One of the big draws for being where we are is the access to the wetlands. We have canoed into Smith’s Slough and Steinberger’s Slough, we have canoed up Redwood Creek, as well as down it into the main channel towards the Bay. We have also sailed our inflatable dingy, a Tinker Traveler, in those same places. For some reason, however, I have not been successful in doing the loop–specifically Smith’s Slough to Steinberger’s Slough to Corkscrew Slough and back via the main Redwood Creek Channel. The loop is only about 10 miles, but something always caused previous journeys to return back the same way and not complete the loop. Reasons for turning back included too much wind (while canoeing), not enough wind (sailing the Tinker), passenger getting bored, late for another engagement, etc.

This morning, I decided today was the day. The sun was out, the wind was calm, there were no other obligations for the entire day, and I would do the trip alone–in a nut shell, no excuses. OK, there is the tide to consider. I checked the tide just before launching the Merrimac (canoe) and the ebb tide was 1.5 feet 30 minutes before a low of 1.2 feet. Definitely a low, but nothing extreme (which can be as much as -2 feet). About half way through Smith’s Slough, I met a rower heading back. He said that the channel was impassible for him a ways ahead and that his draft was 9 inches. I thanked him for the information and figured I draw about 2-3 inches and the tide should be flooding by now, so I was probably OK. While in Steinberger’s Slough, I realized that I had never been there during a tide this low. The only navigable channel was through wood pilings near the San Carlos airport. Shortly after that, the channel split into two, so I took the right branch which split into two again. I expected to see Corkscrew Slough up on the right, so I took the right channel again, but started to drag on the bottom. I moved my weight forward to amidships to minimize my draft, but soon I was stopped. I stood up and could see that my channel gradually narrowed to nothing up ahead. Time to back up and try another channel–it’s great that canoes have points on both ends and can easily go either way.

At the branch, this time I noticed a slight current coming through the left fork, so I took it. It was very shallow–only a few inches deep–so my paddle was dragging on the bottom mud. This would be fine, except the current was rapidly increasing and it was trying to push me backwards. Soon, the current was so strong that there were standing waves in the 6 foot wide channel and I couldn’t paddle hard enough in the shallow water to keep forward movement. When I poled off the bottom, my paddle became stuck and when I pulled it out, would stop all forward progress and even move me backwards.

I always travel with two paddles, so I grabbed the spare and with one upside-down paddle in each hand, I poled off the muddy bottom with the fat handle end of the paddles while keeping the blades up in the air. I was able to make progress against the ever faster current, but I felt like a pin-ball bouncing off the muddy walls of the narrow channel when one or the other of the paddle handles stuck in the muddy bottom and pulled me off course. There wasn’t enough width to the channel for these bouncings to turn me around, but sometimes I would stick on the muddy embankment. I decided to try working just one side of the channel. I poled on just one side which turned the canoe against the embankment, but I would just keep pushing. The canoe would slide along the muddy embankment. I thought this just might work, but it was very tiring. On the other hand, the scenery was fabulous. The early morning sun was reflecting off the mud and water in an amazing way. If only I had time to take a picture–the water was getting faster and faster, so I couldn’t stop and the picture probably wouldn’t have captured the beauty anyway.

Up ahead was the now obvious entrance to Corkscrew Slough, I was momentarily ecstatic. Then I saw that there was a substantial rapids flowing out of Corkscrew Slough–I could see the uphill incline I faced and the fact that there was even less water moving at an even higher flow rate with no mud embankments. This would be tough. I carefully entered the right side of the rapids so as not to let the current take the bow and spin me around. I used the two-paddle handle poling technique and all was going well when the right paddle dug deep into the mud and stuck. While trying to unstick it, the bow swung to starboard and the current started to push me sideways over the stuck paddle. I could hear and feel the creaking from the hull and paddle under the strain. I didn’t want to break either one, nor to loose my second paddle. Eventually I got the port paddle to brace on the starboard side and I was able to extract the stuck paddle.

I finally made it to the top of the obvious rapids and the water widened. But, I discovered that the Slough was still only inches deep and, although wider, was still running fast against me. I spent the next hour poling forward with the bottom of the canoe dragging in the bottom mud the whole way. The water was so murky that I couldn’t tell where the water was 1/2 inch deep or where it was a few inches deep. I found myself zig-zagging up the Slough looking for water that was deep enough to paddle in and not drag against the bottom of the canoe–there was no deeper water. This was hard work and I was starting to get tired.

Corkscrew Slough is called that because it bring new meaning to twisty. I could see a construction crane almost next to me but it wasn’t until rounding the next bend that I could see that it was sitting on the bank farthest from where I had first seen it. More concerning was the fact that there was a metal dam across the Slough. I figured there had to be a route around the corrugated metal dam. As I got closer, I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to go back the way I had come, and besides, I wanted to finish the loop damn it–pardon the pun. I paddled up to the dam and stood up in the canoe. I couldn’t come close to reaching the top and the side was smooth and slick. I went to the right bank where the crane was. There was lots of mud between me and what appeared to be terra firma. I went back down stream a little and found place where the path to hard ground seemed shorter. Although the canoe was firmly aground, the paddle-turned-walking stick sunk deeper and deeper and I had yet to step out of the canoe. Borrowing from another sport, I decided to use my two paddles like cross-country skis to get across the mud. That worked, but what I found was not promising. On the other side of the dam, the path back to the water appeared impossible.

Looking across the Slough, I decided that the other side was a safer bet. I carefully returned to the canoe using the paddles to keep me on top of the mud, relaunched and went to the other side near the dam. What had appeared to be rubble was actually recently dropped blue muddy clay. Totally impassible. Again, I went down stream and went ashore using my paddles on the mud. I reconnoitered this side and now, where my view from the other side had been blocked by a big steel barge, I found that the prospects looked little better than the first side. I headed back to the canoe disappointed, but determined to make something work.

I had strung out the bow painter as far as it would reach ashore, so I pulled on it to bring the canoe up onto the levy.  Not having anticipated the need for acrobatics, I had my ceramic mug of coffee sitting on the sole in the middle of the canoe.  Pulling the canoe up the embankment without spilling or causing the cup to slide aft was a bit tricky, but spilling the coffee wouldn’t have mattered since the inside of the canoe was splattered with mud from my poling, so really this was just an exercise and besides, I needed a caffeine hit.  Once up, I downed the rest of the coffee, put the mug in my jacket pocket and secured it with the rest of  my stuff inside the canoe, flipped the canoe and put it on my shoulders. Using the two paddles as walking sticks, I carefully walked past the dam. I briefly considered going further along the levy, but then figured that wouldn’t probably reveal anything better. I put the canoe down onto the mud and almost lost my balance slipping and as a result sunk a few inches into the mud–I was wearing Topsiders which were definitely not the right choice in footwear for this outing.

There was a long sloping muddy expanse yet to cover and I didn’t have a plan. I knew I couldn’t take one more step further without sinking to far into the mud. The only thing to do was to step into the back of the canoe and think about what to do next. I could just barely step into the back, back end of the canoe and as I did so, the answer slid into place. Well actually, the canoe started sliding down the muddy embankment. I was balanced at the tippy end and felt like I was skiing with my two paddles as ski poles. The only problem with this rapidly evolving plan was that where the canoe was going to hit the water, the water was only slightly wider than the canoe was long, and then I would crash into the side of the big steel barge. As soon as my paddles could reach the water, I carefully back-paddled to slow down and I just kissed the side of the barge with the bow. Standing in the far back of a canoe is absolutely the most precarious place to be in an otherwise empty canoe. The bow was miles up into the air and I was holding my breath as we touched the barge. I then eased myself forward until the canoe was once again stable and I could paddle again.

I was beat and really, really hoping that this was the last obstacle in my path. About a half an hour later, I encountered a kayaker heading the other way and I breathed a sigh of relief. Soon, I was exiting Corkscrew Slough and entering Redwood Creek. I looked back and saw a sign that said “Through Passage Temporarily Blocked”–no s??t, why isn’t there a similar sign on the other end of the slough? The really good news and the one thing that went according to plan was that I now was riding the flood tide and I even had a tail wind. I just sat back and let the current and wind do their thing. A paddle boarder came close by and asked me with curious intensity where I had been. I said I was just getting some exercise and paddling about. He didn’t seem to believe me. That didn’t make sense until I got back to Mahdee and as I was bringing the Merrimac aboard, discovered giant globs of blue clay mud stuck all over her bow–curious. Of course, the mud was now sloughing off onto Mahdee’s deck which Brenda had just cleaned a couple of days ago. Well I now had the opportunity to scrub off the stubborn blue clay mud from Merrimack and then off of Mahdee. All in all a great day. I finally did the loop, and I got to play with clay-like mud.

Just last night, we watched a film “180 Degrees South.” The great quote was about how trips are planned, but when things really go wrong, you have an adventure–you can’t plan an adventure. So I did an internet search on the loop to see how I might have “planned my trip.” Brenda thinks this is a backwards process, but it was my trip after-all and if I want to do my planning at the end, so be it. All the links say that a minimum of 4-5 feet of tide is required (a bit more than the 1.5 feet I had!), and nothing about any “temporary blockage.” Well 50-50 on the planning information–4 feet would have eliminated the need for poling and made that part of the passage easier, but far less beautiful. But what about info on the dam? If I had done my homework (i.e. planned my trip) and believed the tide info, I wouldn’t have had my adventure and proved both the required water levels and the blockage sign on the water wrong.