Closer to God in a Kayak XVI

A Second Visit With Tim

Our son Tim had been sailing as Master on United States Navy Ships (USNS) for the Military Sealift Command (MSC) for several years, and was the Master (Captain) of the USNS Capella home ported in Jacksonville from January 2000 to April 2005. In April of that year, Tim assumed command of a new ship, home ported in Corpus Christi, Texas: the USNS Benavidez, named in honor of Master Sergeant Roy Benavidez, a Medal of Honor Recipient from the Vietnam War. In early November 2008, Tim left Corpus Christi two weeks after returning home from Kuwait, to return to the Middle East with yet another full load of military cargo for Operation Iraqi Freedom. This time he was to load in Jacksonville, so he sent me an E-Mail letting me know he would probably be coming into the port here on November 6th. We began a series of messages back and forth to try to arrange a rendezvous at the St. Johns River Buoy marking the entrance to the channel into Jacksonville and the Mayport Naval Station. We finally were able to pull it off after being blessed with the first day of decent weather in a couple weeks. We had been having miserable weather for kayaking for two weeks, but on November 6th at least the sun came out. The winds were not nearly as bad as they had been, and the seas were forecast to be three to five feet - not a day I would normally attempt a journey to the sea buoy, but Tim was coming. Here are some of the E-Mails (slightly edited) between Tim and me, and a couple between older son Bob (a U. S. Navy Captain stationed at that time in Norfolk, Virginia) and me.

From: Tim
TO: Me
Date: Tue, 4 Nov 2008 12:17:43 -0500
>>> Subject: Arrival
>>>
>>> Hey Dad,
>>>
>>> We'll be at the STJ buoy at 1200 local on Thursday. The big day is finally here. Do you still feel confident that McCain can pull it off? Hope the
weather is good Thursday and you can make it out there.

> ----- Original Message -----
> From: Me
> To: Tim
> Sent: Thursday, November 06, 2008 8:22 AM
> Subject: Re: Arrival
>
>> Tim, You still expect the STJ at Noon? I'm going down to check it out in a minute.
>>
From: Tim
> To: Me
Date: Thu, 6 Nov 2008 08:28:00 -0500
> Subject: Re: Arrival
>
> Hey Dad,
>
> Yes, 1200 noon for pilot. We're about 35 miles SE now.


From: Me
Date: Thu, 06 Nov 2008 08:44:47 -0500
To: Tim
Subject: Re: Arrival

Good deal, Tim. It looks pretty good out there, and the sun is out to dry me off after I get through the surf. I'll be on the south side, wearing a red hat. >>>
>>

> From: Bob
> Date: Thu, 6 Nov 2008 18:19:31 -0500
> To: Me
> Conversation: Arrival
> Subject: RE: Arrival
>
> Did you make it out there?
>
>
From: Me
Date: Thu, 06 Nov 2008 20:17:02 -0500
To: Bob
Conversation: Arrival
Subject: Re: Arrival

Yes. It was brutal. I would only do that for Mom and my three sons (and maybe the Pope). The surf took about half my energy just getting through it. Then it took me an hour and forty minutes to get to the buoy, thanks to a 10-15 mph NNE wind and three to five-foot seas in my face. Fortunately, I left plenty early. I set up with the two Coast Guard security boats that were waiting for Tim. I told them I was the Master's father, and they called Tim and told him I was there. He already knew it though, because the pilot on a tanker that passed me at the buoy called back to the tanker behind him and told him to be alert because there was a guy out here in a kayak. Tim, who was still 12 miles from the buoy, heard him and said he knew it was me. I was sitting next to one of the CG security boats when Tim passed and several of them were on the bridge waving at us. I think the CG crew got as big a thrill as I did. They were good guys, and I thanked them for serving. One was an X-Marine, and I was wearing the red U S. Marines hat that Dick Lynch gave me. (He and I talked about our days as Marines, which were only about 40 years apart.)

After Tim passed, I realized that I had drifted about a half mile east of the buoy while waiting for him, so the trip back was a little longer, but the current and five foot seas were on my side coming back and, in spite of being pretty spent, I made it back in an hour and a half. I don't know how I made it in through the surf without wiping out, but I got lucky.

Good day over all, but I won't be paddling tomorrow. My elbow feels like it was crushed by a sledgehammer - again.

I have to add that on the way out to see Tim that day, I hesitated at the shoreline as the surf was pretty rough and high, and breaking outside (far out). Then three dolphins jumped straight up out of a crashing wave, and three more followed suit. I took that as a good omen and launched my scupper pro.

As a footnote, Tim was able to come to the house for dinner the night before setting sail. Unfortunately, they headed out after dark the next day so there could be no sea buoy rendezvous on the outbound. We did, though, get to watch him transit the channel from our beach, and signal his farewell with a bright light from the bridge. Why is it that such short visits always seem so special - and memorable?


(Click to enlarge photos)

(USNS Benavidez)

M/Sgt Roy Benavidez, R.I.P.

Closer to God in a Kayak XV

Bountiful Day at the Buoy

I've been paddling out to the sea buoy that marks the entrance to the St. Johns River, the Port of Jacksonville, and Mayport Naval Station for about 12 years, and the trips are never boring. June 1, 2009, though, was a special day filled with surprises. The Manta rays were running in packs of 20 to 30; some were swimming alone or with one or two others, but mostly they swam in large groups. I've never seen so many on one trip. The sea turtles were coming up for air and sun, and I counted five that day, which is a record for one 11 mile trip. They were huge, and were most likely females just waiting for the right time to come ashore and drag themselves up into the sand dunes to bury their eggs. The dolphins, often present in large numbers, were mostly swimming far out near the buoy for some reason today.





Once I rounded the buoy, I noticed one of the Navy tug boats totally out of place. They usually travel inside the channel going back and forth between Mayport Naval Station and the sea buoy where they transfer the Navy Pilots on and off the incoming and outgoing Navy ships. This tug, though, was out of the channel and headed south. It was not long before it turned east south east and headed straight for a Navy Frigate that I had seen plowing along very slowly in a southerly direction while I was at the buoy. The tug approached the Frigate and it appeared to transfer somebody from the tug to the Frigate, and then headed back to Mayport. About then, I turned and looked back toward the channel and was surprised to see a partially submerged Navy Submarine moving rather quickly through the channel and just beginning to head out of the channel in an east south easterly direction, toward the Frigate. Only the conning tower on the Sub was visible as it passed within 150 yards of me. The rule is all vessels must keep at least 500 yards away from U.S. Navy Ships, but if anybody was in violation that day it wasn't me: I was trying to get back to the beach and was not headed in the direction of the Sub - and I was there first. Submarine sightings are a rare treat for kayakers, and that was my seventh sighting - all in or near the Mayport channel. It was not long before I realized I was probably witnessing the beginning of an ASW (anti-submarine warfare) exercise, but knew I was an unwelcome guest so I kept paddling southwest toward my beach. All in all, it was another eventful trip to the buoy for me and another reminder of how splendid it is to be Closer to God in a Kayak in the ocean.





Note: The photos, although accurate representations of the marine life and vessels seen, on June 1, 2009, were not taken during the trip.

Closer to God in a Kayak XIV

Sub Number Four and More

In early June 2008, I received an email from the scheduler at Central Texas College asking if I would be interested in going aboard a Guided Missile Destroyer in mid July to teach three or four English courses (I had taught four courses aboard the USS Kearsarge, an amphibious assault ship, in conjunction with the Navy College in November and December 2007). I had never been on board a Guided Missile Destroyer and was intrigued by the offer. Not only had I never been aboard a Guided Missile Destroyer, I had never even been close to one in the ocean near Mayport Naval Base where a number of them are stationed.

The day after receiving the offer from Central Texas College, while paddling out to the sea buoy, the first ship I saw in the channel heading out of Mayport was an Arleigh Burke Guided Missile Destroyer. The ship on which the teaching position was being offered, U.S.S. McFaul DDG 74, was an Arleigh Burke Guided Missile Destroyer. You might already have gathered that I am given to seeing omens; well, here was one more to record in my travels. Soon after returning to the beach that day, and after consulting with my wife, I notified the Central Texas College that I would accept the assignment, and would await more detailed information.

I sent an email to a good friend about the trip that day describing the sighting of, in addition to the Destroyer, my fourth submarine. Here’s that message:

“Dennis, I did get out in the kayak yesterday, and it was a memorable trip. For the first time since I've been going to the sea buoy, I met up with a DDG coming through the channel - must have been an omen. Then I had a super-sized merchant ship, which I was sure would turn north fool me and turn south at the buoy causing me to paddle backwards to get out of his way. A second (medium size) merchant coming out through the channel about a mile behind the first one blew his horn a couple times to let me know he was turning south toward me, but that was great because I could just keep heading northeast toward the buoy. About then I noticed a Navy tug heading out toward me, and since I could see no Navy ship anywhere since the DDG passed, I thought a Navy Frigate seen earlier heading south was returning over the horizon and was going to be heading in. I was wrong, and soon realized that I was about to see my 4th submarine. The tug went past me, and headed east from the buoy. He picked up the sub about a mile outside the buoy, and I paddled behind him and watched the pilot climb on top of the sub where he was met by three or four submariners. Then one of the Coast Guard inflatable fast boats appeared behind the sub and began escorting her from the rear toward the channel. It doesn't get much better than that. The driver of the coast guard boat was a female, and after the sub entered the channel, she sped over to me to ask if I was OK (I had taken off my hat and waved to the guys on the conning tower, and she didn't know if I was waving or signaling for help). Those Coast Guard inflatable boats are absolutely laden with weapons, and the guy standing on the front of it was manning a 50 cal that looked like it was pointed right at me when they were coming toward me. All in all, it was a great day out there.”





(Click to enlarge all photos)

I thank God every night for granting me days like that one. I’m so lucky to have ended up living this close to the beach. In fact, I often feel guilty that all my friends and, of course, my family, don’t live here. We often say that people plan for years to take a vacation in a place just like this and do exactly what we do on a regular basis. I don’t know anyone who lives better than this.

Note: I flew to Odessa, Ukraine, in July to meet up with the USS McFaul, and spent two months teaching aboard her in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Black Sea, then flew home from Istanbul - it was great!)

Closer to God in a Kayak XIII

The Air and Sea Show and More

Jacksonville, Florida has long been a Navy town, and, because of that and the close proximity to the Atlantic, the Jacksonville Beaches are blessed every other year with an Air and Sea Show that would make anyone who has spent part of his life savings taking his kids to Disney World feel cheated.

The show is staged in Jacksonville Beach, the southern most of the three Jacksonville beaches. Just north of Jacksonville Beach is Neptune Beach, and north of Neptune is Atlantic Beach, where I now sit.

The highlight of the show (for non-Marines) is the appearance of the U. S. Navy Blue Angels; the highlight for Marines is the simulated assault of the beaches by a combat landing force of Marines after being discharged from an amphibious assault ship and racing to the beach in Landing Craft Air Cushioned (LCAC) boats. The whole scene is a special memory maker – especially when viewed from a vantage point a couple miles out in the ocean.

Back in the summer of 2005, our grandson, Brian (age 14 at the time), was visiting us from Virginia on the day of the show. Brian and I launched our kayaks from Atlantic Beach and paddled east into the ocean, then turned south toward Jacksonville Beach and found a good vantage point east of the long line of power boats that had lined up to watch the day's events. It was a day neither Brian nor I will forget. The show starts with an almost hour long parade of stunt planes that perform all kinds of death defying aerial acrobatics - everything but a wing walker (which would seem much too tame for this show). Then comes the world famous U. S. Navy Blue Angels, followed by the simulated beach assault by the Marines. The whole thing is a spectacle when one is watching from the beach, but even more spectacular when watched from a floating kayak at sea sitting next to a kayak carrying one’s grandson. It was a memorable experience for both of us.

The day after the show we had yet another (less memorable) experience while paddling a few miles off the beach.

I have always preferred traveling light, and have to admit that a life vest wasn’t considered (by me) necessary equipment when kayaking in the ocean. First of all, the kayak is probably one of the best flotation devices there is, and second: I guess there is no good second. Anyway, the day after the Air and Sea Show, Brian and I paddled out just for a little exercise and, when we were about three miles off the beach, a Florida Marine Patrol boat came speeding up to us and one of the officers asked me if I had a life vest aboard (Brian was wearing one, as I always insisted that anybody who took out one of my other boats take a life vest). That rendezvous with the Marine Patrol turned out to be a learning experience for me (who knew that in addition to a life vest a whistle was also required equipment when kayaking in the ocean?).

Fortunately, the officer wrote the citation as a warning, so it didn’t cost me anything. The following day my main kayak was equipped with both a brand new life preserver (which has since been kept fastened atop the aft hatch cover) and a whistle (which is kept in the mesh zippered pocket on the back of my seat).

Brian, now a 19 year old U. S. Navy sailor, definitely enjoyed and remembers the Air and Sea show, and probably also remembers his first traffic stop at sea.


(Click to enlarge)

Closer to God in a Kayak XII

A Message From Billy

On the first day after returning from the funeral of my nephew and godson, Billy (in May 2008), I couldn’t wait to get out in my kayak and just think. I launched just a little after 9:00 AM, and, because of the wind direction intended to head southeast (the wind was coming from the southwest). It’s always better to head into the wind on the way out so you have the wind helping you on the way back. Once through the surf, I was somehow drawn to the sea buoy, which is northeast from my launch point. I still don’t know what made me change my mind, but before going too far to the southeast, I turned the kayak and headed for the sea buoy. The rest is pretty interesting, and I told my brother and his wife (the parents of Billy) about it in this email message.

Marge & Bill, This might seem a little other-worldly, but I have to tell you what happened to me today. I was paddling my kayak, with no intention of going to the sea buoy because the winds were not conducive to going in that direction: they were southwest and the buoy is northeast, and it’s usually better to go onto the wind on the outbound leg. For some unknown reason, I decided after getting underway to go to the buoy to visit Ed (I scattered his ashes out there last August). When I got close to the channel, and was still about two miles from the buoy, I saw my third submarine surface and head in to Mayport (that's always neat). As I got closer to the buoy, a fully loaded merchant ship came out through the channel, and cut me off before I reached the buoy. That was no problem, but then a U. S. Navy ship that I had seen earlier coming out through the channel, dropped off the pilot past the middle buoys and picked up speed. I signaled to the Navy ship my intention to circle the buoy from west to east. She got closer to me than any ship has been out there, but did turn to the right (ESE) in time to allow me to pass in front of her, still headed for the buoy. It is very difficult to make out the numbers on Navy ships at sea as they are only different shades of the same color as the ships (gray). Now comes the interesting part: all the way out to the buoy I was praying for Billy and wondering why a just and omnipotent God would take someone as young as 49 from his family. Billy's age was stuck in my memory because I had told friends that he had just turned 50 in March, and then only later realized he had actually turned 49. Driving home yesterday, I kept thinking of Billy's age, and did the same thing while praying for him when paddling this morning. As I paddled out of the way of the Navy ship ( a Guided Missile Frigate), I looked back at her and saw clearly her number: 49. She was the USS Robert G. Bradley, FFG - 49, the only ship numbered 49 at Mayport. I couldn't help thinking that Billy had something to do with all this, and thought you might like to know about it.

I should explain that my nephew Billy died at the age of 49 after a very tough battle with cancer that started in his lungs and spread elsewhere too quickly. He left a young wife and two beautiful daughters, and his passing caused me once again to revisit the question of why such things happen to good people. Billy was a very special guy evidenced by the fact that his funeral Mass was concelebrated by eight priests and a bishop. Billy lived his whole life in St. Timothy’s Parish, and devoted much of his life to working with the kids of the parish. He was a coach, athletic director and eventually the commissioner of the Catholic Youth Organization (CYO) activities for the whole diocese. The lines of people for the viewing on the night before the Mass went from 6:30 to 9:30 PM, and again from 9:00 to 10:30 AM on the day of the Mass. Somehow I was under the impression that Billy had turned 50 this year, but eventually realized he had just turned 49. That was why I was almost obsessed with the #49, and the fact that Billy had not made it to his 50th birthday. The chance of my almost literally meeting the USS Robert G. Bradley, FFG - 49 at the sea buoy that day was so remote it was not even imaginable. But I did meet her there, on a day when I had no intention of paddling to the sea buoy. I should also add that because of the color of the numbers on the pointy end of Navy ships (as mentioned in my above email), it's a very rare happenstance when I am able to discern the number on any of them that I encounter in my area of the ocean (in fact, this was the first of only two such times), so it was somewhat amazing that the Bradley was so close and in exactly the right place in relation to the sun that I was able to see clearly the large 49 on her port bow. My faith lets me believe that God was letting Billy send a message that he was with Him, just as He allowed messages to be sent when the lone dolphin surfaced near my kayak in the area where I had spread Susan’s ashes, and the giant sea turtle came up to my kayak and just looked at me out at the sea buoy not long after I had spread Ed’s ashes there. If there is anywhere in this world one can feel closer to God than in a one-seat kayak at sea, I'm not aware of it.


(Click to enlarge)

Closer to God in a Kayak XI

Taking a Best Friend to the Sea Buoy: A Final Journey

Some people go through life without ever having a best friend. I was blessed with two. Jim Kelly was my best friend from 1954 until he died in 2007; I’ve written about him elsewhere in this opus. Ed Dade became my other best friend when we met in 1965; Ed died in 2006. I miss both my best friends every day.

Ed called me the “Fruit Bat” because of all the fruit I consumed on our last cruise together. We were sailing through the Baltic Sea with Cass and Betty, and I was constantly helping myself to the fresh fruit available almost all day on the ship. My usual nickname from Ed, though, was Maj. I think he first started using that after seeing a TV sitcom called “Major Dad.”

I called him “Gout Man,” a nickname he had bestowed on a fellow passenger (who happened to be much younger than us) who shared our table on a Rhine River Cruise some years before, who constantly whined about his gout problems. It turned out Ed developed his own gout problems a little later and, though he never complained or whined, I bestowed the sobriquet – and he loved it. I also always reminded him that the malady came to him as a just punishment for all the nasty things he had said about our former fellow passenger.

Ed Dade and I met when we were first office agents together in the St. Louis Office of the FBI, in 1965. Cass was pregnant with Tim; Betty with Kreg: “Frick and Frack” as they came to be known by Ed and me. I don’t remember which one was which, but they enjoyed their special names too.

I left St. Louis in August 1965 bound for Monterey, California and Ed left shortly after that for Los Angeles. We managed to get together a couple times during 1965-1966 in Monterey. The Dade and McKenna kids: Kurt, Karin and Kreg got along like siblings with Bob and Tim McKenna, and when Steve came along he fit right in.

In October 1966, we moved into our first home in Bowie, Maryland (I had been transferred to the FBI Washington D.C. Office), and, when the Dades left Los Angeles a year later bound for New York, they stopped in Bowie for a visit along the way. I’ll never forget that. I knew they were anxious to get home to family, but still took the time to stop for a short visit.

Ed and Betty bought a house in Wayne, New Jersey, and stayed there for the rest of Ed’s life. Ed commuted to the New York FBI office five days a week for almost 20 years, and never complained. I could not have done it, but then Ed did lots of things that I could not have done. I’ll never forget the fireplace and chimney he built single-handed. That chimney was three stories high and Ed built it brick by brick with no help. It was that “can do” training he got as a U. S. Navy Seabee. He really could do anything.

There were many visits (all special) both in Bowie and Wayne between 1967 and 1973, when we moved to Florida for the first time. During those days, we vacationed together once on Long Beach Island, and every other year on the Outer Banks of North Carolina at Kitty Hawk. Those were great vacations, and it was on the Outer Banks where my kids will always remember Ed and me standing for hours at the shoreline discussing the world’s problems. The beer koozie had not yet been invented, so to be sure we did not have to tolerate warm beer we always took a supply of Rolling Rock pony bottles on vacation. That way, we could finish the six-ounce bottle before it got warm. Funny the things my kids remember. In 1970, when our Steve was born, Ed and Betty stood as his godparents at St. Pius X church in Bowie.

Sometime during those years, we each bought building sites at Palm Coast, Florida, and had many outstanding vacations at the Sheraton Palm Coast resort. Property owners had an unbelievable deal there: $15.00 per night (it’s still hard to believe), and we took advantage of it every year.

In 1975, we moved back to WDC and found a rental home in McLean, Virginia. Our visits between McLean and Wayne were even more frequent than they had been between Bowie and Wayne. A special remembrance of that time was our ski trip to Bryce Mountain, where we rented an A-Frame chalet, with a loft and a fireplace, on top of the mountain.

In 1977, we moved back to Miami, and our vacations continued at Palm Coast, and eventually moved to Sanibel Island.

We cruised together to Bermuda, the Panama Canal, and the Baltic, but the best cruise of all was our river cruise on the Rhine after visiting son Bob and his family in Holland. We cruised from Amsterdam to Basel, Switzerland and then went by train to Paris (where we spent five days), then to Brugge, Belgium for a couple days. It was by far the best trip the Dades and McKennas ever made together.

During our cruise on the Baltic in 2005, Ed was not feeling at all well. I remember trying to convince him that he needed exercise, and should spend time every day in the fully equipped exercise room on the ship, but to no avail. He just felt lousy and had a difficult time walking. In spite of his not feeling well, he insisted on accompanying me on a kayak tour in Copenhagen. In retrospect, I don’t know how he was able to do that.

On our return from the Baltic cruise, Ed was diagnosed with prostate cancer, which too quickly spread throughout his body. He was gone within a year. During my penultimate visit with Ed, during his last hospital stay, he asked me to take him (actually his ashes) out to the sea buoy (the buoy that marks the entrance to the St. John’s River and the Mayport Naval Station in Jacksonville, Florida). I told him he shouldn’t be thinking like that and promised he could accompany me to the sea buoy in one of my extra kayaks as soon as he was up to it.

The miracle we were all praying for never materialized (at least not as we had envisioned it), and Ed left us, on September 5, 2006. I took his ashes out to the sea buoy, on August 10, 2007. Although it was one of the most difficult things I have ever done, it felt right. I visit his watery grave as often as I am able, and often feel his presence. I did today, Friday April 11, 2008.

Ed was not only a great husband and father; he was a great friend - a best friend - and I miss him.


(On the way to the buoy with Ed)


(Ed's final resting place) REQUIESCAT IN PACE


(Algernon Charles Swinburne)


Note: Not long after spreading Ed’s ashes at the sea buoy, I went back there to visit the site and something very strange happened on the way. I have seen numerous giant sea turtles on my kayak trips, and can tell you from experience that it is next to impossible to get close to them. I have, on occasion, come upon one from the rear and have been able to very quietly paddle to within a few feet, but as soon as the turtle hears or feels anything getting close, it drops its head and goes vertical - straight down, not to be seen again. On this trip to visit Ed’s grave, I was within a short distance of the buoy when all of a sudden a giant sea turtle surfaced right next to the port side of my kayak, and stared up at me for what seemed a long time. I was totally shocked, and simply sat there and stared back. Though tempted to pat my unexpected visitor on his head, my instincts told me it would be better to return to the beach with both hands attached to my arms. After a few minutes he just drifted off and went vertical. It was one of the strangest things that has happened to me in my kayak, and I have to feel that Ed had something to do with it.


(Click on photos to enlarge)

Closer to God in a Kayak X

The Third Whale Encounter

My third experience at sighting a whale occurred, on January 10, 2008, just after returning from my first deployment as an adjunct English instructor with Central Texas College (Navy College) aboard the USS Kearsarge in the Middle East. It was my second day out on the water since returning home, and once again the prevailing winds and currents forced me to go south into both so the trip home would be less grueling. The strong wind was actually blowing slightly southwest. Whenever the wind is over 15 knots out of the west or almost west, it's a good idea to stay fairly close to shore to avoid paddling into a strong wind on the return trip to my beach. This was one of those days. It is not unusual on such days heading south to find myself more than three miles out to sea before paddling three miles south.

On this particular day, I had managed to stray only about two miles off the beach before reaching the three-mile mark south of my beach. The three-mile mark is the old Holiday Inn in Jacksonville Beach (which is now a Marriott Courtyard). Approaching the mark, I noticed something very unusual off to my left front, and it was not long before the possibility occurred to me that it could be a Right whale. The long black figure toward which I paddled as quickly as possible soon became two black figures: one on top of the other. My thought at the time was that I had arrived on the scene moments after a large female Right whale had given birth to a beautiful calf, which she was carrying on her back upon my arrival. It was magnificent. Mother and calf swam south, then north, then south again, with the calf occasionally slipping off the mother’s back only to be helped back up again by the mother.

I sat right there for about an hour and twenty minutes, enjoying a show that few people have the luck to witness in the wild, and enjoyed every minute of it. A couple Navy helicopters that circled overhead, no doubt as amazed as I by what they were seeing below them, disturbed my private show, but only temporarily. After a few minutes, they flew off to finish their missions. Shortly after the copters departed, though, a fixed-wing Cessna (push – puller) appeared above me and circled for quite a while. I did not realize at the time that that Cessna belonged to a Right whale research team from the New England Aquarium, and flew over the calving grounds between Georgia and Florida regularly during the calving season. I found this photo of the plane on the website for the New England Aquarium.


A little more investigation, using E-Mail, determined that the researcher from the New England Aquarium, Monica Zani, who was aboard that Cessna, had alerted the Marine Patrol of my presence in the near (too near) vicinity of the whale. Here's a photo of Monica from the same website.


My happiness at being a witness to this special event was spoiled by the arrival of a Florida Marine Patrol boat that sped up behind me. One of the young officers aboard leaned over his large boat and asked if I were aware that according to law nobody could be within 500 yards of a Right whale. I said I apparently was not aware of that law, as I was within about 40 yards of two of them at the moment. Luckily neither officer had ever seen a Right whale, and the excitement of the moment must have made them less inclined to make me pay for having caused their good fortune (had they not been alerted by the Cessna of my lawbreaking, they would still be waiting to see their first Right whale – thanks, Monica Zani). It didn't hurt that one of the officers was retired Navy, and was interested to hear about my teaching stint aboard the USS Kearsarge. I got away with only a warning citation from the Marine Patrol officers, and they and I left the area. It was a great day, and I was now in possession of my second warning citation from the Florida Marine Patrol. For anyone counting, my third whale encounter had allowed me to be up close and personal with a total of five whales: three adults and two calves. Wow! Either my luck is running extremely high, or God is planning on using me in a sequel to the Jonah story.

Monica Zani, the New England Aquarium researcher who threw me under the bus, has become a friend, and she sent me this photo of the whale and calf taken by her from the plane that day. The Mother is named "Arpeggio." She gave birth, on December 20, 2007, so the unnamed calf was less than a month old on the day we met.

Closer to God in a Kayak IX

A Second Sighting

One Saturday in November when I was forced by winds and currents to go south instead of northeast toward the buoy, I paddled for a couple hours ruminating on how the kids of today allow themselves absolutely no time to think. I blame that on their incessant and unnecessary use of cell phones. Why any parent would allow a young boy or girl to have a cell phone is a mystery to me. They would all claim it is so they can keep in contact with their son or daughter. They probably don’t consider that the cell phone allows those sons and daughters – nay, commands them – to keep in almost constant touch with every one of their friends. It's not uncommon in our beach community to see young kids on skate boards, bicycles, motor scooters, and some even walking while talking on cell phones – completely oblivious to the world around them. There is an old yoga principle that says: if we are not now here in the present moment, then we’re nowhere. These kids spend most of their time being nowhere. Rather than enjoying a beautiful day and the nature God has created around them, they are instead engrossed in discussing nothing but minutiae with some unseen friend on the other end of the electromagnetic radiation emanating from their cell phone. These kids, I thought while paddling my kayak in the ocean, will not only never have an original thought, they will never have any kind of thought because they won’t allow themselves the time to be quiet enough to begin to think. They would rather listen to their own voice or to the voice of an unseen friend on their cell phones, and those voices inevitably are talking without thinking.

Anyway, while pondering this great failing of our youth, I found myself almost back to my beach, but still about three miles off shore when I noticed a group of dolphins jumping excitedly not far from my boat. It is not unusual to see dolphins jumping in pods, but these guys were especially excited about something. I paddled as fast as I could to where the dolphins were on exhibition, and found the source of their excitement – a beautiful, very large Right whale heading south to the calving ground used by that species between November and April each year. Right whales migrate during those months from Cape Cod and the Bay of Fundy south to as far as Sebastian Inlet on Florida’s east coast. To find one in the vast ocean, given that they resemble a very long floating telephone pole, is a real stroke of luck.

When I reached the whale, it was pretty obvious she was more than slightly annoyed by the dolphins who were jumping over her and swimming under and around her and just doing anything they could to disturb her peace. My presence in the area caused the dolphins to disburse, and perhaps in return for the favor the whale allowed me to paddle alongside her for a little more than ten minutes. It was an absolute thrill for me, but at the end of the ten minutes I watched her huge fluke rise almost straight up in the air, and her head slowly begin to submerge; she was diving – but very slowly. She slid under the water as gracefully as a ballerina, and, since I was aware of how long right whales can stay under, I headed back toward my beach. Although this was my second whale sighting, I had now come across three whales in my area of the ocean (there were two Humpbacks when Jim and I witnessed that spectacular show mentioned earlier).

I returned thanking God for creating such splendorous creatures, and feeling sorry for those kids who spend large portions of their lives on cell phones, because chances are they will never find the time to appreciate anything as beautiful as watching a Right whale up close.


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Closer to God in a Kayak VIII

Burial at Sea

A kayak is a great vehicle for burials at sea, and I have been called on twice to provide such services for close friends.

It was in 1991, shortly after the purchase of my first kayak, the 9 foot Frenzy. I used to take the Frenzy to the beach every weekend, and one Sunday while sitting on the beach with my wife, with my kayak right next to us, Susan Mehrlust walked up and started asking numerous questions about the kayak and kayaking. I told her everything I knew about both subjects at the time (which was not all that much), and we became friends that day. We had never met before that day, even though she lived only one block north of us. It soon became obvious why everybody loved Susan.

When Susan bought her kayak, I had by then been presented with my Christmas surprise (1994), and was the owner of two kayaks: the 9-foot Frenzy and the 15 foot Scupper Pro. My wife Cass would sometimes paddle the Frenzy and accompany me in my Scupper Pro. One Sunday we will never forget (and I know Susan has never forgotten), we met Susan on the beach with her kayak, an 11-foot Scrambler. The three of us paddled out into the ocean and when we were a little more than a mile out we became completely surrounded by dolphins. We all tried to count them and determined there were more than 40 of them swimming in a circle around us. It was beautiful, and we enjoyed it immensely, but it was not too long after that wonderful event that Susan was diagnosed with breast cancer. She attacked it the way one would expect a highly successful physical education teacher to attack it: she tried every known treatment for it and never complained. When the cancer went into her bones, she had a bone marrow treatment that almost beat her – but it didn’t. She fought on for almost nine years and during that time she became a poster girl for the cancer ward at one of our local hospitals; her photo was even on a large billboard on Interstate 95, at the northern entrance to the city of Jacksonville, advertising the cancer treatment at the hospital. She served on the board of the Donna Hicken Foundation (set up by a local TV Anchor who is still fighting breast cancer) and became the face of the fight against breast cancer in this area. I should mention that breast cancer seems to be an epidemic in our area, and my own wife is now a 20-year survivor of the dreaded disease.


When it became obvious that Susan was eventually going to lose her battle, she asked me if I would, when the time came, paddle her ashes out into the ocean. Not wanting to admit the inevitable, I offered her a deal: I would do what she asked if she would promise to do the same thing for me should I precede her to the next life. She added a section to her Will stipulating that she was to be cremated and her ashes were to be taken out in the ocean by me. It was a great honor, but not one that makes one feel especially good.

After Susan passed away, on December 29, 2006, her family planned a beautiful memorial ceremony on the beach just behind our homes. When the last speaker, Donna Hicken, began her remarks, I (as instructed by the family) launched my kayak into the ocean. It was about 5:30 PM on January 28, 2006, and it was cold and windy, and getting dark. Her ashes were in a sealed plastic bag that was secured in a box, which was secured inside a backpack in the front of the kayak. I paddled out through the light surf, propelled by at least a 15 to 20 knot wind right out of the west, so on my back. About a mile or so from the beach, I opened the backpack, the box and the plastic bag, and scattered Susan’s ashes exactly where she wanted them to be. It was right in the middle of the location where she and Cass and I had been completely surrounded by the 40 dolphins not that long ago. I prayed for Susan all the way back to shore, a trip that took considerably longer than the outbound trip as the west wind (now directly in my face) picked up considerably and gusted even higher.

On a subsequent kayak trip not long afterwards, I passed the spot where I had spread Susan’s ashes, and a lone dolphin (they usually travel in pods) surfaced next to me, just for an instant, then disappeared beneath the surface.


(Susan Mehrlust R.I.P.)

Closer to God in a Kayak VII

A NATO Event

When our oldest son Bob (at the time a U. S. Navy Commander) was on a two year assignment as Amphibious Advisor to the Dutch Royal Navy in Den Helder, the Netherlands, he and a few Dutch Naval Officers went aboard the USS Kearsarge (LHD 3), a helicopter and Harrier jet carrier, for a North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) exercise, in 2000.

As luck would have it, one of the ports visited by Kearsarge was Naval Station Mayport, just up the beach from our home. Bob was able to get home for a very short visit before the ship left port to continue the exercise, and he told me what time the ship was expected to leave the basin at Mayport the next day. No mention was made of my kayak. Knowing the trip from the Navy basin to the sea buoy would take approximately half an hour, I left our beach more than an hour before Kearsarge was to depart the basin, and paddled out toward the sea buoy. I arrived at the buoy before there was any sign of Kearsarge in the channel, and must have circled that buoy 30 times before finally Kearsarge (running behind schedule) appeared at the far end of the channel, steaming toward me. I knew Bob was on the bridge deck with many other U.S. and foreign naval officers, but was not able to see any of them clearly (the bridge of Navy ships entering and leaving ports is always way over-populated, which is the main reason son Tim left the Navy to sail in the Merchant Marine, where the bridge at such times is considered a mob scene if more than two people are on it). Despite being unable to distinguish the identity of the many unformed sailors on the ship, all of whom were waving at me, I waved back from my kayak with unfeigned exuberance.

I sat at the buoy until Kearsarge passed me and was nearly out of sight on a northeasterly heading toward Norfolk. On my arrival home, there was an email from Bob (sent from the ship) calling our sea buoy rendezvous one of the highlights of his navy career. It certainly was one of the highlights of my kayaking career.

One of the amazing coincidences in my life occurred much later, in 2007, when the Navy’s Program Afloat for College Education (PACE) hired me as an adjunct English instructor. There were 281 active navy ships at the time, and my first assignment was a two-month deployment on the USS Kearsarge, LHD-3, in the Persian Gulf.


USS Kearsarge (LHD 3)
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Closer to God in a Kayak VI

Surprise From The Deep

My trips to the sea buoy all follow pretty much the same pattern. If getting through the surf is difficult, and I get drenched with seawater on the way out, I stop just past the surf line and straighten out my attached water bottle and other provision bag, and blow the water off my sunglasses before the drying salt stains the lenses.

I then take up a heading of about 60 degrees and start my daily rosary using my fingers on the paddle to count the Hail Mary’s of each decade. I contend that nowhere on earth is one closer to his God than while praying the rosary at sea in a one-person kayak. Those rosaries, recited in my mind on the way to the sea buoy, are always offered for my family, friends and neighbors in need of prayers for one reason or another, and for such special intentions as the safety of our troops defending our freedom in foreign conflicts: Desert Storm, the Global War on Terror (Afghanistan), and Operation Iraqi Freedom. Unlike the current administration in Washington, I always pray for VICTORY.

My rosary is often interrupted by outside stimuli: dancing dolphins, sunning sea turtles, leaping tarpon, and the occasional shark. I have never encountered a whale on my way to or from the sea buoy, but whale encounters are documented elsewhere in this opus.

The biggest surprise during one of my trips was at first perceived as an illusion. Because of sometimes-heavy traffic in the area of the buoy and through most of the channel, one must constantly keep one’s head on a swivel. This one particular day on my way to the buoy, I remember concentrating on the west end of the channel as there was a tug and barge heading out followed by our gambling ship, which makes two trips per day to assist those determined to throw away their hard earned money in an attempt to get something for nothing. Anyway, I know I spent too much time facing west that day, and, after realizing that fact, I turned back toward the east to check for traffic from that direction. I almost fell out of my kayak when I spotted what honestly appeared to me as a tall cylindrical building coming out of the east and heading straight for the sea buoy, toward which I was headed from a southwesterly direction. It could not have been more than two or three minutes since I had checked that particular area of the ocean and seen absolutely nothing, so I could not understand how a building could now be occupying that same area. I kept on my course and the building appeared to be determined to beat me to the buoy. I do not recall how long it took for my mind to close on reality and realize that the building I was racing was actually the conning tower of a submarine. It shouldn't be necessary to report that I was soundly beaten to the buoy, partly because I altered course to get closer to the south boundary of the channel to be in a better position and closer proximity to the submarine to observe her as she passed me on her way into Mayport. There was a small group of men standing on the conning tower as the sub passed me going in the opposite direction, and we exchanged waved greetings. I’m sure they were as surprised to see me, as I had been surprised to see them.

It's been my dream since then that one day a submarine will surface from directly beneath me and ferry me into Mayport. Hasn't happened yet.


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Closer to God in a Kayak V

CHRISTMAS SURPRISE

Christmas 1994 was special for a number of reasons. First, our youngest son, Steve, who had been married on New Year’s Eve, 1993 came to Atlantic Beach for Christmas with his new wife, Anastasia. The second thing that made that Christmas special occurred on Christmas Eve afternoon. I remember looking out our kitchen window and seeing a pick-up truck pulling into our driveway with a green kayak sticking out of the truck bed. It was a 14 feet, 8 inch Ocean Kayak Scupper Pro Model – a real beauty. Cass had been at Aqua East, our local surf shop, just looking around, and found two Scupper Pros on sale for $500 each. She had no idea what a good deal she had found, but fortunately called Jim Stehr and asked him what he thought. As I recall being told by Cass later, Jim said, quite emphatically, “Grab it!” and she did. That was, as they say, the first day of the rest of my life at sea – almost.

It would be difficult to recount the many adventures experienced in my Scupper Pro, but I’ll try to provide at least the highlights of the 16 years since coming into possession of her. Chronology must give way here as the events to be described would be difficult to place even in the exact year of occurrence, let alone be given a specific date. Suffice to say, they have all occurred since the acquisition of the Scupper Pro, which is still my #1 boat.

Here's a good close-up of her:



Sea Buoy Trips

I could not even guess how many trips I’ve made out to the sea buoy, which marks the entrance to the St. Johns River channel leading into Mayport and Jacksonville. One year, when actually keeping count, I made 39 such trips, and was still employed at the time and so limited to mostly weekends to make the attempt. Needless to say, those northeast winds kept my kayak dry on many a weekend, but then there were some vacation days when the weather cooperated. There were days when the ocean was cooperative, but the visibility was poor, and on those days I often searched in vain for the elusive buoy. Another Christmas surprise helped in conquering hazy weather for the rest of my days. It was Christmas 2000, I think, when Cass surprised me with a GPS, which pretty much pinpointed the exact location of the buoy once I got the exact coordinates set up in the device. I also learned, for the first time, how far I had been paddling to the buoy: 5.5 miles from my home beach (on a heading of 60 degrees), so all those trips had measured out at 11 miles – except, of course, when I paddled much longer than needed and never found the target.

I’ve had a number of what might be called adventures involving my trips to the buoy, including some hairy confrontations with other vessels in the area. I’ve also had a lot of time to think, which is something, I honestly believe, that most of us never have enough time to do. I refer to those bouts of thinking elsewhere in here as ruminations.

For those who have never seen the sea buoy marking the entrance to the St. John’s River, the channel leading into Mayport Naval Station and downtown Jacksonville, here it is.


(Click to enlarge all photos)