The Great Serpent and the Sea Kayaker Gail E. Ferris Suspense, suspense, three days of heavy wind, some snow and non- stop very cold weather, which is at least for coastal Connecticut unusual, especially when there are several back to back near zero evenings. This is when sea kayaking becomes a very serious, dangerous undertaking. The coast within Stony Creek and Pine Orchard, Branford becomes frozen in because the fresh water flows on top of the seawater being less dense and also there is some freeze separation of the seawater as well. At 2:30 am. I could stand the suspense no longer. The wind had lost it's strength and the full moon was high in the sky. I just had to know how the dogs were doing on the island which I was caretaking. Although I had left them with a great quantity of food and they had six inches of snow for water, but I always have my feeling of empathy for their lonely plight, especially since I can hear their voices across the water. They bark much more when they are alone. When I am there they only bark at things that seem eminently threatening, however they can never resist howling in an uproariously sonorous canine chorus to a fire siren, demonstrating an amazing command of a variety of vocal tonalities that seem implausible for a dog to create. At 2:00 am. I could distinctly hear my dogs barking from my home on the mainland, so I donned my dry suit and diver's neoprene hood, tied my kayak on the car, put in my assortment of safety items, such as an extra paddle and drove to what I thought may be a relatively ice free launch site. Under the glaze of moonlight at Flying Point, I could see an area of slush ice which was still kept in motion by the incoming swells, but it was surrounded by a conglomeration of small ice pans. I could see that where the ice pans left off was an impenetrable extensive ice slush area. I decided to drive to Pine Orchard which in the past had been a last available launching site. Pine Orchard looked less questionable and the swells had more strength to them suggesting that the slush ice was freer with less volume, which would permit me to turn around with out having to perform disconcerting maneuvers. I very quietly launched so as not to disturb anyone sleeping and headed out toward my goal - the island. As I worked my way in my Arluk III past the protection of the rocks I felt some thing absolutely shocking. My boat rose up from under me and swayed decidedly, as the strong swells uplifted and thrust downward the slush ice which my kayak was riding on. Although there were no waves breaking, the distinct density of the ice slush became obvious as I was being thrust suddenly up and then down by the broadside swells to my Arluk. It was an exhilarating experience, but I was relieved when I entered the narrow band of small ice pans and passed into open water. It had felt as though I was on the back of a sea serpent and at 2:30 in the morning anything seems possible. Crossing stretches of open water and migrating conglomerations of ice, I passed one side of the island which was less desirable to land at and I continued on to a floating dock. I made use of my bow line, another safety item, got up onto the dock and pulled my Arluk onto the dock. Although the beach was iced in, I thought that since I would be leaving at dawn, only a few hours away, that conditions would continue. I and the lonely dogs performed our usual bedtime routine and went to sleep. Awaking at dawn, I noticed two things, the cabin wasn't very warm, even though the stove was burning because there was snow still sitting on the counter top close by in the next room. There appeared on the water a line of ice pans working their way past the south side of the island where I had never seen ice before. I knew something was odd that I hadn't thought of. I had forgotten that the forecast was for wind from the north and of it's possible consequences. I had noticed a slight breeze from the north but thought nothing of it earlier. Not being daunted by an unexpected change, I dressed to leave despite the sorrowful pleas from my dogs. As usual I checked their food supply and began my usual walk across the island toward the dock. Then as I rounded the bend on my way to the dock, my eye immediately caught the sight of something odd. No kidding! the dock with my kayak on top of it was not floating, instead it was just sitting on the mud. The tide situation was a combination of perihelion and weather. All the world was ice, but lo and behold, one pan of ice was rapidly moving, obviously being propelled by the wind. I climbed to the high side of the island, overlooking Pine Orchard, to find that most of the crossing in that direction was inundated with thick slush ice and recalling that it had been only seven degrees Fahrenheit that previous night I feared that the slush might be solid enough to trap my kayak. Returning to the other side of the island I could see several open leads to Stony Creek. I thought about the caretakers who had preceded me and the stories of the far north describing the moment when the wind stops and the water freezes over. In my moment of anguish as the impending reality of the entrapment on this island became apparent then I wondered if I looked like an ant in a glass jar trying to find it's way out as I was trying to resolve how I was to cross back to the mainland under these divisive conditions. I dragged my kayak across the frozen seabed but my feet broke through the surface of the ice into soft mud. The mud became softer, less dense the farther I trudged from shore and I began hoping that I could launch before I became helplessly mired in the what had become watery black ooze. I launched just in time and found that I could paddle through the stretch of small ice pans without trouble. Then, once again, I encountered that strange sinuous serpentine roll of slush ice, heaving up and down on the incoming swells. Making my way through the ice, I had to keep in mind that the paddle must hit the water and slush ice at a precise ninety degrees, because otherwise it acts as a shovel beneath the ice which would cause me to find myself upside down immediately, as I tried to recover my paddle blade from beneath the ice. The ice puts great amounts of stress on the paddle, but I have found that the Northwest Designs or Werner Designs paddles tolerate bashing through and pushing off from ice without any damage, year after year. I maneuvered my Arluk through the fields of ice pans finding a few open areas where I could stop and contemplate my best strategy. The now bright sun and light wind was keeping the ice from freezing together, whereas on a quiet evening these areas would be glazed with skim ice which is sharp and difficult to pass through. Slush ice is like paddling in apple sauce, i would imagine. It's a very amusing sensation to paddle through an area of slush ice and suddenly feel your boat shoot forward when you pass into open water. Skim ice is much more formidable to paddle through because it is abrasive, highly resistant to penetration, impossible to judge the thickness of, until you find that you can no longer punch you paddle blade through the ice to propel your kayak forward. Then there is always the possibility that the harder you try to break the ice with your paddle t he more likely you may happen to find yourself upside down. At that point, I back out the way I came in, slowly and carefully, because backing a kayak is awkward. The last stretch between myself and shore was filled with thick slush, which I easily worked my wy through, realizing that there was no benefit in trying to land at the nearest landfall, because it was an inhospitable stone pier, glazed with ice which was more difficult to deal with than with my continuation through the is ice on the water. I learned a new lesson about ice. The wind will break two to three inch thick ice pans into small pieces if it is blowing at twenty to thirty knots and even a light ten to fifteen know wind will push ice against current and tides. Sea kayaking in the winter is much more complex than in the summer, like a great game of chess, once you can recognize and anticipate the conditions. You have to have good judgement and skill with a touch of daring to safely sea kayak in the winter. 1/10/88 Gail E. Ferris, 1 Bowhay Hill, Stony Creek, CT 06405