Beyond LA again: Kayaking Tennessee River Gorge, near Chattanooga, TN

August paddling for me, in southern Louisiana, means paddling someplace else whenever I can. We took a 7 hour drive up to Chattanooga with our two 17' touring kayaks on the roof, and did some hiking and paddling. On our first kayak trip, we paddled around Harrison Bay, just north of Chattanooga, and it was great. But this post is about the next kayaking trip we did, on the Tennessee River Gorge just southwest of Chattanooga. This trip was really fun and extremely beautiful, so I thought I'd share. This trip is different from most articles I've read about this area because it's a pretty simple looping day trip. Most trip reports I've read of this area are simply segments of longer, multi-day trips. For this one, no shuttle, and not much navigation needed. And note: There is no way my small waterproof camera can do justice to the beauty of this  paddle. 

Oh, by the way, if you don't know: This area is all part of the TVA, and this trip is between two dam and/or lock systems in the river. There isn't a traditional flow of a river, and the paddling is much more like lake paddling, except near some of the dams, at some posted times, and I'm not writing about that here. The river is more of a series of strung-together lakes.  

I wanted us to experience as much of the "rolling mountains" scenery as possible, and I thought Mullen's Cove would be a good turnaround where we could get out and stretch. I chose a small public boat launch on Lee Highway, just south of the Raccoon Mountain boat ramp. Also, spell checkers out there: note that everything I've read refers to Mullen's Cove spelled as I have it here. But maps (at least Google Maps) have the road leading to it as "Mullins Cove Rd". 

https://www.google.com/maps/@35.0225399,-85.458547,1034m/data=!3m1!1e3

My planned route would give us a 4 1/2 mile or so, trip to Mullen's Cove, and we could decide what to do from there. But, when we arrived at the launch late in the morning,  there was a decent wind--hard to pin down its direction, but it seemed like we'd have a hard fight on the return if we went to Mullen's Cove and back. In this curved valley, it was hard to really tell from which direction the dominant wind was coming. But, we decided to go the other direction, towards Raccoon Mountain, and try to, so to say, keep a finger to the wind and turn around when we felt like it. We ended up going just about 4 1/2 miles "up river" (again, not a typical river current) until we got to Raccoon Mountain and it's big structure: 

This is the route we ended up paddling, but obviously, you can make your own distance, and with the various boat launches along the river, you could make up some pretty interesting shuttle-based trips also. This trip was just about 13 miles:

The first section of the trip was very mellow. Perhaps a little wind driven current, which seemed to be following us, but our speed and effort was very average, or maybe even a little slow.  There was boat traffic, but the river is very wide and we just stayed near our right side. There was some wake from passing boats, but nothing serious.

By the way, as you can sort of see in the pictures above, both sides of the river had a thick bed of "seaweed" extending out into the river, so we were never paddling right along the banks (I know it's not really seaweed, but that's what I'm calling it). This seaweed was very, very thick, and provided a stark change from any bouncy or wind-blown water we dealt with later in the trip. Even in the the bounciest conditions, there would be a distinct line where the seaweed made the water completely still. But, as I said, it was very, very thick and paddling through it was very difficult. This could (probably?) be a seasonal feature. Here's a decent close up of it:

Things changed quickly when we turned around, and returned on the other side of the river. I don't know enough about the wind and current dynamics of all this, but we had made an S-curve through this valley, and were now reversing that S, on the other wall of the valley (we stayed right, so we were now on the opposite bank of the river).  And paddling back through the same section of river, but on the opposite side, was quite different. 

Within of few minutes of our turnaround, we were bouncing a bit more, getting mild splashing over our bows, and generally having a good time. If a boat wake hit us right, the bounce got even better. Light bounce and small waves never look the same in photos as they feel in a kayak, so these pictures don't show it well at all. Plus, it did get bouncy enough that I was spending less time holding my camera and more time holding my paddle. To be clear, things never got rough--we were having a good time having to pay attention to the water after a few miles of mostly flat water. Just once, with just the right energy from a big wake and the curve of the river and the bounce in the water, the front half of my kayak was out of the water and just as I splashed down the back side of one wave, I was already hitting the next wave. It was fun---my 5 seconds of surf.

As we rounded the long right hand curve at the bottom of our S,  the wind and water became very calm again. We got back to our starting point, but were having too much fun to stop, so we continued another 2 miles. The wind continued to switch around on us, and we went through some pretty stiff wind once or twice as we continued down river, curving to the northwest. Then, it'd feel calm again.

Finally, at around 11 miles, we decided to head back. Once again, a turnaround and a change: When we turned around to return to our car, heading southeast, we paddled against a stiff headwind the entire two miles back. As hard as it was, at least we both knew our initial decision to change plans was the right choice. The original route up to Mullen's Cove and back would have had us paddling against that steady and strong wind for 4 or 5 miles. And it was a very steady and hard wind. We were quite tired when we finally finished.

So, we had incredible views the entire time. As I said earlier, these pictures from my small camera just don't do this scenery justice. This is Ansel Adams territory, and I can only imagine how it must look with fall colors.  Hawks, eagles, osprey all around. Rolling mountains and bluffs. At times it was calm lake paddling, and other times it was bouncy lake paddling. Sometimes the wind was a nice breeze, and other times it was a real challenge. Boat traffic was not an issue--plenty of room for all of us. When we returned in the early afternoon, the fishing boats were taking out, and the sport boats and jet skis were launching. In fact, we launched from the concrete ramp, but traffic was heavy enough on our return that we pulled up to the rocky river's edge to take out. So, it's probably a safe bet that boat traffic and wakes would be more of a factor in the afternoon.

This is a must-do trip anytime you're in this area.

Beyond LA--Kayaking Lofton Creek, Yulee, Florida

This is the third of three trips we did while vacationing in Amelia Island during the week of Memorial Day, 2016. This trip started and finished in Yulee, FL, which is a very short drive from Amelia Island, and was different from the other two trips in that it was a true black water river, with no coastal feel to it at all. This was all creek, all the time, and after passing some houses in the first few minutes, you feel like you're deep in the woods, removed from civilization. It's a classic out-and-back, and no current, so anybody in any boat can handle it. The mouth of Lofton Creek is actually at the Nassau River, but this route is much farther north than that, using a public boat ramp on SR200, in Yulee, Florida. For much of it's length, farther south from this trip, the scenery is marsh. This creek is influenced by the tides, but has a range of 1 to 1 1/2 feet. The creek twists and turns farther south, closer to the Nassau River, and is a few miles inland, so I wasn't worried about much, if any current, and from what the friendly person at Kayak Amelia told me, water height is always fine for paddling. She said she just prefers high tide "...to be farther away from the alligators." 

I mentioned Kayak Amelia in another post, and want to give them another plug. Both of the two folks we chatted with were very pleasant and eager to help, even though they knew we brought our boats. Stop by their Fernandina Beach gift shop if you get a chance, or check out:

 http://www.kayakamelia.com/

So, here's the trip-we did 9 1/3 miles or so, but turn around when you want:

The launch/take-out:

https://www.google.com/maps/@30.6294549,-81.5697544,709m/data=!3m1!1e3

From the launch, we went north, under the bridge. You'll paddle past some nice creekside homes and decks and docks, but before too long, you're in the woods. We saw roses, azaleas, magnolias, a huge cypress-and some small ones--live oaks and countless other varieties of trees and shrubs leaning over the creek. The creek also had its share of very green water plants, many flowering. Early on, a pair of alligator eyes and nostrils drifted across the creek, but disappeared before we could get close. The sounds of the forest were all around, and the further north we went, the more I wanted to just stop and listen and take it all in. At one point, something was running alongside us on land--I only caught a blur of deer brown, and the gallop sounded like a deer's gallop. I suspect we spooked him, and his sound disappeared within a few seconds.

On the return, we spotted two tiny gators on a log, but they disappeared before I could even reach for my camera.

This route, north of the bridge, is better described with pictures, rather than words:

 

In the image above, the coffee colored water, shady banks, and bright blue sky gave my camera a workout.

The narrower the creek got, the more mirror-like the water became, so wannabe photographers may end up taking excessive amounts of pix...I mean photographs.

We reached a fork in the creek, and went left, so I don't know how far we could have gone if we'd gone right. But, the route we took got more and more "deep woodsy", with many more low hanging branches and obstructions. Just around the 3 mile mark, we hit a tight spot, and decided to turn our sea kayaks around while we could, and head back. We passed a very nice couple and a tour group of 10 or 12 paddlers on our way back. We weren't ready to stop, so we continued past our starting point for another two miles or so, and then turned back.

South of SR200/A1A, the creek quickly opens up, and the banks begin to get more marshy, rather than swampy--marsh grass and fish, rather than tree roots and gators. You pass some very nice homes, and see a lot of trees along the banks. It's more open and exposed, and the variety of trees is less, but it's still quite pleasant. Down here, the water is a muddy brown, instead of coffee brown. 

This was a very pleasant trip that allowed us to really check out and disconnect from our normal hustle and bustle. This is a popular route, and almost every local tour company leads tours here. I recommend it.

Beyond LA--Kayaking fun in Nassau Sound between Talbot and Amelia Islands, Florida

Here's another trip we did while vacationing in Amelia Island, Florida in early June, 2016. Earlier in the week, we kayaked up Simpson Creek to Nassau Sound, and we really enjoyed the sound (see previous entry: http://www.southeasternlouisianapaddling.com/2016/06/beyond-la-simpson-creek-to-nassau-sound.html). So we did this trip to enjoy the beauty of the sound: the northern shore of Talbot Island is wild and beautiful; Bird Island is simple and peaceful; we wanted to explore the southern tip of Amelia Island and its nearly deserted beach; and we wanted to enjoy the calm-but-open waters of the sound itself. It was a lot of fun-probably the best of the three trips we took on this vacation.

I won't repeat everything I said in that previous article about the tides, but I will stress the points again: Conditions were very calm on the day of our trip, and you don't "see" the tide moving through the sound. But it was. On this day, low tide was between 1pm and 2pm, and we couldn't wait that late to take advantage of tide change. We simply dealt with the outgoing tide for the whole trip. Most of the time, we were paddling at nearly half of our usual paddling speed, but this was very much a sightseeing trip, not a destination-oriented trip. Also, we did experience 3 or 4 spots where the interaction between the outgoing tide and the changes in topography made things a little interesting. I'll mention those as I describe the trip. An interesting phenomenon we witnessed was the large outgoing tide interacting with the sand bars out at the mouth of the sound: Off in the distance, for most of our paddle, there was a standing wave spanning the entire mouth of the sound. It was far enough away, and low enough, that it was really the white tops that made it clear what it was. It almost looked like one of the flood walls they've built in around the coastal areas of New Orleans. 

I'm sure these sand bars/shoals contribute heavily to why the sound itself is so calm so much of the time.

Here's the trip and launch info:

We launched from a public boat launch ($2 per person) on the northwestern tip of Big Talbot Island, on Sawpit Creek. This launch is accessible at high and low tide. You drive to the ramp, unload, then drive back to a parking area and make a pretty short walk back to the launch. 

https://www.google.com/maps/@30.5100691,-81.4595514,869m/data=!3m1!1e3

Amelia Island is to the north and east, across the bridge.

We launched at about the mid point of the tide cycle, into Sawpit Creek, and the current was pretty strong. We assumed (correctly) that the current would be less intense in the sound, and even more so on our return in a couple of hours, and that it was a pretty short trip to the sound. So even though we knew the tide would still be going out,  we weren't too concerned about having too much of a struggle on our return. 

Here's the route we paddled:

Four islands, four very different beaches. 

From the launch, we followed the sandy beach on our right, under the fishing pier and the bridge spanning Amelia Island and Big Talbot Island, and out to the sound. Once you enter the sound, the beach of Talbot Island becomes much more than just a sandy beach. By the way, "Talbot Island" is divided into "Big Talbot Island" and "Little Talbot Island" by Simpson Creek. I'll sometimes be lazy and just call it "Talbot Island". The northeastern shore of Talbot Island is beautiful, and quite different from many of the other shores or beaches you'll see around here: There are nice sandy beaches for walking, but you can can see that this is a wild, wooded island being worn away by the sea. It's very rocky and littered with the trees that have "fallen off the cliff" and are now lying on the beach or in the water. The only access to these beaches is by water or foot, so it's pretty deserted and feels very isolated and wild. 

You can see from the pictures above that the water was very calm and easy, and we didn't really notice the tide current that much. But, when we decided to head over to Bird Island, we did start to see the dynamics of the tide flowing over the changing terrain below the surface. On the northwestern tip of Bird Island,  there was a stark, visible change from smooth to "boiling" water until we reached the eastern edge of the island. It was still calm and safe, but for about 70 feet or so, the water was bouncing up and down, and then instantly, we were back on super smooth water again. 

You can see the instantly smooth water in the top right of this picture. 

We paddled past Bird Island and headed over to Amelia Island. This is a short crossing of maybe 3/4 of a mile, and very calm on this day. We encountered no other traffic at all(it was a weekday morning). 

During this crossing, we hardly felt any sideways push from the tide going out--once or twice I felt a slight weathercock (no rudder or skeg) and once or twice I felt a slight drift to my right, but hardly anything of notice. Until....right before we landed, when we passed through a very small, but pretty strong, tide race. Really, to call this small area of turbulence a "tide race" may make some folks laugh, but for this very short-perhaps 20-30 yard span, we were suddenly being pushed very hard to our right, and our boats were trying to turn 90 degrees left, and go backwards.  Pictures don't nearly do it justice, but our landing on Amelia Island was a little trickier than I expected. In the route picture below, you can actually see our course suddenly shift as we approached the island, and getting out of the kayaks was kind of fun. I let go of my kayak for an instant and had to go catch it. Probably, a more trained eye would have predicted this rush of water by looking at the charts: Amelia Island's southern end does create a headland, pointing right into the tidal current. When we re-launched, we dragged our kayaks a few feet up the beach to make our launch easier. In the image below, some of what appears to be water was low-tide sand that we took a stroll on. This beach was beautiful, and on a late Thursday morning, practically deserted. Where we turned around on our walk, I could look north up the beach and see the condos and hotels.

Once we wrestled the kayaks ashore, we took a short walk along the beach--some of which shows as water in this image.

That is not a wave coming in (above); that's a fast right to left flow.

Once we left the beach of Amelia Island, we headed back towards the bridge, and the opening of Sawpit Creek. As we moved from the more open water of the sound, toward the convergence of the Amelia River, the Nassau River, and the gap between the islands, the energy in the water picked up a little bit and we were paddling pretty slowly.

We passed under the bridge and pier, into the mouth of the rivers, and decided to follow the bridges back across. Even though traffic was pretty light, we felt the bridge would help us with any traffic as we fought the current crossing our beams as we crossed back over.   Understandably, this is where we finally felt the strong effects of the tide current. The water got a little turbulent, and we had to put some effort into staying parallel to the bridges. My partner, with very little experience in these conditions, got pretty nervous, and I had to focus on staying near her and not getting taken back out, under the bridges. You had to keep moving forward, or you'd move sideways instantly. This is also where I made a typical "Chet mistake", and we made a wrong turn. In my effort to fight the flow across our beam, and to shorten the crossing for her, I pointed our boats at an angle into the flow of the tide, away from the sound. This worked at keeping us straight (we were moving slightly sideways this way, but it kept us parallel to the pier), but, it also took us around the wrong side of the unnamed island at the mouth of Sawpit Creek. I didn't study the maps well enough to realize or remember that the fishing pier is not exactly parallel to the bridge. I knew we just had to follow the bridge across to Talbot Island, but the fishing pier breaks off and stops at the unnamed island (if this island has a name, I haven't seen it yet). I followed the pier. 

Oops! 

That's not the right beach! 

You can see the short detour in the image above. At least two positives to this mistake: it worked to get my partner into water she was comfortable with more quickly,  and (knowing my incredible sense of direction) I brought my GPS. We thought we were back along the shore of Talbot Island, but the beach was all oyster beds and marsh, instead of the white beaches we expected. Thinking it was just a change due to the receding tide(that was MY thinking and poor memory), we continued for a few minutes, expecting to see the launch. When we didn't, I turned on my GPS which set me straight and we enjoyed a good laugh. My partner is used to my sense of direction by now. She also guessed, before my GPS told me, where we were, based on the one or two times she looked at any maps.  We decided to not continue around the island, as that would mean more paddling against the flow of the tide, so we turned around, corrected course, and found the sandy beach of Talbot Island that we expected to see:

As if to help me be sure this was the right place, those two guys were sitting in exactly the same place as when we started. 

A lesson I learn every few months is that no matter how simple a route may seem, study the maps and charts and bring your GPS. Better yet, print portions of the charts and bring a map holder. 

From here, as expected, the launch was right around a left-hand curve, and the current was much, much calmer, so we were out of the water within minutes.

This really was a great trip. As I've said before, ALWAYS check conditions and make sure you, your partner(s) and boats are right for those conditions. But I have to say, Nassau Sound is really beautiful and offers a great variety of water conditions and beach conditions. I wish I lived closer.

Beyond LA--Kayaking Simpson Creek to Nassau Sound and Back-Florida

This is a trip I did while vacationing on Amelia Island, FL. Talbot Island is just south of Amelia Island, and this route is a part of the Timucuan Preserve, which offers a ton of paddling options. This route is also a part of the Big Talbot Island State Park.

Every time I study the maps of the southeastern Atlantic coast, I feel the urge to move (that's the kayaker in me talking). There are so many options, with such a variety of conditions. Most of the route I'm describing here is perfect for almost any paddler, in almost any boat, assuming they can paddle at least 7 miles and handle some current. But, this trip takes you to Nassau Sound, and venturing out into the sound is not something just anyone should do in just any boat. Read on...

First and foremost, one word needs to stay in the forefront of all of your planning for trips on the Atlantic Coast: TIDES. On the Louisiana Coast, tides are roughly every 12 hours, and the tidal range is usually a foot or two. Along the Atlantic Coast, however, tides change every 6 hours or so (two highs, two lows, each day), and the range is several feet. In Louisiana, it is pretty easy to plan an entire trip with the tide either going out or coming in the whole time--you have about 12 hours to play with, and sometimes you have a pretty measurable slack tide also. And, with the relatively small tidal range, paddling against the flow of the tide often just means working harder for part of the trip. Along the southeastern Atlantic Coast, it's a much narrower window, with two highs and two lows each day, so you can expect the tide to change while you're out. Not always, and on a lot of one-way trips, you can work with one-way tides quite nicely if you time it right. But if you're doing multi-hour round trips or loops, or tricky crossings, you need to work with the timing of the tides. While I was there, one of the low tides occurred in the middle of the day every day. And, with a 5' range, if you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, you could be in for a fight. That's a lot of water moving, and it's being funneled into channels and sounds, so it speeds up. And (very important), it's very possible to launch at high tide and return at low tide to  hundreds of yards of mud between yourself and your take out spot. 

But, this is not meant to be a lesson on tides--just a warning. Do your homework.

On to the route:

I chose this route because my paddling partner had not paddled in a while and didn't want to have her boat handling skills tested too much. Simpson Creek itself is a typical tidal creek in that it will always feel like a creek (no waves), but the current changes speed and direction with the tidal flow. And where it meets the Nassau Sound, you do have options to go play in waves. You exit the creek into a beautiful sandy lagoon. From here, you can decide, based on conditions and your comfort levels, whether you want to venture out into the sound: out to Bird Island or simply follow the beaches of Talbot Island. This trip was just around 9 miles.

We chose to use the launch provided by Kayak Amelia, on Heckscher Road, in the Little Talbot Island State Park. The fee was $1 per person, with safe parking and someone willing to offer info and a map. They also have a restroom and bottled water for sale. 

By the way, Kayak Amelia offers various guided tours, kayak rentals, has a gift shop in the state park and in Fernandina Beach, and has a very helpful, friendly, knowledgeable staff. And a decent variety of rental boats---next trip, I may leave my boats in Louisiana and just rent from them. Here's their website:
http://www.kayakamelia.com/index.htm

And here's our launch/take out:

https://www.google.com/maps/@30.4618082,-81.4288765,547m/data=!3m1!1e3

"Riding the tide":

On the day of our trip, low tide was at 11:13 in the morning. The tide moves out of Simpson Creek from the launch, towards Nassau Sound to the north, or towards Fort George River to the south. Then, at high tide, the creek fills back up. So we planned to follow the tide out, play in the sound for a bit, and then follow the tide back in.  We launched a little later than I wanted--around 10:40, and the water was already very low. Kayak Amelia has two launch spots here, and the gravel "high tide" launch was in a small bay of mud. So we had to carry our kayaks across the large yard, down the ramp and to their floating dock.

The launch at low tide (note the mud below the grass, and the oyster bed just above the center of the picture.

However, three hours later, at high tide, we paddled right up to the gravel launch to take out:

This is the same spot at high tide-3 hours later. Note the lack of mud or oyster bed.

Because we launched so close to low tide, the banks of Simpson Creek were muddy or sandy, often covered with oyster beds, and then there was typical marsh grass 3 or 4 feet above that. The current was barely noticeable at this late stage (the speed of the flow tends to peak in the middle of the tide period, and be slower at the beginning and end), and if we felt any benefit from it, it was minor. We passed several sand bars and sandy islands, and saw quite a few shore birds. 

Note the oyster beds on the right. Lots and lots of oyster beds are visible at low tide.

This is a very curvy creek (especially at low tide), and my partner chose to use her rudder. The current was subtle, but it and the wind affected our steering. At times, we skimmed through water that was a foot or less deep. Some time after the first mile and a half, you'll start to see the land on your left rise up, and you'll pass Half Moon Bluff.  Note the muddy layer between the water and the dry sand at low tide:

Shortly after you pass the bluffs and the left bank flattens back out, you'll start to hear the surf and you'll come to the northern end of Simpson Creek, where it meets Nassau Sound. The creek widens out and white sandy beaches appear. You come out into a nice, sheltered lagoon on the right, and the opening to the sound on the left. This is a very nice spot to stop and play in the water and on the white sand.


We arrived just after low tide and stopped on the sand bar that is the northern edge of the lagoon. Just as we arrived, someone in a fishing kayak was reeling in a small shark (which he released), and we saw another very small shark swimming in the shallow water. Kayak Amelia told us that it's not uncommon to see sharks and dolphins here at low tide, as the smaller fish follow the tide out of the creek into the sound. Later, at Bird Island, we caught a quick glimpse of a dolphin. 

This is the sand bar across from the mouth of Simpson Creek

There are a lot of sand bars and shoals at the opening of the sound, so in normal-to-calm conditions, the bigger waves break before the opening to Simpson Creek. But I've only been out here twice in one week--I know very little about what's typical out here. The water was very calm on this day, with just a gentle up and down of the water,  so we paddled over to Bird Island a few hundred yards away. Bird Island is very flat, with just shore grass for vegetation, so from the lagoon, as you look across to Bird Island, it appears to blend with the white beaches of Amelia Island, and with the bridge in the background, so your eyes can trick you.

Bird Island at low tide. 

This picture is a little deceiving: it's not as short as this looks, but the crossing from Bird Island to Talbot was a pretty easy quarter mile or so.

After a bit, we paddled back over to the beaches of Big Talbot Island, and could definitely see the tide coming in. Bird Island's sandy beach got smaller, and the long sand bar attached to it shrunk. In fact, Bird Island grows and shrinks so much with the tides that maps seem to have a hard time placing the label in the right place--sometimes the "Bird Island" label seems to be on water. 

As we made the short crossing over to the bluffs of Talbot Island, the rocking swells became just a little bouncier. The extra energy in the water was fun. 

Because the tide was coming in and it was midday, boat traffic increased a little, and we did encounter a group of jet skis as we crossed over to Talbot, but really, traffic was very light.  We pulled up on a rocky beach and relaxed and ate lunch. 

Over the course of the 30-40 minutes that we relaxed, the tide moved in enough to start moving our boats and I had to pull them farther up the sand twice:

When we launched to head back, the gentle rock and swell of the water grew a little, and by the time we got back to Simpson Creek, I was taking a few little splashes into my cockpit. Very minor, but as I mentioned at the beginning: check conditions and know what you're getting yourself and partners into. For us, it was fun to go from roll to bounce, and to get a little wet. I did seal the camera up after the first splash, so no pictures again until we got back to the lagoon and the opening of Simpson Creek.

By the way, when we returned to Simpson Creek, I took the very first available right hand turn, and (luckily) realized this was a mistake. There is a very small, pretty short, creek that you need to go past, and go into the larger opening of Simpson Creek. In my route image above, you can barely see where I started to make this mistake. It's possible this small creek only exists at high tide. Here's the close-up:

Once in the real Simpson Creek, things looked quite a bit different with high tide. The narrow creek with muddy banks became a wide creek through a marshy grassland:

At high tide, the bluffs look very different.

Where on the trip out, we hardly felt any assistance from the outgoing tide, on the trip back in, we definitely did, thanks to our timing. Our speed was easily a mile or more per hour faster heading back to Kayak Amelia. And the sand and mud between the water and the grass was gone, and we were now on a much wider creek with grassy banks. Only the highest oyster beds remained visible. By the way, after you pass that first right hand "wrong turn" that I almost took and find yourself in the wider creek, keep Half Moon Bluff on your right (even though the bluffs look much smaller now), or you could end up making an extra little loop (see map). No harm, other than a little extra distance and maybe a little confusion for someone with my sense of direction. Surprisingly, I did not take the wrong turn there (and my partner would've known better anyhow).
So, this is a great trip for paddlers of any skill level, and it gives you the chance to experience the surf and beaches of the sound, and the beauty of the northern shore of Talbot Island. We enjoyed Nassau Sound so much that we planned our next kayak trip just around that (another entry will describe that).