point into the eddy that we were all to go into. Nice ride. Dave followed suit. Cheryl got sucked into the rip, as did Fran, and they both made it to the eddy fine. Now I'm hot. I had a drytop over a shorty over polypro because there was a cold wind blowing at the launch, and I overdressed. Roll time!  As I capsized the first time, I heard Bonnie say "bye - bye". I came back up laughing. The water felt good, though, so I did another one.
 
 

We found a beach to have lunch on, and hung out for a bit. We launched again, and then we heard thunder. There was a cell building on the Maine side of the bay, but it appreared to be stalled over land. The wind was blowing onshore, and we kept our eye on it the rest of the time we were out there. It never did move. We paddled along some very pretty shoreline, and a few sea caves. We took a break, and as we were sitting there, a pod of harbor dolphins paid us a visit. Very cool stuff. They didn't get too close, but they circled us for a good 10 minutes or so. I'm still batting 1.000  with paddling with cetaceans in Canada. Maybe I should go to B.C. next year ----- lotsa orcas there!

We continued on down the shore, and went into the bay where the cars were. It's a good sized bay,and we decided to paddle it before we took out. There is a big fish farm in the bay, and we paddled through that, and stopped to talk to one of the people working there, who told us all about how they operate, and what kinds of fish they were farming. It's interesting and depressing all at once ---- the fact that the grand banks are all but fished out is actually kind of frightening. I knew it was a problem, but I didn't grasp the scope of the problem until I saw how many fish farms are operating in just one small area. From the looks of things, it appears to be quite profitable, and also the only way to stay in the business with any security.
 
 

We went back to our landing site, shuttled cars, and hauled our boats up an embankment, and across the road. We got a lot of waves and compliments on our boats from the locals. I had to remember that we were in Canada, and that's just how people are there. Quite a contrast from a couple of weeks earlier in Essex, CT, when alocal shouted "get out of my town" at one of the group I was paddling with as he drove by on his way to the launch.

We went back to camp, and decided to take Clark out to dinner as a thank-you for all his efforts. We went to the fireworks in Lubec after that, and then came back to camp. I packed up everything but my tent, and went to bed. About 4:00 AM, I heard the now familiar rustle of the nightly raccoon raid. I heard more rustling, and then I heard a very distressed little raccoon crying for his mother, or so it sounded. He ran the length of the campsite crying, and I guess met up with the rest of the raiding party outside Clark's tent. He woke up just about everyone in camp in the process. We got up in the morning to find several supposedly 'coon-proof boxes open, and food gone. It was beginning to become funny. I had breakfast & coffee with everyone, and headed home.

A fine week come to an end. Ones like this always seem to end too soon.