Two Days Before the Official End of Summer 2007

We've taken our kayaks out several times over the past three months at dusk but have never managed to catch one of those jaw-dropping sunsets. It was mostly overcast when we left home for the Ship Bottom boat ramp so we weren't expecting one on this night either, but boy were we in for a surprise! With summer just about to give way to autumn, we figured it best to grab every opportunity for an evening out on the water before the weather turns colder. Even though we've had some very chilly nights lately, this particular evening was warm enough to wear only t-shirts and shorts, so off we went.

We began by paddling west with the intent of going around the whole Cedar Bonnet Island archipelago which would take us about halfway across the Barnegat Bay and then under the huge causeway bridge. This was my wife's idea and it sounded good to me since we had never traversed this section before. As we made our way toward the setting sun, we slipped into a small channel which looked like it could dead end, but then again maybe it could lead to an alternate universe so we decided to explore it. As it turned out, it was merely a shortcut through the tidal marshlands. Don't forget you can click on the pictures to enlarge them... they are worth it!


Even though the wind was supposed to be out of the northeast, it was in fact out of the south and probably closer to 7 mph than the 3 mph that was predicted. This didn't really affect us at all and we rather enjoyed the slight chop in the water, but it's a good example of how important it is to be prepared for different conditions than you are expecting to encounter. When we emerged from the marshland, we were just a mile or so from the houses on the easternmost point of Beach Haven West and I was amazed that we had gotten that far across the bay with so little effort. There were quite a few boats hurrying to make it back to their respective docks before it got dark, but we just sat there idle, gazing at the sun as it sank into the horizon. I snapped a few pictures, but they really don't come close to capturing the beautiful scene.

The breeze was slowly diminishing as it often does at dusk but it was still strong enough to drift us slowly northward. Since we wouldn't be eating dinner until around 10pm, we snacked on the cheese and crackers I had grabbed on our way out the door. In between bites I kept trying different settings on the camera to ensure we ended up with at least a few good pictures as a record of our outing.

Eventually it was time to move on so we paddled our way under the huge span and toward the northern point of the island group we were circumnavigating.

Once we got on the north side of the bridge, I looked over my shoulder to check on how the sunset was progressing and yelled out "Holy mackerel!". My wife thought something was wrong, but I was just shocked by the incredible sight. I quickly reoriented my boat toward the west and scrambled to get the camera back out of its waterproof container. The sun had sunk below the horizon by then and was casting its light across the bottom of the thin cloud cover causing it to glow a very intense yellow.

We were no longer near any land so we just sat there side-by-side facing directly into the sunset, letting the current take us wherever it might. The yellows slowly turned to a deep orange, and then finally to fiery red. Of course this was all reflected in the water so it looked like both the whole western sky and the entire liquid expanse in front of us was ablaze. Very, very cool. We were truly awestruck.

We continued to drift for at least 20 minutes, not wanting to take our eyes off that scene. At last, when the final traces of color had faded and darkness had enveloped us, we turned the yaks and continued toward the now barely visible tip of the island. Again it seemed like we didn't even need to paddle to make progress, so our strokes were very light ones. The wind had subsided to nearly nothing by now and the sea below us had become almost flat except for these tiny ripples that gave the surface a corduroy type appearance.

Eventually we cruised past the Dutchman's restaurant and under the much smaller middle bridge. We pulled up side by side again and quit paddling, knowing that the parking lot where we began our journey was only 5 minutes away. We sat in the still water and just talked for close to half an hour. Neither of us wanted this adventure to end, but that seems to be a common theme when we take the boats out for an evening on the bay. I just can't believe I have lived here for over 20 years and have been missing out on this activity for 19 and a half of them.

Here are a couple of short videos of the trip. Enjoy!

Drawn by the Lesser Light

A few nights ago my wife and I took our kayaks out on the bay near our home at dusk. Ever since a buddy and I had done it several weeks back and found it quite enjoyable, I had been eager for her to have the experience of paddling her small craft on open water at night. She had already proved herself capable of handling the boat in two to three foot wind-driven swells during the day, so I knew she was ready for the additional challenge of navigating in virtual darkness.

We started by shuttling one of our vehicles over to Long Beach Island and leaving it in the parking lot at the Ship Bottom boat access ramp (you can cut and paste these coordinates into Google Earth or your favorite mapping website to zoom in on this location: 39 39'08.82"N, 74 11'06.14"W). We then drove back across the causeway and put in on the mainland side near a little cove on Bay Avenue in Manahawkin. The wind was blowing out of the NE at about 10mph and there was a moderate chop. We paddled eastward out of the small protected area and a minute later we were out on the open bay, aiming for the long, narrow strip of barrier island ahead of us in the distance. The full moon was just rising and added its magic to the exceptionally beautiful scene we found ourselves in. I whipped out the camera and tried to take a few pictures in the diminishing light, but the churning water was making it impossible to keep the camera steady enough to get a good shot. Only one of the snaps came out good enough to post here.

trying my best to steady the camera

I put the camera back in its protected place and we forged ahead into the gradually increasing turbulence. By the time we were a mile out, the waves had grown to about two and a half feet and it took all our concentration to deal with them. It became too difficult to maintain our course parallel to the causeway which was also the shortest route to the other side, so we aimed the yaks almost directly into the approaching waves. It was much easier to face them head-on than try to maintain our balance with them coming at us from the side. While this made life somewhat more comfortable, it also made the crossing significantly longer. Our communication was impaired since it required yelling in order to be heard over the wind. It was also completely dark now and the moon was still too low to be of much help. The law requires small boats like ours to have a working flashlight on board and use it to warn any approaching vessel of our presence. Fortunately there were no other boats anywhere around so for the time being we didn't have to worry about fishing the flashlights out of our pockets while trying to stay upright... (note to self: from now on, hook the flashlights to the rigging just forward of the cockpits for easy access). Being able to see each other was an occasional problem too. On a previous nighttime paddling trip, I had gotten the idea to bring along a couple of those toy light sticks to make it easier to spot each other's silhouette on the dark horizon whenever we drifted more than 30 feet apart. I picked up a dozen at the local dollar store and remembered to bring two of them them along, but which pocket did I put mine in? Dare I stop paddling and try to dig it out? Nah, too risky. Although the water we were bobbing along in was very warm, I still didn't want to get soaked right now and then have to deal with re-entry in rough water. Even if I could roll the yak and right myself quickly without having to exit the cockpit, I still much preferred to stay dry... (note to self: from now on, activate the lightsticks and lash them on BEFORE paddling in turbulent water). So I kept a close eye on my partner and stayed near enough. By the way, she was doing fine and proving herself up to the task we were immersed in.

It took a lot of energy, and our prescription lenses were getting sprayed each time the bow of our boats crested a wavetop and slapped back down into the valley, but we managed it. Eventually, maybe an hour after we had set out, we got near enough to the main island for the water to quiet down. We cleaned our glasses and tried to figure out exactly where we were by looking for familiar landmarks and guessed that we were somewhere toward the north end of Surf City. Safe and sound now, we took a much deserved rest and downed a bottle of water each. The crossing was fun but intense, and it was now time to enjoy the reward of cruising along in some easy water. We turned south and casually paddled along the western shore of LBI. It was nice to be able to converse again at a normal volume.

It was amazing to us how far away the causeway bridge was from where we were now. We must have been halfway across the bay when we adjusted our course, and at that time we were right next to the huge concrete trestles that support the span. Turning the boats just a few degrees sure made a huge difference in where we ended up.

The moon was high enough in the sky now to provide plenty of illumination. We made some conversation with a few people who were out enjoying a warm summer's eve on their rear decks. It took us about 30 minutes of slow paddling to zigzag our way along the western shoreline of the island and make our way back to the causeway. As we approached the small bridge between Bonnet Island and LBI, we had to fight the tidal currents where all those millions of gallons of water funnel through four times a day. What's that they say... time and tides wait for no man? All that water had an appointment to be in a certain place at a certain time and nothing could stop it from keeping its schedule. But we also had a destination so we knifed our way through it and arrived at the boat ramp a minute or two later, sad that the trip was over. Wait... who says it has to be over? We agreed to extend the fun a bit and paddled back out with the goal of circumnavigating Bonnet Island. It ended up taking a bit longer than we anticipated, but that was fine with us. This added another 30 minutes to our outing and now we were ready to head home. We loaded 'em up and drove off into the night, grateful for the opportunity to have that experience.