Steve Fagin: A (mostly) calm kayak voyage around Fishers Island

May 30—"Gonna be a bit bumpy going through Wicopesset Passage at max flood," Phil Warner announced, as five of us kayaked toward East Point on Fishers Island last Saturday morning.

Normal paddlers would make this statement in a trepidatious tone, to warn others that they were about to be tossed around by big waves and turbulent currents. But Phil's voice was more gleeful than fearful while we approached a narrow channel through which the Atlantic Ocean surged into Fishers Island Sound at the peak of an incoming tide. He thrives on such thrills; I take a deep breath and try to hang on.

Phil and I were paddling a 22 1/2 -foot tandem sea kayak; my son, Tom, was next to us in a 19 1/2 -foot single, on a favorite voyage all of us have been making for years: a Fishers Island circumnavigation, beginning and ending at Esker Point in Noank.

Joining us briefly on this warm, sunny day were Robin Francis and Igor Yeremeev, in a 22-foot tandem surfski, a sleek, super-fast sit-on vessel that is the Ferrari of paddle boats. Trying to keep up with them in sea kayaks would be like pedaling tricycles alongside elite racing bikes in the Tour De France.

The typical route around New York island measures about 18 miles, but Phil, Tom and I made an impromptu decision to extend it by a couple miles, which I'll describe later. We kept in touch with Robin and Igor periodically via marine radio, in case any of us got into trouble.

After launching from the public ramp on the north side of Groton Long Point Road, we paddled south into Palmer Cove, steered west of Mouse Island, and set a diagonal southeast course across the sound against a light headwind and building tide.

I held my breath to avoid gagging on eau de guano from Whaleback Rock, a rest area for cormorants. Once past them, we enjoyed fresh air all the way to the east end of Fishers, about five miles distant.

A few rip currents reminded us that Wicopesset Passage, between tiny Wicopesset Island and 7-mile-long Fishers, loomed ahead.

As the stern paddler, I controlled the tandem kayak's rudder with foot pedals, while relying on Phil to shout instructions from his bow cockpit.

"Big rock ahead! Hard left!" he cried, so I stomped the left pedal while flailing my paddle to keep up with Phil's frenetic cadence. I felt my right blade scrape the submerged rock.

Suddenly, the collar of my take-apart paddle came loose, causing the boat to veer wildly into the froth. I gripped the shaft with one hand and tightened the collar with the other, and regained control just as a wave washed over our deck. Spray skirts kept the sea from flooding our cockpits.

Phil turned his head around to give me a "What the ...?" look.

"Loose paddle. All fixed," I shouted.

Another 30 seconds of chaos, and we punched through the passage, where Thomas was waiting with a smile. Piece of cake.

"That was fun," I lied.

I anticipated rolling seas on the south side of Fishers, but a miracle awaited: pancake-flat conditions.

"Unbelievable!" Phil exclaimed. In dozens of trips here, we've never encountered such calm.

Now heading east, we savored a push from the tide and light breeze, sweeping past appropriately named Wreck Island, a rocky outcrop just offshore.

As the island's Henry L. Ferguson Museum notes on its website, since Europeans first sailed here more than 350 years ago, "dozens-upon-dozens of stranded sloops, brigs, schooners, steamers, yachts and power boats have been 'beaten to pieces' by the sea and reduced to piles of timber or scraps of metal on our rocky shores." A hundred people have perished.

We next shot by South Beach and the exclusive Fishers Island Club, where Phil and I once beached and carried our kayaks past bemused outdoor diners on a shortcut across the island, thereby completing, not a Fishers circumnavigation, but what our friend Nick Schade calls a Fishers circumcision.

After passing Isabella Beach and Wilderness Point, a decision: Go south around Race Rock, a longer route, or hug the shore. Either way, we'd have to paddle through The Race, one of the most treacherous, tumultuous stretches in the Northeast. Since the wind and waves were so calm, we decided to detour to the ocean side.

Phil, of course, was beside himself with joy, because it not only would give us a close-up view of historic Race Rock Light, but prolong our paddle through The Race.

Workers spent seven years, from 1871 to 1878, building a massive masonry foundation atop a reef, before constructing the 45-foot-tall, Gothic-style structure. The lighthouse was automated in 1978, added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2005, and now is owned and maintained by the New London Maritime Society.

Not much time to enjoy the architecture, though, before we were sucked into The Race's swirling currents.

"Hard right!" Phil shouted.

I may have uttered a few inappropriate words while bouncing through confused chop, but thanks to Phil's directions and my tightened paddle collar, we managed to remain upright and dry.

Soon, we rounded the point, re-entered Fishers Island Sound, cut between North and South Dumplings, and then dodged dozens of powerboats and sailboats on Memorial Day weekend while steering back to Esker Point. It took us just over four hours to cover 20-plus miles.

Robin was waiting for us at the ramp; Igor had driven home. It took them three hours to paddle 18 miles.

"We were flying on the south side — hit 8 miles an hour!" she exclaimed.

"One of the most memorable trips around Fishers ... an excellent day to be on the water," Phil observed.

"A fantastic trip!" Tom agreed.