One morning just after dawn early last November, a small group of kayakers gathered at the Tide Point dock, outside the Under Armor headquarters on Locust Point, with hats pulled down and coffee in hand to ward off the chill. Rob Bennett unlocked the metal box that held the Canton Kayak Club’s life jackets, then did the same for the cables that wound around the club’s kayaks, stacked on racks in brightly colored, jigsaw fashion. The kayakers lowered the boats into the water, then lowered themselves into the shallow cockpits, grabbed their paddles and pushed off into the harbor.

Soon Bennett, a communications professor who lives in Federal Hill and kayaks about four times a week, was leading the way, paddling out into the water as squadrons of geese networked the sky and the morning sunlight sent rivers of gold and silver across the Inner Harbor. They paddled past a massive cargo ship, the Ravenna, docked at the Domino Sugar Refinery, past the Rusty Scupper restaurant and the adjacent marina, skirted the aquarium and the World War II-era Torsk submarine, then worked their way back across the harbor.

The city rose around them, an old port town seen from maybe its best vantage: from the water.

The Canton Kayak Club was launched, both figuratively and literally, almost 25 years ago, in 1999. Friends and fellow recreational kayakers Charlie Gjerde and Bill Struever came up with the idea of doing their harbor commute on the water rather than around it.

“Bill was on one side of the harbor and I was on the other,” says Gjerde, a local restaurateur who grew up kayaking on Deep Creek Lake with his brother Spike, also a restaurateur. So the pair bought some kayaks and put in a few docking stations—in Canton, Tide Point, and Fells—and started to spread the word. “It was just a good idea,” Gjerde says. “It was super cheap; you had access. We just made it up as we went along.”

Gjerde and Struever, a real estate developer known for his remaking of Baltimore’s industrial port, built up a membership base, turned the club into a nonprofit, and implemented a training program, with Gjerde doing the training, though first he had to figure out how to do it.

“I’m a restaurant guy,” he says, “I literally was looking up ‘kayak training’ on YouTube.” Gjerde loved being on the water in the middle of the city. “Being on a little kayak right on the water, cruising around these huge ships,” he says. “I thought that was the coolest part.”

Two years later, when NPR did a story about the club—Gjerde took longtime NPR host Brian Naylor out on the water, the splash of oars forming the soundtrack of the piece—there were about 70 members. At the end of the 2022 season, which runs from May to late October or early November, the number had grown to 700. That 700 includes people of all demographics, whose ages run the gamut from just-turned-18 to over 90.

“IT WAS JUST A GOOD IDEA. IT WAS SUPER CHEAP…WE JUST MADE IT UP AS WE WENT ALONG.”

 

Not much has changed in the quarter century since the club began, though more members mean there are more kayaks and more docks. The basic premise is the same: a community of recreational kayakers who, for a small annual membership fee ($165 for new members, $135 for returning members), get access to boats, gear, and training, and to the water itself. Though the club may have started as way to commute, these days it’s used by recreational kayakers who go out singly or in groups of varying sizes.

“We fit between the [boat] rental companies and individual kayak ownership,” says Ray Scurr, an auditor for T. Rowe Price who joined the club 10 years ago and has been its president for the last six. “For many people, particularly city-dwellers who don’t have space to store a kayak, it makes perfect sense,” says Scurr.

The club remains entirely run by volunteers. Overall, the club has a very small footprint, with no offices or clubhouse, only a series of kayak racks set up on various docks. The Canton dock for which the club was named closed years ago, but the original docks on Fells Point and Locust Point are still in place, as well as newer docks in Dundalk, Essex Island, Pasadena, Chesapeake Harbour in Annapolis, and Delta, PA.

If you drive an hour north of Baltimore, down a winding, tree-lined road that eventually dead-ends at the Susquehanna River, two racks of kayaks sit on the edge of a parking lot fronting the water. You’re in Delta—the farthest afield of the Canton Kayak Club’s half-dozen docks—a few miles over the Pennsylvania state line, and a few hundred yards from Starrk Moon Kayaks, which Brad Nelson has owned for over 35 years.

Nelson’s kayak shop is built into his home, itself a hodgepodge wood cabin decorated with art, patio umbrellas, weather vanes, and, in his adjacent shop and outside, kayaks—he has about 180 in total—lined up around the house like spokes on a massive wheel. A trailer across the road houses the paddles and life jackets that the club uses, and is buttressed by more kayaks. Nelson has been involved with the Canton Kayak Club for most of its history, selling it boats as well as providing upkeep on the small fleet. Nelson has also been a member for years, and kayaked himself until a non-kayaking accident a few years ago took one of his legs. He now provides all the club’s 120 or so kayaks, mostly 14-to-17-foot Venture and P&H sea kayaks, made in England, including a few tandem boats.

Despite, or maybe because of, his remote location, Nelson does quite a lot of business selling kayaks to recreational enthusiasts as well as white-water boaters, catering to people who come from West Virginia, northern Virginia, and D.C., where white-water kayaking is particularly popular. Maybe it’s because Nelson is an engaging guy, or because his shop is in such a remote location, but people tend to talk to him. “I get stories here that I shouldn’t even be hearing,” he says with a laugh, “on a dead-end road in southeastern York County.”

“[KAYAKING] BREAKS DOWN THE DIVIDE BETWEEN CITY AND COUNTY. IT ALLOWS PEOPLE TO EXPLORE AREAS THAT THEY’VE NEVER BEEN TO.”

One morning last fall, a group of Baltimore kayakers parked their cars in the Delta lot and gathered at the dock, helping each other swing the boats down from the racks— they’d already picked up paddles and life jackets from Nelson’s trailer. Some had kayaked together before, some were strangers, meeting for the first time and trading stories about their time on the water and what had drawn them to kayaking. The outing had been set up on Slack, the instant messaging site the Canton club uses as a message board.

Soon the kayaks were out in the water, the group paddling in a convoy across the river and weaving around the islands, painted in fall colors, birds threading through the clouds. Conversations rose and fell between the boats, punctuated by the splash of the paddles. After a few hours, they pulled the kayaks up on a secluded beach on one of the islands and ate packed lunches, sharing sandwiches and taking pictures of the scenery and each other. Then everyone relaunched the boats and paddled around more islands, crossing back across the Susquehanna, then heading up one of the tributary creeks as far as the water would let them, navigating around reefs and rocks and branches. Eventually the group headed back to the dock, restacked the kayaks on the racks, said goodbyes, returned the gear, and drove back to the city.

Delta is the most rural, but also one of the most longstanding of the Canton Kayak Club’s docks outside the city. In general, dock locations shift every so often, depending on the relationship of the owners of the various properties to the club, which leases the sites, mostly on a yearly basis. Until recently, the club maintained a dock at Nick’s Fish House, the popular Port Covington seafood restaurant, which has an adjacent marina where the club housed its boats. The lease wasn’t renewed at the end of the 2022 season, after Nick’s changed ownership. A rack location at Loch Raven Reservoir closed in 2020. But as one dock closes, another opens. In 2019, Scurr worked to open a dock at Chesapeake Harbour, an Annapolis gated community, and the next year another at Homeport Farm in an Anne Arundel County park; the most recent dock, at Downs Park in Pasadena, was established in 2021.

“That’s always been the challenge,” says Scurr of finding water access for the club’s kayaks. “Originally it was just two or three locations down at the Inner Harbor. And now it’s grown to provide amenities in Baltimore County and beyond. The goal is to offer a variety of locations for members to explore. Right now, the vast majority of our members are residents of Baltimore City. But it doesn’t have to be that way.” Scurr is actively looking to find dock locations in Cherry Hill. “They’re so close to the water,” he says. “It could make sense to have a rack in Middle Branch; it would be a wonderful amenity.” He’d also like to expand more beyond Baltimore.

“[Kayaking] breaks down the divide between city and county,” Scurr says. “It allows people to explore and to go to areas that they’ve never been to.”

Baltimore City Recreation and Parks has historically offered once-a-week summer kayaking from Middle Branch Park and the Science Center at the Inner Harbor. However, even though Baltimore is one of the oldest ports in this country, a city built by and for ship-builders, dockworkers, crabbers, and fishermen, many of its current residents don’t get out on the water.

“People should be able to do this activity and get on the water,” says Scurr, “and small crafts are the lowest-cost way to do that. It gives you a different perspective. It’s kind of like reclaiming our water.”

If Scurr sounds a bit like he’s proselytizing, that’s because he is. Get him talking, and he’ll stress not only the physical benefits of kayaking, but also its emotional and psychological benefits. “It’s an ideal vehicle to reach people; it can bring people together. There’s a low degree of stress, most times—as long as you pay attention to the weather.”

And unlike, say, sailing, kayaking is a gateway sport, without any particular prior knowledge or too much physical strength necessary. The club requires a three-hour orientation session, which goes over basic skills as well as safety. There’s also an additional life-saving class that members can take through the club to qualify them as club leaders.

Rob Bennett, the Federal Hill professor, likes the convenience of having the Locust Point dock so close to where he lives. “The ease of not having to get your own paddle, your own life jacket, your own boat,” he says of why he joined the club. “And it’s within a mile of the house.”

Bennett joined in 2022 and was soon kayaking three to four times a week, mostly early in the mornings before he went to work. Through Slack, he’d arrange for a few fellow kayakers to join him most days, enjoying the camaraderie and the chance to chat across the water as they paddled. In the off-season, he meets his fellow kayakers for coffee every few weeks. (The club also hosts occasional gatherings, often at Fells Point taverns, to keep in touch during the winter months.)

Bennett was out on the water on the November morning of what turned out to be the last day of the 2022 season—an afternoon storm was rolling in, bringing squalls and temperatures that would plunge the water down below 60 degrees. Scurr would later visit the docks and change the combinations on all the locks, thereby ensuring that everyone would be off the water until he reset them in the spring.

Out on the Inner Harbor shortly after dawn that last morning, Bennett had paddled around the marina, waving to the folks on the Water Taxi crossing the Inner Harbor.

“Good to see my yacht is still there,” he joked, nodding to someone’s fancy sailboat as he skirted the boats in the marina.

Seagulls moved around the sky as it grew lighter, some coming to rest on the racks of kayaks at the dilapidated Fells Point dock, one of the oldest of the club’s docks, which is finally slated to be replaced later this year. The paddles dipped in unison, the splashes alternating with the cries of the gulls. The kayaks turned into the sunrise, then made for the other side of the harbor, smoke from the Domino stacks merging into the skyline, the reds and blues and yellows of the boats like nautical flags above the waves.

Trey Mancini has a magical night at Camden Yards. 
It’s fitting that Trey Mancini sounds like the name of an old-timey magician—because he certainly knows how to put it on a show. On Wednesday night against the Pittsburgh Pirates, Orioles fans felt pretty deflated going into the ninth inning down 6-2. But the Orioles managed to put runners on the corners with no outs, causing the Pirates to bring in closer Tony Watson. A sac fly by Joey Rickard and double by J.J. Hardy cut the lead in half. Then Buck Showalter put in Mancini as a pitch-hitter, where he battled against Watson for eight pitches before hitting a two-run homer out of the park to tie the game.

As if that wasn’t exciting enough, two innings later, Mancini delivered an extra-inning walk-off homer to give the Orioles a 9-6 victory in 11 innings. Because baseball nerds love numbers, Stats LLC reported that he is the first Oriole ever to accomplish the feat of pinch-hitting a game-tying homer and then hitting a walk-off in extra innings. In fact, there have only been two regular position players to ever do it: Boog Powell in 1966 and Eddie Murray in 1980. Pretty impressive company.

Ravens release Dennis Pitta after hip injury.
On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, Dennis Pitta was released Wednesday by the Baltimore Ravens after reinjuring his hip. Pitta is currently being hospitalized and undergoing procedures after he dislocated his hip for the third time in five years. This past Friday, he hurt his hip without any contact and merely stretching out for a catch. Previously, Pitta dislocated his hip during training camp in 2013 and early in the 2014 season. But in 2016 he returned to set team and career high records in catches.

“For him to get that year and to play so well was probably something beyond expectations and yet we hoped for me,” Coach John Harbaugh told ESPN. “We thought we would get more—it was not meant to be.” 

The latest injury for the tight end could be career-ending, and the release frees up $2.5 million in salary-cap room for the Ravens. “It’s going to be a tough conversation,” Harbaugh said. “But we’re friends.”

We will miss the on-field chemistry between real-life best friends Pitta and quarterback Joe Flacco. We wish Pitta and his family the best of luck as he recovers.

Manny Machado out with sprained left wrist.

In other injury news, one downside to Wednesday night’s incredibly Orioles game was third baseman Manny Machado leaving it early due to a strained left wrist, puncture, and bruise. During an awkward stolen-base slide into third, Pirate outfielder Andrew McCutchen unintentionally spiked Machado’s wrist as he tried to field the throw from the catcher.

As a result, Chris Davis got his first start at third base since 2014 against the Nationals on Thursday night. Though it’s been a while, Davis has the most experience at the position.

“I think he’s started over 300 games there, counting the minor leagues,” Showalter told The Sun. “I’m not particularly happy about having to do it, but it’s kind of where we are as a club.”

Woman ends 444-mile solo kayak journey in Havre de Grace.
Cathy Mumford pulled her kayak, dubbed “Sparky” into Havre de Grace marina at 4:30 p.m. on Thursday after quite the trip. The New Jersey native paddled for 444 miles and 26 days by herself from Cooperstown, New York down the Susquehanna River. She started her journey on Mother’s Day, May 14, paddling in her yellow, 9.5-foot kayak and camping along the way. 

“I see lots of fishermen, lots of Boy Scouts. I hardly ever see girls,” she told The Sun. “I’d just like to encourage young women to get out there more.”

Thanks to its location between the mountains and the bay, Baltimore has a surprising number of outdoor offerings, doesn’t it?
We have 4,600 acres of parkland. We have three major trail systems—bike and pedestrian—going through West, Central, and East Baltimore—four, if you include the harbor promenade. The water is a completely and totally under-utilized resource in Baltimore. We have miles and miles and miles of waterfront, and tons of publicly owned waterfront parks. There are just so many resources and a lot of people don’t realize they’re here.

Why are so many of these outdoor opportunities still unknown?
Outdoor recreation has traditionally been something that has been passed down generationally. You had somebody in your family or very close to you that was a fisherman or boater, but as people moved away from those types of activities, they stopped being passed down. 

There’s also this other phenomenon called the “bro-ification” of the outdoors. Whether its mountain biking or climbing, outdoor recreationists have traditionally been white affluent males. Now, there are more single female heads of household, so you have to make sure women have access to these skills, too.

The other big one is [access to] equipment. Recreation & Parks owns a fleet of bikes for getting people out on the trails, we own a fleet of kayaks for use, and we have an excellent staff of trained instructors.

With Baltimore City Recreation & Parks, you’re tasked with running a medley of outdoor programs throughout the city. Why is it so important to educate people on the environment?
If you don’t have people connected to these natural resources, they don’t seem to be interested in them. You’re not going to care about the rivers and the streams in Baltimore unless you start spending time on them. You can lecture people about the urban issues in watersheds and stream valleys, but you take them there, and you have them fall in love with fishing or kayaking, and it means something very different. I think Baltimore has a really unique opportunity to provide that.     

At what point did you realize this was what you wanted to do?
I have known since I was a small child that I needed to stay outside. I grew up on a horse farm in Baltimore County, almost somewhat feral. For me, escaping into the streams and woods and running along the trails was like my entire existence. It didn’t matter what the weather was—snow, rain—you had to drag me inside. I went to environmental high schools. I went to a college for adventure sports. I’ve always had outdoor jobs, like ski resorts, Living Classrooms Foundation, and Outward Bound.

With Baltimore, it really hit home when I first moved back. I was having a hard time being in the city because I needed that green space. I needed to be outside, and all of sudden, I felt like I was surrounded by concrete and it was because I did not know about the park system. Once I learned about what was going on here and how to use it, I started sharing it with other people as much as I possible.

What is your biggest goal with these programs?
I want to work myself out of a job. At the end of the day, I want to make sure we have given everyone such a good foundation that you don’t need me anymore. You don’t need me to go for a hike or a bike ride, because you have enough confidence and skill that you went out and bought your own. Everyone should have their own bike. Everybody should have their own kayak. Everybody should find whatever their passion is and be able to do it here in Baltimore.

What is your favorite program?
The sunset paddle. Sometimes you get “wow” sunsets that are just unbelievable. There’s this capstone of sitting around, floating in the middle of Baltimore City, but it’s so quiet because you’re on the water and watching the sky light up in all of these crazy colors. And every once in awhile, because we’re down near M&T Bank Stadium, the next thing you know, you look over and it has erupted in purple fireworks. It’s like a fireworks display just for us.

What is the most rewarding part of your job?
In the wintertime, I do a lot of my planning and office work and meetings. It’s really tough to be part of a city agency advocating for something that’s a somewhat new concept in an urban area. Sometimes the bureaucracy of it all is really challenging. But when you get to have an 8-year-old in your canoe for an afternoon paddle, and they’re looking at you, telling you it looks like there’s a thousand stars in the water because they had never really seen sunlight glistening on the waves before, it melts you to the point where it makes all that frustration of trying to explain to people what you do, and why it’s important, worth it.