My kayak sped over the water on a downwind sail. The water shushed the hull and my paddles splashed. I was just waking. The early pink and purple dome of the sun showed over the tops of the trees on the Lagoon’s Eastern side.
The early morning wake-up to paddle in the dawn was now worth it. My head had cleared, and I was glad to be out. At 4:30 am, a half-hour earlier, my enthusiasm had been dim. And as I had pushed off the beach, I was a little disgruntled.
The Southwest wind on my stern was about 10 knots. The paddling was glorious. The wind pushed my kayak forward. I knew the return directly into the wind was going to be a pull. For now, though, I just enjoyed the sail.
I floated under the Lagoon Bridge through the left channel. The shore on the other side — normally filled with beachgoers and fishermen — was empty. I paddled along the Eastville jetty. I had it all to myself. I looked across the harbor. Two big steamships ready for work sat in their slips.
I rounded the jetty for East Chop. The wind increased as I made my way into the open water of outer Vineyard Haven Harbor. The paddling was easy. The seas were relatively flat.
My small craft was graceful. She rode easily on top the water with her head held high. She responded to each pull. The kayak wanted as much as I to be on the water.
The orange orb of the sun rose over the East Chop bluffs. The dawn light was absorbed in the radiant glow. My thoughts were at ease in this peaceful time. The sun made a path over the water.
I felt a light thrill. The kayak surfed small seas. Water passed beneath and around the hull. The sound was a light rumble. I flew along. There was going to be a price for this exhilarating sail. The return would be smack into the wind. I ignored this. I had thought it through. I planned to cross East Chop to West Chop and return along the more protected West side. It would not be too bad.
I paddled by a high-sided oceangoing ketch on anchor. The docks jutting into the water from the shore swept by to starboard. A flag flew in the breeze. A homeowner was out in the yard. Then one of the big boats sounded its horn. The 5:30 am was departing for Woods Hole.
I looked forward to crossing the outer harbor. The only vessel out there, other perhaps than one of the big boats, would be me. I would be silhouetted on my craft in the early morning light.
The bright morning showed around East Chop. I headed that way. Soon I came to the bluffs. The sun was distant over the far horizon. I would have liked to have kept on into the ocean for the sun. But there was the small detail of returning.
I went as far as the green buoy. The current was visible in a dangerous churn around the steel aid. I stayed off a safe distance. The buoy chained to the bottom was pulled downward. I turned my kayak around.
The wind hit head-on, and the current tugged. I made strokes against the pull, making only little ground. The East Chop Lighthouse and the houses stood on the bluff. I went for the shore to escape the grip of the current.
The idea of crossing to West Chop left my mind. The wind was — of course — stronger than I anticipated. The crossing of the chops would be doable. There was not much sea. But it would be a fight all the way. The day did not seem right. I would return the way I came.
Out in the center of the harbor, the big boat steamed on the first morning run. I began the grueling pull. The small seas were bigger now, and bristled with wind. The waves slapped and knocked the hull. The spray came over the bows. I was awake.
The water was tranquil with the wind. I saw no other craft out yet. The early morning filled the sky. I paused a moment to take it all in. My kayak drifted. I decided not to do that again. The wind blew me back about 15 feet.
I made hard strokes to counter the wind. After a few minutes of heavy exertion, I began easier strokes. I made headway, if not as much. But I did not tire. It was better not to fight the wind. I settled in for the passage home.
The Martha’s Vineyard steamed out of the harbor on the 6 am run. Soon following came the cruise ship with the red, white, and blue smokestack that often docks at the Tisbury Wharf. I stayed within reach of the shore. There was little protection in the westerly wind.
I passed the ketch. I continued. I rounded again the Eastville jetty. I made strokes for the bridge. I returned through the right channel. A morning group was doing an exercise with bands affixed to the rail. I floated into the pond.
The wind lessened noticeably. The seas were more subdued. A bird (a cormorant, I think) stood atop a wooden pile marker with wings spread. For the fun of it, I pointed my kayak across the pond to the location of SailMV. I could see the boats pulled onshore, mast after mast in a neat row.
There still was a headwind, but it was easier going. In a short while, I made it across. It turned out the SailMV boats were pulled up onto docks, not the shore. I paddled by, reading their names.
Then, with a beam wind, I headed back across to the Hines Point launch where I put in. I skidded up onto the shore. I climbed out tiredly and a little off-balance. I pulled the kayak up the beach. I tied off to a tree.
The effort was well worth it. I was in good spirits. I stowed my gear in the truck. I headed to Cumbies for an iced coffee. I will cross the Chops in the early morning on a calmer day.
