Skimming the Surface

Cape Cod Life - 1999 Annual Guide

It's a  perfect fall day, almost a hybrid of summer and autumn - the air warm and dry, with the lightest of breezes, the sky clear blue. Splashes of bold reds are just beginning to overtake the green in the surrounding heathlands.

Nantucket's Polpis Harbor is smooth and calm, with 20 or so small boats resting gently on the water. A seagull sleeps on the bow of a weathered white sailboat. A man in chocolate brown waders emerges from the water, a basket of seaweed under his arm.

"A good birdwatching day," explains John Simms as we pull our two kayaks to the water's edge. "Not much wind, and the land and shore birds are migrating."

Simms is the executive director of Nantucket's Strong Wings Adventure School, which began eight years ago as a non-profit organization offering children the opportunity to experience nature through adventure.

Strong Wings has since evolved into a multifaceted school for adults and children offering private instruction, group trips, guided services, and a summer camp.

"The number one goal is to make a connection with the earth," says Simms. Today's kayaking trip is tailored to meet my needs. No two trips are exactly alike. There is no tour route, no canned dialogue. Simms talks with each group to find what they want from their outing. "I want to give people the opportunity to see some things no one else will see, things they wouldn't have seen any other way," he says.

Kayaking can be combined with birdwatching, snorkeling, or picnicking on the beach. For experienced kayakers, Simms takes groups on a challenging three hour round-trip across Nantucket Harbor to Coatue, the isolated narrow strip of sand encircling the harbor. He has also led full-day trips to Tuckernuck, the small island west of Nantucket - an excursion for the most adventurous and fit individuals.

Simms also takes weather and wind direction into account when planning excursions. A day fighting the wind can spoil a trip even for the most experienced kayaker. Instead, Simms works with the elements when plotting a course. He might choose sheltered Sesachacha Pond on a day with a southwest breeze or a trip from scenic Madaket Harbor to Eel Point, on the island's west end, when a brisk east wind is blowing.

Today there are no limitations; the water is smooth and glassy as far as the eye can see. I'm a novice kayaker, having just practiced my first strokes a few days earlier, but in reasonably good physical shape. My only request to Simms is that we take his favorite route.

We push off from shore and cut through the still water, skirting the edge of the harbor towards Pocomo meadows and Medouie Creek, a tidal river inlet winding through conservation and private land. Beyond the sea of shimmering eel grass, the yellow blossoms of goldenrod, and the blue huckleberry infuse the scene with color. As we round a bend in the harbor, Simms points out the harmless moon jellyfish, small and opaque, just visible beneath the surface. The water is shallow and still. A spider crab skitters across the sandy bottom, and schools of minnows ripple through the water.

We pass Pirate Island, no more than a few tufts of eel grass sprouting from the water at high tide. At low tide the small hummock of sand that emerges is rumored to hide buried pirate treasure, says Simms.

Yellowleg sandpipers, rusty-colored dunlins, and black-bellied plovers run along a sandy spit of land to our left. A dozen oystercatchers skim across the water in front of us. "You could never get this close on foot," says Simms as we paddle up the shoreline.

By now I'm mastering the stroke. Kayaking is a motion of pushing the paddle instead of pulling, as with a canoe. This action expends less energy and allows the kayaker to paddle for long periods. The proper stroke is made at shoulder height while maintaining a loose grip. If the oars are pushed too high in the air, water runs down past the drip guards and onto the kayaker. After some practice, these strokes begin to become second nature, and I find I can relax and enjoy the scenery instead of concentrating on proper form.

We turn into Medouie Creek, a narrow passageway running through wetlands. The only sounds are the oars dipping in the water, the trilling of a kingfisher circling above, and, reminding us of the existence of humans, the distant hammering from a new palatial home rising up through the trees in nearby Pocomo.

The kingfisher plunges headfirst into the water in search of fish. The long-white necks of snowy and great egrets poke up through the eel grass; they freeze and carefully watch us pass.

We meander down the creek, sometimes resting our paddles and gliding soundlessly through the water. We stop briefly on shore, where Simms offers his binoculars and I examine a bird overhead. With the help of a birding book, he illustrates the difference between an osprey and the marsh hawk circling above. We also look at sketches of the birds we have seen today. Then we head back down Medouie Creek towards Polpis Harbor. Two men fly-fish off in the distance - poles sprouting through the eel grass, gossamer fishing line flickering in the sunlight.

We take a return route down the center of the harbor, weaving in and out of boats on their moorings.

We skim past a long-necked cormorant. She disappears beneath the surface with a plunk, leaving circular ripples in the still water. A skein of geese fly across the harbor. We glide onto shore a little less than two hours after our trip began. The afternoon sun is high; the air is warm with the slight crisp tinge of autumn. "It's the kind of a day that just makes you feel good," says Simms as we pull our kayaks onto the shore. I have to agree.

The view from a kayak offers a new perspective of the island. After spending the better part of 11 years on Nantucket, I thought there wasn't much I hadn't seen. Today I learned how much more there is to discover.