Apr 15 - Back Bay expedition, continued**

Saturday, April 15, 1972 - Page 106
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California

[This text is continued from page 105. April 15's entry will appear on the April 16 page]
5:00 PM
It is still Apr. 14 -- this is a continuation. The time is 5:09, and the location is estimated to be at ♇ [Pluto astronomical symbol: P-over-L in a circle at upper right] on the map. I may be further than that, I'm not sure. I won't be able to get home before dark -- the sun will be going down in an hour or so. I got into Upper Newport Bay as usual -- the tide was quite low, but not as low as last time. The mullets gave a more spectacular show than usual, leaping from the water 2 and 3 at a time. There was one boat with a skier attached to it, and one gal driving a speed boat. This caused pretty high waves -- not just wakes, but waves -- and that, plus a fairly strong wind made it a little complicated while maneuvering among the fish. Anyway, I didn't spend too much time with them -- I went on to the inlet I had explored last Sunday, but this time, when it split, I took the right stream which was thicker and deeper. Here there was a strong current against me and it was slow going. I upset literally thousands of birds who simultaneously clouded the skies. Miraculously, however, I was untouched by their bombing raids.

This photo is mentioned on the previous page, April 14

When I began getting too tired to paddle, I switched to the faster method of getting out of the kayak and wading through the water, pulling the boat along. The water was very shallow, not more than 6 inches deep. The bottom of the "river" was fine sand on top of soft mud. I followed the river for miles, and the depth of the water changed from 6 inches to an occasionally 2 to 3 feet, and sometimes it was barely an inch deep. The current seemed very strong, and the wind was against me -- it was hard to keep the boat pointed straight. The mud underfoot changed often too -- usually it was like soft clay, sometimes it was sandy, now and then there was quicksand almost 2 feet deep -- if I didn't have the kayak to lean on, I may have found out it was deeper. At one point there was a change in the under water topography, so that there was a miniature waterfall, preceded by a very deep area of water (3 feet approx). I passed the loud little waterfall, and eventually came up to another vague fork, where the streams split. By this time my left foot was bleeding from one or two cuts (there were some sharp shells under water). I, characteristically, took a wrong turn. I entered what turned out to be a smaller, shallower area. (To be continued on page 35)

[Although the text takes us back to February 4, page 35, I will include it here to conclude this lengthy entry]

Friday, Apr. 14, 5:32 PM
This entry is from the Future, page 106. Continued: -- I followed the wrong river, hoping it would lead to the wider, freer flowing stream. (That "wider, freer flowing stream," I think, was the "2,000 meter rowing course" mentioned on the map on page 100. The course has long been out of use). The current, by this time, had changed, and water moving in the opposite direction, moving with, instead of against me. So I didn't have to push the kayak -- it just "swam" beside me like I was walking a pet dolphin. The river bottom got muckier and more polluted -- flies were getting common, and tall thick grass lay on the banks in occasional patches. Here the water was warmer than the air, which was about 65°. Finally, the river joined the rowing course through a narrow grass covered channel. I carried the boat over it, and began wading through the course, the bottom of which was clean, soft sand. Sometimes I sank knee deep in the silt. This went on for at least another half mile, and I began wondering if Alligators live in salt water. The banks began taking on the appearance of swamplands, tall grass and bushes covered the shore. This contrasted with the barren mud of most of Upper Newport Bay I was familiar with. I seemed to remember that there were alligators in these waters, but that must have been a year or so ago. The water was dead now -- too polluted for fish, frogs or alligators. But there was wildlife at water's edge. The ever present long-beaked birds were still around, but now there was other life: rabbits, squirrels, pigeons and horses. The horses were on the land, not far away, being ridden by girls. There also was a group of kids and an adult wandering through the grass and bushes, but the place still seemed desolate. After all, I was the only thing moving through the river. The water got deeper more often, and the mud went down further -- sometimes I was waste deep in water, thigh deep in quicksand. The landscape kept changing -- I'll have to bring my camera here sometime.

Already I was miles farther than I'd ever been in the Bay. At one area the water was only an inch deep and I had to drag the boat over it -- at other spots there were little waterfalls and water so deep I had to float, holding the boat to stay up. I passed under a bridge that I don't see on the map. Beyond that was deep quicksand that made it necessary for me to get back in the boat and continue paddling. The banks were covered with beauteous plants with tiny yellow balls on them. After a little bit further through this idyllic scene, I came to another bridge, one I remember having driven over often, and right now (five minutes to six) I'm underneath that bridge. It's the end of the line -- I'm floating in water which has come from ten pipes, four or five feet in diameter, embedded in hard rock (The bottom of the river is granite, I think). The sun is beginning to set, and my hand is unsteady from the cold. The water, streaming from 7 or 8 of the pipes, is noisy as it splashes down, foaming under the bridge. Above me there is the sound of cars speeding along the bridge. It is 6:00 now, and I'm going to try to get back to Eye Sore Park. Boy, it's getting cold! -- I just tasted the water coming from the pipe nearest me -- it's fresh! Wonder where it's from. I'll have to wait to find out -- gotta get home as soon as I can.

12:09:06 AM
The sky turned from blue to gold, then to twilight, dusk, and dark. The moon was just a finger-nail clipping (day after new moon). The tide was unusually high, like a bath tub filled to the brim. Saw the lights of three boats. Finally got home at 7:30, put the boat on the dock and walked to the Grand Shoebox with just the paddle. Mom was vacuuming the rug, and the TV was on to Hollywood Squares. She had called Chunk, then Dad, then the Harbor Patrol (that may have been one of the boats I saw). Watched H.S. [Hollywood Squares], then Sanford & Son, then a movie, "Hour of the Gun." Chunk came over at 10:30 to look at the films of King's [River races] while Mom was out buying some food. Watched the films till 11:30, then he left. I've gotta get up at 6:00 tomorrow to go with him to Kern. 'Tis now 12:19:00 A.M. Fini.

[From Bayshore Park to the far end of Upper Newport Bay is about 3.5 miles as the crow flies. I had gone on a round trip of more than 7 miles that day.]

Apr 14 - Epic exploration of Newport Bay***

Friday, April 14, 1972 - Page 105
LOCATION: Newport Beach, California

1:00 PM
Not since January 22 has this book been out of the Grand Shoebox [my mobile home]. And now, today, at 1:11, this sacred journal is once again outside. This is a remote field report from Newport Bay (approximately at the [referencing the pic that appears below: Earth astronomical symbol: cross-in-a-circle] on the map -- slightly north of that point actually on the shore). I embarked on this expedition at 12:30, and launched the vessel from Eye Sore Park beach. I was accosted by three youngsters whose aid I enlisted in passing under the newly deployed buoy line enclosing the swimming area, an obstacle which will henceforth necessitate my having to depart from the Eye Sore Park docks. For the 1st time today I investigated that portion of Newport Bay called Newport Dunes, which is singularly unimpressive in that it is reputed to be a vacation or recreational area, and despite the assertion made on the map, there is no island in that area, Coney or otherwise. The traffic is light, the sky is void of clouds, the smog is thin (the mountains to the north are clearly visible) and the wind is fair. I now shall continue this exploration of Upper Newport Bay. Onward!

Here's a reappearance of the map that is attached to page 100, April 9.
You can find a more readable hi-res version here: Newport Beach Map.
Above the fold on the right is "Ford Aeronutronic" where my father worked
as a technical illustrator for Defense projects. Bayshore trailer park isn't shown,
but it was located on the shore at the mid-lower left above "E. Coast Hwy."

1:30 PM
I now (1:34) am approximately at [Mars astronomical symbol: circle-and-arrow] on the map, in a narrow inlet on what I believe is the only true island of Newport Bay, though this definition may be disputed due to the fact that at lowest possible tide, the channel (see arrow on map) is uncovered and indeed becomes a mere extension of the land, muddy though it may be. The region of this island is abundant in vegetation and wildlife, including geese, and other types of waterfowl including one very common type similar to, though decidedly unrelated to, the wholly terrestrial woodcock (if my meager knowledge of ornithology serves, which it probably doesn't). In fact wholly twenty of the aforementioned birds now are industriously feeding in the soft mud to my left, not 50 feet distant (I now am facing North-East, sitting in the kayak pictured on page 106 [April 15] (that photo incidentally was taken on the opposite side of this island), stationarily floating in a shallow inlet lined with shells, the mouth of which contained about a dozen small fish (one of several varieties in this area, which were alarmed when I came upon them, and one of whom leaped briefly out of the water, past my paddle). The wind is getting brisker, the air cooler, and the smog thicker (my estimation of visibility was a bit premature -- the mountains now are nearly invisible), so, to the constant chirps, caws, and sundry tunes of the many resplendent fowl about me, I once again paddle forth.

2:00 PM
I've made a rare and unprecedented discovery. I have, in the past, found dead fish, and I have fooled with tiny coelenterates, but now I've found a large, living creature which now is only a foot away, floating in the water. As I was paddling away from the area of the last entry, I glimpsed in the water what appeared to be a large, half-sunk inflated ball. I backed up and looked more closely -- it was, of course, a jelly fish, fully a foot in diameter when extended. It had marble-like markings on its dorsal side, and tentacles lining a black fringe on the underside, in the center of which was a gelatinous mass. I don't think it's a man-of-war, though I've never seen one. But it is impressive. With a bit of difficulty, I coaxed the thing onto the beach (the western shore opposite the island) and observed it more closely. I daren't touch it for fear of being stung, but I manipulated it with the paddle and investigated the beast to my content. The beach is very soft mud (in fact my right leg, anchoring the kayak on which I am leaning, is shin-deep in mud), so I was unable to step ashore for a stick or some such. Now (2:21) I'll leave, putting the jelly fish back into the channel.

2:30 PM
It is now 2:47, and I'm in the kayak resting in water that is too shallow to allow movement. As the sign said, this is a closed channel (* on the map). The tide will eventually surround the land, but until then I must back up and leave the same way I came. About 20 feet before me, on the soggy land of the uncovered channel, are at least one hundred long-beaked birds pecking at the mud. I don't wish to bother them, so I'll back up and be off. Tis now 3:02 P.M. [The text is continued on the next page, April 15]

Newport Beach, California (Google Earth, 2013)

Detail seen in Red Rectangle: Newport Harbor High School
is at upper right and the lower Red Circle is where I lived in 1972
at Bayshore Trailer Park, which has been gone for many years