While I write these words, Sarah Outen and Justine Curgenven are wending their way through the Aleutian Islands as part of Outen’s multiyear London2London Via The World enterprise. Russell Henry is somewhere off Vancouver Island, attempting a new speed record. Lee Sessions and Jenny Johnson are dragging canoes upstream from Hudson Bay to Ungava Bay, portaging 21 waterfalls. Jon and Kirti Walpole are forging along 900 kilometers of Nunavut rivers.
Meanwhile, I’m struggling to squeeze in a week’s tour of the comparatively local and placid Discovery Islands.
Stop obsessing over other kayakers’ adventures and get your own
With hectic lives and little time to plan our own trips, paddling is becoming a spectator sport. We live vicariously through the blogs and SPOT reports of those with the disposable income, gumption and skill to spend months braving foggy Alaskan crossings or dodging mosquitos and polar bears across the Arctic. But I don’t envy them.
Besides being long, arduous, expensive and logistically complex, these trips share another characteristic: they don’t sound remotely fun.
They’re feats of athletic prowess and dedication, and I’m sure if I did trips like that I’d be a better person in some abstract way. But I’m not likely to. Mega-trips are impressive but not necessarily inspiring—the gulf between these journeys and my paddling is as wide as the Pacific Ocean that Outen spent 150 days rowing across.
At a recent sold-out lecture I attended by another mega-tripper, the audience left shaking their heads with both awe and a sense of irrelevance. The average paddler is fully aware they’re unlikely to ever embark on a trip with grueling 40-mile days, considerable danger and weeks of separation from their families.
To inspire, journeys must be possible for people without type triple-A personalities. Seduced by the extreme, even active paddlers can feel like slouches on their local routes instead of enjoying themselves.
That’s not the fault of the ambitious adventurers who are just following their muse. However, the voyeuristic Internet tracking of mega-expeditions is the paddlesports equivalent of trashy celebrity magazines that line grocery checkout lanes.
Just as following the glitz of the rich and famous can leave us dissatisfied with our otherwise fulfilling lives—why aren’t I driving a Ferrari and dating Taylor Swift?—the mega-expedition obsession robs more realistic trips of their own considerable grandeur.
From mundane to momentous, the right trip fits you
Though my paddling résumé lacks epics and even frequent overnighters, I’m not an armchair kayaker. I’ve been out for a paddle six times in the past week. They were all short jaunts near my front door, squeezed between deadlines, meetings and social gatherings.
The value of these so-called mundane trips isn’t that they’re the longest, fastest or most daring. It’s that they work: They renew our spirit, strengthen friendships and rekindle our love of nights spent under the stars and in wild places.
When I do manage longer trips, I’d rather camp on a wilderness surf beach for three days than chart an expedition that can be measured on a globe. I cover short distances, take layover days and tell jokes around the campfire. Friends stop following my SPOT updates when they realize I’m not moving much. I may have fewer stories, but I like to think I have more fun.
I’m not the only one to feel this way. A countercurrent to our romanticizing of the mega-trip is gaining steam. Shawna Franklin and Leon Somme of Body Boat Blade International are promoting the Jellyfish Award for the slowest circumnavigation of Vancouver Island. If I ever compete for it, I’ll seek sponsorship from a hammock company, Penguin Books and Clear Creek Distillery instead of a racing kayak manufacturer.
Regular Adventure Kayak contributor Neil Schulman is currently seeking sponsorship for a solo, unsupported circumnavigation of Ross Island—a four-mile expedition in downtown Portland, Oregon. He won’t be tracking his progress online.
This article was first published in the 2015 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Choose your own kayak adventure. | Feature photo: Gary Luhm
