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| Aftermath I coped with the grief and guilt I felt over the tragedy by redoubling my efforts to learn how to kayak safely. I purchased a fiberglass sea kayak with a spray skirt and deck-mounted compass. I spoke at length with some experienced sea kayakers to get their advice on classes and safety equipment. I bought a VHF radio and a GPS unit and learned how to use them. I bought a flare gun and aerial flares, a dry suit and numerous books on kayaking. I took a course on Eskimo rolling. The following summer, I returned to Maine with my family. I wanted to paddle my new kayak the five-odd miles from Northeast Harbor out to Little Cranberry Island. The route had a number of exposed stretches; I had my entire course laid out in terms of compass bearings and paddling times, and had these written up on a waterproof deck chart. Within about five minutes of setting out, I was enveloped by fog. At first, I had trouble trusting my compass, but after five minutes of paddling and having the first island come into view right when and where I expected to see it, I grew more confident. I compensated for drift and course-holding errors by steering toward the middle of the islands where I needed to make landfalls. I’d then crawl along the shoreline until I got to the starting point for the next crossing. I crossed the boating channels quickly and at right angles and sounded my air horn in areas of possible traffic. I could hear boats cruising in the distance and listened until I could determine their heading and that I was safely out of their way. Halfway through one of the crossings, the wind shifted from the southeast to the northeast. I was still in the habit of holding a course at a consistent angle to the wind and found this extremely disorienting, but I followed my compass course. In the distance, to the west, I could hear a bell buoy. I was reassured that the sound was coming from the right direction as indicated for the buoy on the chart. The outline of Little Cranberry Island finally loomed out of the fog. As that familiar island appeared, I felt as if finding my way out the fog had lifted some of the weight of the previous year’s tragedy from my shoulders.  Déjà VuFollowing the deaths of Mary and Sarah, history nearly repeated itself a year later. During that following summer, I paddled from Harwich to the northern end of Monomoy Island. When I returned, I paddled into a fog bank. By this point, I had memorized all the compass bearings and landmarks along this stretch of the coast and was happily making short crossings from one landmark to the next. As I approached Ayer’s Beach, where Mary and Sarah had boarded their kayaks, I saw people standing on the jetties, staring out into the fog. Two boys had gone out kayaking from precisely the same spot as the girls had over a year previously, and were now lost in the fog. The Coast Guard, harbormaster and police were already on the water searching. I blew my horn several times, and one of the boys appeared out of the mist and paddled toward me. He didn’t know where his friend was. Fortunately, the fog soon lifted, and the second boy was found. When I think back on all of those times I was out in the fog, I know that there was daylight—every memory of the times I saw land, it was haloed with light—but my memories of the fog alone are of darkness. The day the girls were lost comes back to me as if it had been night, and when I recall the times when I was surrounded by that fog, I see only black. Status of Massachusetts Safety Law In the wake of the Jagoda-Aronoff kayak accident, Tom Leach—harbormaster of the town of Harwich and one of those who searched for the missing kayakers—worked with State Representative Shirley Gomes to sponsor a bill that would require kayakers in Massachusetts to wear PFDs throughout the year and to carry compasses and whistles. Currently, all occupants of small craft are required to wear PFDs only between September 15 and May 15. Gomes brought the proposal before the Massachusetts State House in 2005. After some debate, the legislation stalled. Another kayak-related fatality occurred in Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, in May 2001. Robert Beauvais, 51, capsized while receiving basic instruction and couldn’t free himself from the spray skirt. The instructor got Robert to the surface within about 15 seconds, conscious, but breathing with difficulty. He had inhaled enough seawater to compromise his breathing, leading to his death. (See “The Tragic Death of a Novice,” by Charles Sutherland, SK, Dec. ’04.) In the spring of 2006, partly in response to this incident, Massachusetts State Representative Bill Strauss drafted a bill that would require kayak instructors to first provide instruction in wet exits before taking students out on the water. In the summer of 2006, the two bills (the Gomes and the Strauss bills) were combined into H-4551, which would mandate PFDs, whistles and compasses, and wet-exit instruction for kayakers. A version of this bill is currently under consideration by the Massachusetts Legislature. Many of those in the Massachusetts sea-kayaking community oppose the bill because they feel it conveys a message that kayaking is riskier than canoeing, which is not subject to the same legislation. Statistics indicate that more paddlers die in canoes and other small craft than in kayaks, and that kayakers are also more likely to wear PFDs than canoeists. Although the wet-exit requirement is problematic, a more serious issue is that professional education reaches only a tiny fraction of paddlers. As for the compass requirement, having one won’t necessarily help the substantial percentage of paddlers who don’t know how to use it. —J.H. Safety in Fog Paddling in fog adds an extra level of risk. Navigation in fog is even more difficult than it is at night when you have lights to steer by. Errors in navigation can lead to missing your landfalls and to increasing the time you’re on the water and vulnerable to vessel traffic and changes in the weather. If you have no pressing reason to go out, stay ashore. Larger and faster vessels traveling through fog will be relying on radar. They may be able to “see” each other, but you can’t count on their being able to see you. If you see fog approaching, look for the nearest escape route, and if possible, stay close to shore where you are out of traffic and in sight of landmarks to navigate by. Always be prepared for the possibility of being overtaken by fog, particularly in areas susceptible to it. Take a compass—a deck-mounted compass is best, but a backpacker’s compass bungeed on deck will work. Take a chart—if you have to change your plans because of the fog, you’ll need to plot a new course and calculate new headings. Lay out the bearings and length of each leg of a trip ahead of time. As you’re paddling, note the wind direction when you set out, and note the direction of any swells or waves. Plan what you would do if you got socked in by a thick fog. Note the compass directions you’re paddling when you can see landmarks: knowing the bearings between landmarks will make it easier to switch to navigating by compass when it’s required. If you find yourself in the fog, the safest passage will be toward the middle of landmasses, not their edges. Unless you’re using a GPS, your course is not likely to be accurate enough to hit a point of land. If you err on the seaward side, you may miss landfall entirely. Set your course to hit landfalls broadside, then paddle along the shoreline to the points of land that you have to navigate around. If you have a GPS, practice using it. Plot waypoints that will allow you to navigate around headlands, shoals and other hazards—it’s not enough to have just the waypoint for the take-out. A GPS can fail when you need it most—on a crossing in the fog—so be prepared to shift to a compass and a watch to navigate. Do not panic in the fog. Think, look and listen before you commit to a course. The farther you paddle uncertain of your location and your direction of travel, the more danger you’ll put yourself in. Errors increase as you cover ground. Sometimes staying put is the safest choice. If you’re crossing a vessel traffic channel, give warning to motorized vessels. You can call them on a VHF: say, “secure-it-tay, secure-it-tay, secure-it-tay,” and state who you are, your position and intended course (e.g., “three kayakers crossing Woods Hole Channel outbound from Devil’s Foot Island to Nonamassett Island—estimate crossing will take three minutes”). Lacking a VHF, sound a portable horn periodically or even blow a whistle. Remember that you will not show up on the radar of a motorized vessel. —J.H. John Huth is the Donner Professor of Science and Chair of the Physics Department at Harvard University. He lives in Newton, Massachusetts, and has a home in Harwich. He is an experimental particle physicist, involved in understanding the fundamental forces of nature. He commutes to work by bicycle and spends his spare time sea kayaking, backpacking and fly-fishing. |
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