Gunpowder River (Baltimore County, MD)
12/18/04
Blue Mount to Sparks Rd (7.8 miles) Glencoe Gauge 1.75 and falling

OC2 - Mike McCrea, Frank Weichold, Topher, c2g, Ruthie, Mollie
OC1 - Dave Hone
K1 - Alex Hone

Since the Duckhead year runs from Award ceremony to Award ceremony this
constituted the first official Duckhead trip of the year. And the first
official review trip of the year, as we put a couple of the tripper
canoes through their paces on a downriver run.

It also constituted the first dirty trick of the year, as I allowed
Topher and c2g to relish the thought of paddling one of the beautiful
composite Prospectors down a crystal clear trout stream. A
misconception that was cleared up only when they arrived and saw two
Royalex trippers atop the van.

It was also my first trip with Molly as a canine companion. My first
trip with Frank as bowman. My first trip in quite a while sans
Canoeswithduckheads, who was unable to secure the requisite kitchenpass
from Mrs. Canoeswithduckheads. That's a lot for firsts for an
afternoon's paddle on my homeriver.

Molly insisted on adding a degree of difficulty to my sternman duties
by playing fetch in the canoe. Fetch with a twist. She would carefully
balance a tennis ball on the gunwale, and then snatch it back a split
second before it toppled over the side. Set, snatch. Set, snatch. She
rarely missed. But when she did miss - set, snap, splash - my
responsibility was to grab the tennis ball before it floated beyond the
stern and toss it back so the game could continue.

This sounds easier than it actually was; the ball often seemed to go
overboard just as we entered a fas****er stretch, right when I kinda
sorta wanted to have a paddle in the water instead of my hand. I was
successful in the early stages of this game, (although we did run a few
peculiar lines) and so had little idea of the consequences of failure.

A leg stretching beverage break on a cobble bar saw a switch of canine
companions, as Ruthie elected join Frank and I. The plus side of this
switch was that Ruthie's weight when standing on the gunwales had
significantly less impact on our trim than the muscular mass of Mollie.

The downside was that Ruthie's was determined to find the warmest and
most comfortable perch for a bow wow and quickly deduced that this was
on Frank's lap, a position that did nothing to enhance Frank's
paddling proficiency at the unfamiliar bow station. More peculiar lines
through fas****er sections soon followed.

My own realization that the 17' barge we were paddling was not as
nimble or responsive as my usual solo selection was brought about
swiftly - and nearly damply - as an ill-advised last minute course
correction broached our sluggish behemoth on a rock and one gunwale
dipped perilously close. Fortunately even Ruthie has been trained not
to lean upstream. After an adrenaline filled moment of oh-**** bracing
our pliable paddlecraft slid free with the flexibility of a SOF. Who
knows what might have happen if we had been paddling in a more rigid
hull...Frank might have completed the day dressed as a bridesmaid.

Another shore break saw us again swapping canine companions, and
tripper hulls as well, as Topher could no longer contain his enthusiasm
to experience a truly flexible paddlecraft. His later review noted,
amongst other things, that this canoe had a certain rare Hepburn-esque
quality.

With Molly back aboard we resumed our tennis ball game. Fetch, Mike,
fetch. Good boy.

At least I was a good boy for several miles. And then I mistimed my
grab and lost the ball. Disaster. "Go back" implored Molly (really,
the look in her eyes said it all). We tried, but couldn't find the
ball. "How about your other ball Molly, it's just the same"

"It's not the same", said Molly. "It's not, it's not,
it's not" (Again, those soulful, imploring Molly eyes). "If you
won't go back and save my ball I'll do it myself" And over the
side she goes.

We eventually coax her back into the boat, but by now we've lost
visual contact with Topher. Disaster II. Molly has abandonment issues.
She wants her ball. She wants her Topher. Inconsolable, Molly positions
herself standing with all four feet on the gunwale, leans her wet
quivering mass into Frank and begins moaning piteously.

Poor Frank. He gets stuck in the bow seat. Half his river trip involved
a lapful of shivering weinerdog. Half his trip involved a wet pit bull
leaning on him for physical and moral support. All of his trip involved
a sternman laughing at his plight.

Our take out bridge provided the surprise of the day. Hanging from the
bridge was an enormous banner bearing the message "Float a Merry
Mikey Duckhead Mess". The seven empty Budweiser can dangling from
strings were a nice, if tasteless, touch.

http://community.webshots.com/photo/...33926279AuLtFw

I am currently soliciting suggestions for exactly what this sign should
proclaim when it is returned to its creator. Lesse, he's going away
for the holidays...wouldn't the missus be pleased to return from
Christmas vacation to find a banner stretched across the front porch
reading "Congratulations Tom on making parole"

Repairing to the Pioneer Pub for post-paddling libations c2g was the
belle of the ball in his form fitting fuzzy rubber suit, drawing
questionable commentary from the waitresses and arch-browed appraisal
from various snaggled-toothed farmers.

Another fun day on the water amongst a good crew. And I learned an
important lesson - my test paddling crew is more dependably
forthcoming with boat notes and review commentary if plied with pitcher
of Yuengling and platters of hot wings and fries.

yep! looks like the GP allright! How was the strainer situation on this
section?
wrote in message
ups.com...
Gunpowder River (Baltimore County, MD)
12/18/04
Blue Mount to Sparks Rd (7.8 miles) Glencoe Gauge 1.75 and falling

OC2 - Mike McCrea, Frank Weichold, Topher, c2g, Ruthie, Mollie
OC1 - Dave Hone
K1 - Alex Hone

Since the Duckhead year runs from Award ceremony to Award ceremony this
constituted the first official Duckhead trip of the year. And the first
official review trip of the year, as we put a couple of the tripper
canoes through their paces on a downriver run.

It also constituted the first dirty trick of the year, as I allowed
Topher and c2g to relish the thought of paddling one of the beautiful
composite Prospectors down a crystal clear trout stream. A
misconception that was cleared up only when they arrived and saw two
Royalex trippers atop the van.

It was also my first trip with Molly as a canine companion. My first
trip with Frank as bowman. My first trip in quite a while sans
Canoeswithduckheads, who was unable to secure the requisite kitchenpass
from Mrs. Canoeswithduckheads. That's a lot for firsts for an
afternoon's paddle on my homeriver.

Molly insisted on adding a degree of difficulty to my sternman duties
by playing fetch in the canoe. Fetch with a twist. She would carefully
balance a tennis ball on the gunwale, and then snatch it back a split
second before it toppled over the side. Set, snatch. Set, snatch. She
rarely missed. But when she did miss - set, snap, splash - my
responsibility was to grab the tennis ball before it floated beyond the
stern and toss it back so the game could continue.

This sounds easier than it actually was; the ball often seemed to go
overboard just as we entered a fas****er stretch, right when I kinda
sorta wanted to have a paddle in the water instead of my hand. I was
successful in the early stages of this game, (although we did run a few
peculiar lines) and so had little idea of the consequences of failure.

A leg stretching beverage break on a cobble bar saw a switch of canine
companions, as Ruthie elected join Frank and I. The plus side of this
switch was that Ruthie's weight when standing on the gunwales had
significantly less impact on our trim than the muscular mass of Mollie.

The downside was that Ruthie's was determined to find the warmest and
most comfortable perch for a bow wow and quickly deduced that this was
on Frank's lap, a position that did nothing to enhance Frank's
paddling proficiency at the unfamiliar bow station. More peculiar lines
through fas****er sections soon followed.

My own realization that the 17' barge we were paddling was not as
nimble or responsive as my usual solo selection was brought about
swiftly - and nearly damply - as an ill-advised last minute course
correction broached our sluggish behemoth on a rock and one gunwale
dipped perilously close. Fortunately even Ruthie has been trained not
to lean upstream. After an adrenaline filled moment of oh-**** bracing
our pliable paddlecraft slid free with the flexibility of a SOF. Who
knows what might have happen if we had been paddling in a more rigid
hull...Frank might have completed the day dressed as a bridesmaid.

Another shore break saw us again swapping canine companions, and
tripper hulls as well, as Topher could no longer contain his enthusiasm
to experience a truly flexible paddlecraft. His later review noted,
amongst other things, that this canoe had a certain rare Hepburn-esque
quality.

With Molly back aboard we resumed our tennis ball game. Fetch, Mike,
fetch. Good boy.

At least I was a good boy for several miles. And then I mistimed my
grab and lost the ball. Disaster. "Go back" implored Molly (really,
the look in her eyes said it all). We tried, but couldn't find the
ball. "How about your other ball Molly, it's just the same"

"It's not the same", said Molly. "It's not, it's not,
it's not" (Again, those soulful, imploring Molly eyes). "If you
won't go back and save my ball I'll do it myself" And over the
side she goes.

We eventually coax her back into the boat, but by now we've lost
visual contact with Topher. Disaster II. Molly has abandonment issues.
She wants her ball. She wants her Topher. Inconsolable, Molly positions
herself standing with all four feet on the gunwale, leans her wet
quivering mass into Frank and begins moaning piteously.

Poor Frank. He gets stuck in the bow seat. Half his river trip involved
a lapful of shivering weinerdog. Half his trip involved a wet pit bull
leaning on him for physical and moral support. All of his trip involved
a sternman laughing at his plight.

Our take out bridge provided the surprise of the day. Hanging from the
bridge was an enormous banner bearing the message "Float a Merry
Mikey Duckhead Mess". The seven empty Budweiser can dangling from
strings were a nice, if tasteless, touch.

http://community.webshots.com/photo/...33926279AuLtFw

I am currently soliciting suggestions for exactly what this sign should
proclaim when it is returned to its creator. Lesse, he's going away
for the holidays...wouldn't the missus be pleased to return from
Christmas vacation to find a banner stretched across the front porch
reading "Congratulations Tom on making parole"

Repairing to the Pioneer Pub for post-paddling libations c2g was the
belle of the ball in his form fitting fuzzy rubber suit, drawing
questionable commentary from the waitresses and arch-browed appraisal
from various snaggled-toothed farmers.

Another fun day on the water amongst a good crew. And I learned an
important lesson - my test paddling crew is more dependably
forthcoming with boat notes and review commentary if plied with pitcher
of Yuengling and platters of hot wings and fries.

Mike B wrote:
yep! looks like the GP allright! How was the strainer situation on
this
section?

Mikey, zero strainers from Blue Mount to Sparks, which bodes well for a
high-water run when we get a snowfall and fast melt later this winter.