Blue Ridge Outings

Kayak Swim Kit

I had an idea. When I go kayaking, in the unlikely event that I capsize (which  has not happened yet); and in the further unlikely event that I cannot do a self-rescue or tandem-rescue (I have done several of both), then I may have to swim to shore.  I have configured the ropes on both ends of my kayak to loop over my shoulder, so both my hands are free to swim.

The idea is, I have some swim aids that I use at the YMCA pool, which increase my speed, including goggles, webbed gloves and short fins. I will put them in a stuff bag, and when I go paddling, I will stow them in a kayak hatch.

Maybe I am over-thinking this situation.  Who knows?  Maybe someday I will be glad I have them with me.  

During September 16 – 17, 2025, I went on a backpacking trip to Dogwood Camp on the Neusiok Trail in Croatan National Forest.  John Burt’s directions previously given to me for driving, parking, hiking, camping and getting water were perfect.  Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.  Thanks John!  I parked in a small lot beside NC Hwy 101, across the road from a small wooden foot bridge, one mile south of the intersection with NC Hwy 306.

Dogwood camp is a fairly well maintained Appalachian Trail type shelter. It is only 0.75 miles from the parking lot. The side trail to the camp is marked  with a wood sign.  Unfortunately, based on the graffiti they left behind, a couple of teenage boys madly in love with some teenage girls totally vandalized the place by writing words in white chalk words on every exposed board. Unlike other northern sections of the Neusiok Trail, which had some hills and stream crossings, this section was flat and dry.  Also, this section followed part of the Mountains to Sea Trail, so the trail markers nailed to trees were a silver strip of metal; and an orange disk with a silver arrow.  All the trail sections I have seen so far are well cleared and easy to follow.

My pack weighed 40 pounds, which is about 15 – 20 pounds heavier than many ultralight backpackers brag about on Facebook.  My heavy pack is due to mostly to my advanced age, after several surgeries, so I carry a CPAP machine, which runs on a heavy battery; hearing aids, cell phone and GPS which need another heavy battery to recharge overnight; a chair for my weak lower back muscles; the best (and heaviest) water filter on the market; a substantial first aid kit and repair kit; and a Springfield Armory 10 mm 1911 pistol.

Two of the three persons I met were hikers, a formerly British father and son, who are now members of the Carteret Wildlife Club, that were doing trail maintenance.  They were friendly, and helpful to me.  They answered many of my questions with information about the Neusiok Trail, three shelters and water sources.   

The other person I met hiking was a middle aged Latina lady. Often when I am on an outdoor trip, other hikers, campers and paddlers I meet stop to ask me questions.  Apparently, my appearance inspires their confidence that I know what to do.  I call the activity being Ranger Bob.  This lady did not have any information about the trail and was just walking randomly down the path about a half mile from the parking lot. I showed her my map, got her oriented on the trail and suggested where she could hike. 

A surprising feature was a wooden footbridge over a marshy section. Over the years, I have traversed many of them.  But this one was totally wet and in full shade.  It had some kind of algae growing on it that was as slick as real winter ice. Even using my two hiking staffs and walking with slow, short, baby steps, I still slipped off a couple times.

Several months ago, when I camped at the Rattlesnake shelter on the Neusiok Trail, I reported water was a severe problem. A US Forest Ranger told me that the water there was potable, so I did not bring any  It was so muddy as to clog my pump and be unfilterable; plus, it was tidal influenced, brackish and tasted terribly of salt.  So, this trip, I was also did not bring water and was apprehensive of what condition I would encounter.  About 30 yards downhill from camp was a spring of fresh water, like John said.  It was covered with all kinds of tree leaves, sticks and pine needles, but it was perfectly clear and tasty. It filtered well and I got 4 liters in a few minutes, which was enough for my overnight trip. Both John and the CWC hikers let me know that if the spring water was not sufficient, I could stay on the main trail a couple hundred yards past the shelter turn off, to where a bridge crosses the West Prong of Morton’s Mill Pond Creek with fresh water. 

Many years ago, I invented a portable wood stove that is better than most on the market.  The salient features are, first, a screen raised off the bottom to hold up the wood fuel, where holes let in air to rise through the fire box and fan the flame hotter. Second, the stove chimney is bigger than my cook pot, so the flames and heat hit the pot bottom, then rise around the sides to convey more heat to the pot. I brought it on this trip.  Also, I skipped my usual freeze dried meal packets and brought only fresh food. For supper, I had fried country ham, pinto beans with onions, cornbread and a fresh sliced pear with Gatorade. For breakfast, I had bacon, scrambled eggs with cheese, grits and a tangerine with hot coffee.  I loved all the smells of wood smoke and cooked food, many flavors and the warm ambience. I am sure there were no bears in the area, or they would surely whiff my food scents and come lumbering into my camp.  

While in camp, I enjoyed some Kentucky bourbon and a Puerto Rican cigar. 

Along the trail, I saw signs of the end of summer.  Mixed with bushes of evergreen leaves were dead ferns with brown leaves.

Busy squirrels, late summer flowers and old, old gravesites at Oakdale Cemetery, Wilmington, NC, September 2025. 

Last week I posted on this Internet site a report of my paddle to Masonboro Island.  A couple days after the trip, I had an insight of what had transpired which has become a watershed experience for me that greatly improved my kayaking situation.

For the first 50 years of my outdoor athletic career, I led small groups of friends and went on solo trips all over the Blue Ridge, Black and Smokey Mountains. Mostly we were backpacking, but we also did camping, hiking, canoeing, canoe camping, cross country skiing, snow camping, and even a couple kayak camping trips in the coastal estuary near Swansboro, NC.  I often went to places which were new to me, to scope out routes for future trips.  I was always well prepared and traveled carefully.  My friends joked that if they were planning a trip, they would invite me, because I would bring the necessary equipment, like the first aid kit, fire starter and spare paddle.

During those times it was never my concern that I would get lost or injured.  I always had a map and compass, and I knew what I was doing.  If someone got lost or injured, then I was often the one to find or treat them.  I did not ever need to be found or treated myself.

When I moved to the coast and lived in New Bern for a few years, and then moved to Wilmington and have lived here for a few years, I took up kayaking as my main sport.  For some reason that I do not know why, I became overly cautious.  When kayaking, I always went with a group – never solo.  I usually followed an experienced paddler as a guide.  I had a good GPS, and several smart phone mapping and navigating apps, but I feared getting lost.  I was constantly concerned about capsizing and not being able to do a self-rescue. 

After this Masonboro trip last week, I amazed myself  by realizing that during the entire paddle, I had not once been concerned about being solo.  I did not think about not having a guide.  I traveled to several places new to me, using my GPS, and I was always well aware of where I had been, where I am, and where I am going. The potential of capsizing and needing a self-rescue never entered my mind.  This personal growth was not something that I was planning or working on specifically.  It just kind of happened naturally.

I still prefer to paddle with partners, and I will welcome a guide. But the new found freedom I feel from not being tied to always searching for partners and guides is refreshing.  The ability to navigate to new places with just my GPS is encouraging.  Of course, I will not go crazy. When I have the opportunity to do a longer, more exposed paddle, like from Beaufort to Shackleford Banks, or from Harkers Island to Cape Lookout, I will only go with experienced partners and guides. 

On September 6 I made a paddle trip to Masonboro Island south of Wilmington, NC, to explore and find a suitable site for hopefully many return kayak camping trips.  I launched from Trails End Park about 8 a.m. on Saturday morning.  The lot was completely packed – every parking space was full, mostly with pickup trucks pulling motor boat trailers.  More traffic was backed up circling the lot in line to unload or load boats at the ramp.  I finally had to squeeze my Jeep into a space between two trucks that had about an inch to spare on both sides.

Besides my boat and all my paddling gear, I was carrying a large, heavy load of water in my deck bag. It was a tiring job to hand carry my equipment across the big parking lot to the kayak launch dock.  I could have used my wheeled kayak cart, which was in the Jeep, but I did not want to go to the bother of lashing it to the boat with multiple straps. 

The conditions were nice.  I had checked the weather and tide the night before, and put into the Intracoastal Waterway at high tide with no tidal current, no wind, no natural waves, and sunny sky with warm air that was just pleasant but not too hot.

I first paddled to the south, to check the land behind a couple of beaches I had seen the week before.

The first half of the trip was a little rougher than I expected.  I was passed closely by many large, fast boats.  A few boats politely throttled down to reduce their wake hitting me, which I appreciated. But the majority of the boats did not afford me that courtesy, leaving me bobbing and rolling in their heavy waves.  Then, when I pulled up to the several beaches to explore, I had to situate my boat parallel to the shore right at the sand, so my feet could touch the bottom on both sides of the boat, and I could step out while keeping my balance.  That orientation was not good.  The boat wake waves hit me broadside, causing my kayak to roll nearly 90 degrees. And, the boat hull scraped the dirt bottom, pushing the boat even further into a roll. I had to quickly develop a new technique to exit the boat, using my paddle on the water side as a crutch. 

The land behind each of the beaches as too low and wet on which to camp.  At a few places, I walked through the swampy areas to the woods behind, and found brush too thick with no open space. So, I launched again and paddled north up the ICW to some larger beaches I had seen at home on Google Earth.

I turned east into a broad channel entering the sea grass beds of the estuary. From there a little to the south I found a half-moon bay on the ICW side of Masonboro Island, facing into the estuary.  No boat wakes and no waves. The land behind the bay sloped up into a nice dune, safely above  high tide.  On the other side of the dune was a steep bank, protecting the site from any action on the ICW.  The dune was partially covered with several kinds of salt grass, which kept the ground firm enough to hold a tent stake.  Then, between several bushes for wind protection, there was a broad flat place, about the size of a couple tents.  Success!

The only thing this site lacked was a couple of tall, overhead trees to provide shade.  After I camp here a few times, I will come back to explore further north for some shaded sites.

I marked the location with a Waypoint on my GPS.  After admiring the view in several directions, I took a short cut angling across the ICW back to the marina on the mainland, and then south along the shore to the put-in / take-out dock.

By now, the air had gotten hot.  I had another long, sweaty, hard job hauling my gear across the big parking lot. When I was ready to leave, the lot was in gridlock, I had to wait 25 minutes for the traffic to move enough for me to head out homeward.  Note to self: never come back here on a Saturday morning.