Mallows Bay and the Ghost Fleet of the Potomac

We have a tradition in our paddling club. It started with a winter paddle gone wrong wherein two paddlers "swam" on a cold cold day during a Small Craft Advisory. We came to call that trip the "nobody died paddle." This was only partly a joke as the Potomac has a history of "eating people," and cold water is no effing joke.

But since that event, when things go wrong on a trip we give the trip a funny name. Yesterday we had the "nobody got arrested paddle." Being met by armed Marines and ticketed was really one of the less dire consequences we could have faced. So, dear reader, listen up:

With a team effort we had previously scoped out a new launch. There is a tiny beach in a small municipal park in the Town of Quantico, that lets out on to the Potomac. The mighty Po is about 2 miles wide here, has big fetch, and can stand up quite nicely. "Nicely" being the operative word if you like ruffled textured water, which I most certainly do.

To reach this park one must check in with the armed Marines at the front gate of the famous Quantico Marine Base. Everyone in a vehicle must show ID, which they scan and record, as well as photographing the vehicle, etc. Once checked in it is a short drive through the base to the civilian Town of Quantico. The locals call it Quantico-town, or Q-town.

So there we were, on a rainy cool Sunday morning. Six of us launched to cross the river and paddle down stream to the Ghost Fleet of the Potomac at Mallows Bay.

The tiny launch spot on the day we first scouted this launch back in September.

Besides the above photo, all the others were shot by Mark, Dan, Bob, and James.

I meant for us to cross the Potomac in a close group. I knew it would be choppy, and also that we would have to cross the shipping channel. So I explained to everyone that we would go straight across. I picked a heading at 12 O'clock on the opposite shore and told everyone to aim for that. Of course, that is not what they did. Nope, they all headed off at a diagonal, thereby putting our weakest link in chop longer than necessary; also violating the "cross shipping channels at right angles" rule. Good chaps, just do not listen very well.

The track in blue-purple was recorded by my husband's GPS

You can see from the track lined in purple that there is clearly a diagonal line at the top of the chart.

From there we headed down the Maryland side of the river until we came to Mallows Bay.

























Always approach the Fleet as close to low tide as possible. There are two reasons: firstly, more of the ships are exposed at low tide so there is more to see; and secondly the "more to see" part means one is less likely to impale their boat on the creepy rusted iron "ribs" of the boats that lurk in the water. Literally, everywhere.

Low tide was around 11:30 am. We launched at 9:50 am and hit Mallows Bay exactly at 11:00. It was a four mile crossing. I led the chaps into the Ghost Fleet while saying "I'm going in!"

This is where the fun begins. The ships have mostly been reduced to the water line. That is a ship behind me.

Shrubs grow from the wood spars of the old Fleet.

There are more than a hundred wrecks. Here is the bow or stern of one vessel just beyond my bow.

The creepy factor does not really take effect until one is there in person.

The Lorax paddled into the most modern wreck, a large cargo ship abandoned here in the 1970s.

This wreck looms large over the area. One the side some one has scrawled "Remember."

Here the husband cautiously creeps through the center of a wreck. I would not recommend this as he has scraped his boat doing this same thing multiple times!

Good view of the metal ribs, very skeletal. Creep factor 8 out of 10.

As we headed back across the Bay and out into the river I used a row of pilings to carve in and out using bow rudders. I always find stationary objects to wind around. It pleases me, I guess.

So now we get ready to cross again. This time I am mindful of the diagonal my buds pulled on the way here so I pick out the red bouy 40 in the river and tell them to head for that. From there we continue straight across. I had my "a-hah moment" when we crossed nice and straight. File that info away for future trips.

At this time we have the Marine Base river side to our left. I advise that we need to stay out, basically a half mile or more from the base. The Lorax poo poos me. He points out there are no markers warning us off. But I am mindful of my friend Luci's recent story of a shooting at the NSA building, the guards shot first and asked questions later. No thanks, I will pass on becoming a statistic please. Still, the husband insisted we were fine so I fell in, Deke and I paddling next to each other talking.

And then the siren started. As soon as I heard it I was like "holy cow, get me outta here!" I immediately started away from the shore, which was maybe 400 yards to my left. I also noted the two military SUVs that came roaring up along the shore line. "I am so outta here," I'm thinking. I'm also thinking "I am gonna wring my husband's neck."

Ah, but my buds are still acting like nothing is amiss. Nobody but me seems to respond to the alarm ringing. Maybe because I was raised on post I just instinctually knew we had tripped that alarm. It stops, starts again and a booming voice tells "the boaters in the kayaks to clear the area immediately!" Ah, sh*t. Now my buds speed up but they are still going parallel to shore. Not me. I made a right angle turn, nearly running into Deke, and paddled out into the center of the river literally like a mad woman. I have never pushed that Surf that fast, and I did not even feel like I was working, just flying. Behold, the power of adrenaline!

Dude, I was pissed at my husband. I hollered at him across the water that this was all his fault. I said "we should be farther out but nooooo..." I am sure I sounded like the typical wife, "I told you so," kind of thing.

The third time the alarm just rings and rings. I am way out in the river by now and hoping that the sharp shooters are not pointing their rifles at me. I am literally hearing Luci's NSA story playing in my head. Here I am, fearless in the surf, combat rolling, window shading, long boat surfer. And I get panicked at the sound of an alarm and freak out thinking "I have never been arrested, I don't want a blemish on my record now, it's not even my fault! Wah!!"

Those last two miles fly by. Literally, we did two 11 minute miles. That was better than 5 miles an hour. I was so glad when we crossed into the Town's Marina area. Back in civilian space we could slow down and I started breathing again. I more than half expected to be met by armed Marines at the launch. As we paddled up a grey pick up truck crossed the park's lawn and I was like "son of a b***h, here they are." But no, just an older run-down couple claiming drift wood from the river for feeding their home fire.

And so we packed up and loaded. The whole time I was still waiting for security to show up and was much relieved when they did not. Whew. End of an adventure. What a day!