Belize Day 3

As rough as the first day of diving was, it would have been hard to have a difficult second day. Fortunately, conditions improved.

Unfortunately - for me, at least, and my buddy - my dive computer got stuck in a free dive mode. I was double-checking its other settings, and somehow got into free dive. I got it out of that move - or so I thought - but by the time I was at 16 feet of depth, it was clearly indicating that I was free-diving; that is, diving without scuba gear. I motioned to my buddy to go up, and we did.

This was frustrating for a couple of reasons. First, I was diving Nitrox for the first time, and already nervous about that - I spent an inordinate amount of time double-checking the computer to make sure it was set up for Nitrox, and in so doing made an error that put it in a completely different mode. Second, this dive was the group deep dive to 100 feet, to ensure no one got narc'd - suffered from nitrogen narcosis. 

Later, we learned that our guide had motioned for us to dive off my buddy's computer, but we mis-read his signals as telling us to go up as buddies. I think that what happened was that after I set the computer to dive mode, I held the buttons to back out of that screen too long and it cycled to free dive, and happened to be there when I hit the water.

In any case, it wasn't anything that ten minutes of cursing and alone time couldn't heal. The captain radioed the shop manager, who came out on our next dive and took my buddy and I to 120 feet, which we did without incident (and without Nitrox - I saved those cans for the next day). I'm very grateful for that.

This second dive - my first, the group's second - was very rewarding. The guides served up chum to attract nurse sharks and rays. As the three of us dove deeper, we wound our way down through canyons, and then on around, gradually making our way back up. We spotted a ray circling overhead, and a turtle swimming towards us, escaping the others. Finally, we were seeing wildlife. Even during my safety stop, I saw a turtle land on a ledge below me, and his camouflage kept him well hidden. Keeping track of him became my game for passing the time at the safety stop.

After the morning dives, a small group of us opted for an afternoon dive, heading out to Hol Chan Marine Reserve. We dived shallow, no more than 30 feet, but saw plenty of fish, some rays, and coral. It was a great dive that made up for missing the first morning dive. Afterwards, we went to Shark Ray Alley, where our guide once again chummed up the water, and we snorkeled with nurse sharks, jack fish, and rays. It was beautiful.

As it happened, that night was scheduled for the optional night dive, so I got that in as well. After returning to shore to rest and get some food, we went out in the evening and were in the water at night. Using our flashlights, we cruised along at shallow depths. There was strong current to fight as we entered the water, but once away from the boat and at depth, we were in a small valley that was out of the current. We say sleeping rays, some parrot fish, and an octopus or two. There was a moray eel, but I missed him.

This was my busiest day. I had three dives, a snorkel, and I at least got in the water for another dive. In a way, it was good to have a little frustration with my computer, and even more so on what was a less consequential dive. I figured out what I got wrong, and was much better prepared for the dives to come.

Belize Day 2

The first day of diving, for most sport divers, is a day of getting re-acquainted with the sport. There's all the gear to manage, there are steps and checklists to become familiar with, and there's the act of diving itself: moving slowly through the water, and breathing at a rate that doesn't use up all the air too quickly.

The weather was rough on this first day. A stiff wind had kicked up and was sustained, causing some taller, stronger waves. On the way out, it was like hitting speed bumps every couple of minutes, and on site, the boat rocked considerably. Once in the water, most of this goes away, but while we waited to enter the water, it was pretty brutal.

Our first dive was at Gardenella, for about 40 minutes. I descended to a max depth of 62 feet, but kept between 45 and 55 most of the time. We saw a few fish, but mostly coral. I did see one sea turtle, and off in the distance, a ray.

Our second dive had rougher water and fewer sites. The site was Cypress Garden, and we descended to a depth of 74 feet - slightly more than standard open water, and technically requiring a deep dive safety stop at max half depth. Our guide found some tiny little spider-like creatures, and a flutefish, but otherwise, it was mostly coral.

Coming back to the boat was a little jarring. As we floated at the surface, we could see the boat and dive platform moving vertically five or more feet vertically. The protocol for the boat was that they would throw a line for us to hold on to and take our fins off prior to coming in. This worked well, allowing us to align and plant our feet on the ladder before climbing up. 

E got sick, as did another diver. We all felt a bit queasy, and were a bit disappointed by what we saw. Overall, these were slightly rough acclimation dives. After such an auspicious start, we hoped for better diving in the days to come.

Belize: Day 1

Getting to Belize was pretty straightforward most of the way: from LGA to ATL, and then ATL to BZE. The last leg was the most interesting: taking a "puddle jumper" from BZE to SPR (San Pedro), the little town of about 12,000 on Ambergris Caye.

This was aviation as it started: small planes, little corrugated metal hangars, a small building amounting to little more than a lobby. Our luggage was rolled out to the plane on a hand-drawn cart; the luggage compartment looked like an addition to the hull. Our plane seated twelve, which included the jump seat next to the pilot. The door opened to become the ladder to the ground.

This flight in itself was uneventful, except for flying much closer (under 2000 feet) than a jetliner. We saw the water, numerous islands, and seated behind the pilot, the runway as we approached. We appeared to slide a little to the right as we came in - presumably the effect of some wind.

At the airport, we collected out luggage from a sheltered area, then walked all of two or three blocks to the hotel. Once checked in, we went to our rooms, arrayed around aU-shaped courtyard that opened to the sea. From there, we could see the dive shop, our boat, and the reef far offshore.

We stayed at the Sunbreeze Hotel, and dived with "Hugh Parkey's Scuba Adventure" or some similar name. I would recommend both. The hotel's staff and associated restaurant were great, and Kevin, the manager of the dive shop, was a square dealer. At one point, when I cancelled a deep dive to to a computer error, he came out and did a dive with me and my buddy, so that we could dive the Blue Hole the next day.

The first day was mostly spent traveling, followed by the business of arriving. I got to know my roommate, a camera assistant in the film industry I'll call E, and other divers - notably MG, MF, JS, and R. On most dives, we were together as a subgroup, and we dined out in the evenings afterwards.

San Pedro is a small town. There are all of three streets; the town map indicates which are paved and which are not - a feature which may need to be updated at some point, as there was some development going on. Most traffic is either golf cart or bicycles, though some small vans and the occasional car were spotted as well.

For dining, you have to get away from the hotel. The hotel food is good, but it's also relatively expensive (that is, reasonable for Manhattan, but overpriced compared to where the locals eat). Look for Shelly's; Briana's, and then a small green shack selling Papusas out front. These stuffed, grilled tortillas are a staple there, and this particular place had a great stewed chicken. Anywhere you go, try the grilled fish. It doesn't get much better, especially as "local sourcing" goes.

Some folks had been there a few days earlier and spoke of seeing sharks, rays, eels, and other beautiful sea creatures.

By the end of the evening, we were all tired. Belize is on Mountain Time compared to the US, so us New Yorkers were two hours ahead - after a long day of travel, ready to hit the hay by 2200 local (10 PM). We went to sleep, 

Labor

Gonna come right out and say it - I'm a little shocked I've been quiet these past six weeks or so. Most of my blogging activity has switched to kayaking, which I am building a separate identity on. This summer in particular I've been doing that along - with my own boat, I've made solo trips, and volunteer with two different clubs now, so I've been busy on the water. Off the water - on land, as it were - things are less rosy. My employer is going through some significant, large-scale changes, and it's only about six weeks ago that I learned for certain what my employment situation would be. That was followed by two or three weeks of meetings and readings and memo-writing and similar administrivia. The short version is, I'm giving my current job over to an outsourcing company before taking on a new, mostly-undefined role in the education half of my employer. So that's all for now. There will be more in a bit.

Guthrie Family Reunion

Tonight I went to a concert in Central Park, the "Guthrie Family Reunion" - Arlo, his daughters, grandkids, and assorted others. They sang some of their own songs, but mostly Woody Guthrie songs, since he would have turned 100 yesterday.

I grew up with a lot of these songs. It's hard not to, being born in Oklahoma to a music teacher. Those songs, that sound, the sentiment behind the lyrics. I re-purchased an album of Guthrie/Ledbelly songs that we had in the eighties, and more recently, downloaded some Guthrie songs off eMusic. It puts me in touch with where I come from.

It was a good concert. They are all good players, with good patter between songs. I've actually be surprised there hasn't been a larger revival of Woody Guthrie music given the current economic climate. An Occupy flag flailed periodically in the crowd; sometimes, some weed would drift over from behind, but otherwise, it was pretty tame.

Kayak Cowgirl

Gonna come right out and say it - new blog at kayakcowgirl.blogspot.com. This will be the home of kayaking-related posts going forward, allowing this blog to settle back into my general lie blog . . .which has been overtaking by kayaking lately.

Contrary Conditions at the GWB

Sunday, after my Saturday paddle out to the Narrows, I spent some time with the other club I'm a member of, the Inwood Canoe Club.

I went out with Mark and Steve when the current was just past max ebb. The wind was blowing north, so as you would expect, there were some fun waves as the wind pushed against the current.

Of course, this also meant that coming back was a little more challenging. We hewed to the shore to stay out of the current. However, coming around the rocky point below the Manhattan-side tower of the  bridge, I got caught in a bizarre situation: sizable waves pushing from the west and south, while the current conspired to slurp me back out. I was literally paddling in place despite some very strong forces pushing me in three directions.

I dug in my spurs and powered through. It took more than a little effort, but I got past the eddy line and continued paddling up. I have to say, these conditions were rougher than anything I experienced in the harbor. This belies the reputation of the upper reaches of the Hudson being as smooth as a glass lake.

Where the Buoys Are

On Saturday, I paddled out to the Narrows with two other women. It was a mostly gorgeous day, and turned out to be a great trip.

The Narrows is the stretch of water between Brooklyn and Staten Island, crossed by the Verrazano Bridge. It is the boundary between the lower and upper harbors. Past the Narrows, you're practically at sea, with Long Island out to your left, and Sandy Hook far south on your right.

From where we launch at 56th street, even with a strong favoring current, it's a three hour trip each way. It also traverses the harbor of one of the world's busiest cities, so a fair amount of planning was involved. It was a hot day, so we used plenty of protection against the sun (sunscreen, hats, rash guards) and brought along plenty of water.

The trip is best thought of in three stages each way: From Pier 96 (56th street) to Morris Canal; from Morris to Staten Island; along the coast of Staten Island to a long beach known as South Beach just below the Verrazano. Each stage would take about an hour, and we'd follow that route there, with the reverse on the way back.

Elizabeth and I set out around 11, just short of max ebb. We met up with Val at Pier 66 (26th street). With the strong current, it only took us ten or fifteen minutes to get there. Val was already on the water, so after greetings and going over the plan, we crossed over to Jersey and made our way towards Morris Canal.

Morris Canal is a relatively wide waterway on the Jersey side of the Hudson. The Colgate Clock - a large mechanical clock on the ground, visible from Manhattan - is near the front. Directly across from the Battery, the canal is between Liberty State Park and some housing developments in New Jersey. It shelters a marina and is a popular destination with our crowd. This is a fairly straightforward paddle, on water we know pretty well.

Below Morris is the NYC harbor. As one might imagine, it has a lot of traffic with no clear lanes. The waters are crisscrossed with water taxis, personal motorboats, sailboats large and small, the Staten Island Ferry, and smaller ferries that transport people to and from Liberty and Ellis islands. Additionally, the underwater topography changes, and when combined with all the traffic, there are a lot of unpredictable currents and wave patterns.

It isn't as scary as it sounds, but it does require awareness - of other boats and their intentions, of wind and water conditions, and of the potential hazard you might present to others. Conditions can be handled with training - keep a good brace ready and be prepared to power through the waves. Traffic is mostly predictable for the big ships - ferries move along the same paths, and water taxis have known destinations. 

It's surprising how quickly one arrives at Liberty and Ellis. If you have only been there as a tourist, or seen them from the shore, it's not clear how close, yet how far they are from the city. They are practically in New Jersey - which means from Morris, they were just a few minutes downstream from us. 

I took pictures. I've been here once before, on a trip to another destination not quite as far south. It's nice to have a picture of such a well-known landmark that I took myself.

As we continued south, we entered a long stretch of water between Liberty and Staten islands. This was the patch I worried about the most, not because of traffic - this area is mostly a parking lot for barges - but because there are no easy places to pull in and take a break. We could stop and drift, or raft up together and take a water break, but there would be no getting out of the boat, or sheltering in from adverse conditions. If the harbor had "next rest stop five miles" signs up, this is where they would be.

Our next major decision was how to cross the flight path of the Staten Island Ferry. The ferry is a large orange ship that crosses between Manhattan and Staten Island on roughly half hour intervals. It does not stop on the water; for our purposes, it cannot stop. There are typically two in motion, one in each direction. Fortunately, unlike water taxis, they tend to move in the same path over and over. Find that path, cross it safely, and they're not really a problem.

We spotted one ferry on its way out to Staten Island. We had seen its sister pass earlier, so once it was clear, we paddled out into the main channel. From there, we followed channel buoys down to the Narrows, with smoother water and no traffic to speak of. We came across a cargo ship moored in the channel, and wisely went around it before the current could push us into it.

By this point we were in sight of Fort Wadsworth, an old fort on the Staten Island side of the bridge, complementary to Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. Both are now part of Gateway National Park. 

We paddled on, coming up under the bridge and around its western tower. We could see the beach, scraggly at first, but then beyond a short spit, stretching towards a proper boardwalk in the distance.

Our next decision was where to land. We wanted bathrooms; "nature" was an option, but real bathrooms couldn't have been far off. There were some buildings near by that looked abandoned. The boardwalk looked promising, but was farther down than we wanted, and in any case surf landings are prohibited at swimming beaches during the summer. We spotted some people sitting next to a large inflatable canoe, and aimed for a spot near them.

We popped our skirts - the spray decks that keep us dry, charged in, and jumped out. With that, the first half of our journey was complete. We had arrived at South Beach.

Elizabeth and I walked to the boardwalk to freshen up. It was a longer walk there and back than we expected, but a welcome stretching of the legs after sitting in our boats for so long. When we came back, we found Val had made acquaintance with our inflatable-boat neighbors. We had lunch, swam a bit in the surf, and rested. 

Val got the younger of the two men with the inflatable boat to try out her boat. He was the other man's son, and in less than an hour she had taught him how to do a wet exit and allowed him to paddle her boat up and down the shore for about thirty yards.

At the Narrows, the tide starts to change sooner than at the Battery; the flood tide was noticeable by three. In fact, while we were swimming, we noticed an acceleration of current carrying us towards the bridge. We weren't so far out that it was an issue, but we realized it was time to go in and start packing up.

We were back on the water shortly after four. Now, the next phase of our adventure began.

Conditions were different. For one thing, the sky was cloudy, not with storm clouds, but simply high-flying puffy white clouds that screened the sun for a bit of welcome relief. The tide was higher, and rising, changing the nature of some of our landmarks. We noticed that the moored ships we had passed on the way out were now facing south, against the incoming current. Finally, there was also a steady westerly wind.

With the flooding tide and the steady wind, the net effect was that we were generally being carried north and east at the same time. Heading north was fine - that is after all where we wanted to go - but the wind affected how we approached obstacles such as moored ships and barges.

These things are known as strainers. When current runs against a fixed object such as a moored ship or a pier, it can pin a boat or even pull it under. It's not a pleasant situation to be in, so we wanted to give everyone a wide berth. With the wind as it was, that meant we were paddling out into the channel when we otherwise might have headed back to the west a bit. We had to be a bit more aware of traffic, and had to paddle a bit harder to the west in order to stay on course.

Around this time, cruise ships were starting to depart the city. Altogether we saw three. The first one was approaching the bridge not long after we had left; the last one was rounding the Battery as we were approaching Liberty. The second one was, shall we say, a little more exciting.

We saw this one from a distance. We anticipated its path to be, like the first, well to our right. However, it appeared to be pointed towards our left. As we watched the horizon, we figured it couldn't keep going in that direction within running into some moored barges that we ourselves were planning to avoid. 

Yet, the ship was not turning. We then thought perhaps we were in it path after all, and decided to paddle east, towards Brooklyn. Once we got going, however, then the cruise ship turned.

Cruise ships are big. As big as the Staten Island Ferry is, cruise ships are many times bigger, and like the ferry, they do. not. stop. They can barely turn, constrained as they are by underwater topography and landmarks such as the bridge. So our question was: were we going to pass in front of the ship (unwise) or back-paddle to our earlier spot, hoping that wasn't the path?

We chose the latter option, and I'm glad we did. I'm not great at gauging distances but I'm reasonably certain we were within 100 yards of the vessel by the time she passed, maybe a long city block away. Now, I've been that close to cruise ships before on the water - but from behind, as they're moving away from me. "That stood my hair on end," said one of us.

As we paddled across the harbor, the wind would pick up, and then die down again. We realized we were much further east in the channel than we had been coming out. We spotted some channel buoys and headed towards them. We crossed the Staten Island Ferry lines again, and then followed buoys up to more familiar territory. 

As the wind picked up intermittently, I found my skeg to be useful in the half-down position. Without it, my boat tended to weathercock, which is to say that I'd get turned by the wind, in this case, in the opposite direction I wanted to travel. with the wind coming at me from the side, having the skeg halfway down kept the wind from  turning my boat and allowed me to gradually turn into the wind - a much more favorable position. 

Elizabeth fared a little worse. Her boat is very light, and while it's short enough to not catch a lot of wind, it takes less wind to weathercock. She dropped her rudder to use as a skeg. That helped a bit, and eventually we passed Liberty, passed some more ferries, and got into the Hudson.

Once there, things were much calmer. For one thing, there was almost no traffic, aside from a motorcycle gang of jet skis that bore down on us like a loud, angry fishing net. The wind died down, leaving us just the current, which carried us like an express train towards out final destinations.

Val got out at Pier 66. Adjacent to a popular outdoor restaurant, it was like we dropped her off at a party. We passed a public trip out of 66, a sunset paddle program of the (mostly untrained) public.

Elizabeth and I continued north, past a couple of ferry terminals, the Intrepid with its now-shrouded space shuttle, and the now-empty cruise ship berths, until we turned in to our embayment at 1906 hours, just a few minutes after our anticipated return time.

Our public program was closed for the day, but some of our friends were there. We talked about the trip, washed our boats, and watched the sun set across the water.

It was an awesome trip. I look forward to many more.