Inside The World’s Toughest Paddling Race—On SUPs

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July 22, 2025

July 21, 14:30, somewhere just south of the Arctic Circle. Dehydrated, sunburnt, nursing blisters and suffering from nerve damage in our feet from standing for so long, we were just 20 miles from the finish line of the Yukon 1000, the world’s longest and toughest unsupported survival paddle race. And for the first time, we were certain: we were going to finish within the cutoff time.

Inside the world’s toughest paddling race—on SUPs

Eight days and 980 miles earlier, we had set off from Whitehorse, the capital of Canada’s Yukon territory. But the true start to our journey began four years earlier, back in 2019, when my paddling partner, Skip, and I discovered the race while searching for a multi-day SUP hallenge.

First, we found the infamous Yukon River Quest, a 444-mile race from Whitehorse to Dawson, following the same route gold rush stampeders took north in the 1890s. The Yukon River Quest is billed as “the second longest paddle race in the world,” which, of course, made us wonder, which is the longest?

Beyond Dawson

The Yukon 1000 claimed the title as the longest paddle race in the world when it began in 2009. Once a wild outpost teeming with fortune seekers, Dawson City is the end point of the Yukon River Quest but just the halfway point for the Yukon 1000, which stretches another 500 miles to the Dalton Highway Bridge, 140 miles north of Fairbanks, Alaska. The race cutoff is 234 hours—equivalent to nine days and 18 hours. If you exceed this time, your finish will not be acknowledged. The race is open to kayaks, canoes and SUPs, but everyone must paddle in a team—no one races alone.

Most participants complete the race in seven to eight days. The fastest time? Five days, 11 hours, and 48 minutes, set by a kayak team in 2022.

Each year, thousands of teams apply, but just 30 teams are awarded spots. At first, Skip and I didn’t have high hopes of being selected and quickly forgot about the application. To say we were surprised at being accepted was an understatement.

“I’m looking for applications with a bit of humility—teams that tell me, ‘This is where we are at, these are our strengths, and these are the things we are going to work on if we are accepted,’” race organizer Jon Firth told me later. “I don’t care how many followers you have or what your social media reach is—that won’t get you across the line. It’s about what skills you are missing and how you are going to address that.”

As it turned out, Skip and I ended up having much longer than anticipated to work on our weaknesses and missing skills. The 2020 race was canceled due to the pandemic, and 2021 met the same fate. In 2022, the race was greenlit, but two days before the race—after traveling all the way from the United Kingdom and while preparing in Whitehorse—I tested positive for COVID. It was crushing.

Due to the remoteness of the expedition, we made the tough decision to withdraw. But Skip and I both agreed we had unfinished business and the following year, we finally got underway.

River Life

Nothing really prepares you for what it’s like on the Yukon River. Even with four years of preparation, research, and training, it was impossible to replicate just what it would be like to paddle 18 hours a day in such stunningly brutal, beautiful, and remote wilderness.

Days on the river followed the same pattern. We paddled close to midnight each day, then looked for somewhere safe to camp for the mandatory six-hour daily stop. In those six hours, we had to make camp, deal with injuries and niggles, prep water filtration for the next day and get some sleep. And then do it all in reverse to be back on the water exactly six hours later so we didn’t lose valuable time.

We averaged just two and a half to three hours of sleep per day.

The further north we traveled, the more desolate and barren the environment became. It went from 35°C blistering sunshine to 30-mile-per-hour headwinds, torrential rain and a dip in temperature of 10 degrees or more within minutes. That far north, the summer sun never really sets.

Man stands with flare on top of custom-built expedition paddleboard ready for major feats of paddling

5 Most Impressive SUP Feats Of The Year

By the time we entered the Arctic Circle on our sixth day, we had only seen a handful of people in almost 700 miles. We had no idea where we were placed in the race or how close—or far—the other teams were. A team could be a mile ahead or 50 behind, and we’d never know.

That’s part of what makes the Yukon 1000 different. From the moment you leave the start, you are on your own. No checkpoints, no safety boats, no resupply. Absolutely no outside help is allowed. The mandatory satellite phone stays sealed in a tamper-proof bag, only to be used in an emergency—at which point you are also disqualified. The SPOT tracker sends a one-way ping for organizers, family, and friends to track progress. That’s it.

Racing Ghosts

The silence played tricks on us. We had no way of knowing if a team was a few bends behind or had slipped ahead through one of the hundreds of islands and channels we picked our way through. Later in the race, as we began to hallucinate from lack of sleep, we saw shadows and shapes on the horizon and were convinced it was other teams catching us.

Creeping paranoia led to short tempers that could have easily boiled over into arguments. Exhaustion and sleep deprivation can turn small things into big issues in places where you can’t afford conflict. This is where the relationship and understanding you have with your paddle partner is tested; pick the wrong wingman, and you will both have a terrible time.

Yukon 1000 competitor Craig Sawyer leans forward on his paddleboard at the finish line — Paddlers must be totally self sufficient for the entire race. | Photo: Courtesy Craig Sawyer

Craig and teammate Skip at the end of the Yukon 1000 race — Craig and teammate Skip at the end of the race. | Photo: Aldis Toome

As it turned out, Skip and I were perfect partners, pulling each other through the tough times. When we finally spotted the Dalton Highway Bridge that we had dreamed about for four years, every blister, sleepless hour, and hallucination was worth it. We crossed the line as the first SUP team, clocking in at eight days, 13 hours and three minutes with smiles on our faces.

The Yukon 1000 taught me so much. We are capable of far more than we give ourselves credit for, and there is so much joy and reward when you step outside of your comfort zone. Every delay and challenge was part of the journey—I wouldn’t have it any other way. The Yukon still has a hold on me. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can smell the pine and feel the miles stretching ahead.

Craig Sawyer is a performance SUP coach. His documentary about the race is now available to stream at yukon1000documentary.com. In the summer of 2025, Craig will return to race solo in the Yukon River Quest.

This article was published in Issue 73 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

The Yukon 1000 is the world’s longest paddling race and takes, on average, eight nearly-sleepless days to complete. Each year, thousands of teams apply for just 30 coveted spots. | Feature photo: Courtesy Craig Sawyer

Paddleboarders Encounter Great White Shark Off Cape Cod (Video)

By

Maddy Marquardt

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July 22, 2025

While paddleboarding near Cape Cod, a confirmed great white shark emerged just feet away from paddleboarding pair Margaret Bowles and Madeleine Cronin.

Bowles had asked Cronin to take a photo of her when an eight-inch grey fin appeared in the frame, turning a peaceful day on the water into a thriller. Cronin shared that the shark passed about a foot away from her board and she could feel it passing by.

Paddleboarders encounter paddleboard-sized great white shark

“Get to the beach!” said Cronin, who then paddled so hard toward safety that she broke her paddle.

The pair went on to report the sighting using Sharktivity app, where the Atlantic White Shark Conservancy tracks great white sharks in the area. Marine Biologist John Chisolm with the New England Aquarium confirmed the sighting as a white shark. Chisolm shared that while this protected location—a smaller bay within Buzzard’s Bay—is a relatively uncommon location for a white shark, it is not unheard of. Chisholm added that the pointed dorsal fin indicates a white shark, also sharing that the shark was likely a similar size to the paddleboards the pair was using.

Paddleboarder Madeleine Cronin reacts to spotting a great white shark near friend, Margaret Bowles. Feature Image: CBS Boston | YouTube — Paddleboarder Margaret Bowles paddles toward a great white shark near friend, Madeleine Cronin. Feature Image: Madeleine Cronin | CBS Boston | YouTube

Unfazed, both paddlers plan to return to the ocean and paddle again.

“I think we were both quite calm, given the circumstances, which I’m super grateful for, because it definitely would have been easy for one of us to freak out and fall off the board or something,” Bowles said to CBS news.

What to do if you spot a shark while out paddling

Chisolm emphasized that it’s important for paddlers to stay calm when a shark has been spotted and to paddle with the awareness that sharks are in the New England waters this time of year. Chisolm also recommended avoiding areas where seals and schools of fish are present to avoid being confused with prey and staying close to shore and well within the reach of first responders.

While shark encounters are comparatively common, instances of sharks attacking kayakers and paddlers are extremely uncommon.

According to CBS, there have been numerous shark sightings off the coast of Cape Cod in July 2025, with more than a dozen shark reports.

Massachusetts Shark Research Program writes that seasonal white shark sightings have increased and white sharks move more broadly through the North Atlantic than previously believed. With over 120 white sharks tagged off Cape Cod since 2009 and the Outer Cape seeing a growing population of grey seals, reliable white shark sightings in the area are on the rise. White sharks are found off Cape Cod from the second half of July throughout the summer then migrate to the southeastern US and Gulf of Mexico in the winter, with some larger sharks migrating into the open ocean as far as the Azores.

Additionally, researchers report that some evidence suggests that white shark populations in New England are on the rise in recent years due to a rebounding population after a period of overfishing and rising temperatures bringing white sharks farther north sooner.

Indigenous Youth Kayakers Complete Historic First Descent Of Klamath River (Video)

By

Maddy Marquardt

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July 16, 2025

ScreePaddle Tribal Waters youth carry a tribal flag at the mouth of the Klamath River on June 11. Feature Image: Courtesy Eric Boomer / River Roots

On July 11, 2025, a team of Indigenous teenagers from the tribes of the Klamath Basin completed a historic first descent of the undammed Klamath River. The 310-mile route winds through southern Oregon and northern California. The descent celebrated the removal of four hydroelectric dams on the Klamath River, now free-flowing for the first time in over a hundred years. The Klamath River dam removal project was the largest dam removal in history.

First source to sea descent of the newly free-flowing Klamath

This first source to sea descent of the free-flowing Klamath serves not only as a celebration of the dam removals, an environmental success largely spearheaded by Indigenous activists, but also a highly symbolic reclaiming of the waterway and meaning of the phrase “first descent”.

“We’ve really grappled with this [the term first descent] a lot, recognizing that our river’s been a highway for water transit since time immemorial, canoes have existed from the top of the headwaters down to the mouth at Requa,” Danielle Frank, Director of Development and Community Engagement for Rios to Rivers and member of the Hoopa and Yurok Tribes told Paddling Magazine in Fall 2024.

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A post shared by Ríos to Rivers (@riostorivers)

The team arrived at the mouth of the Klamath River on July 11, and is made up of eighth through 12th graders who have trained on the McKenzie, Salmon, Smith and Trinity Rivers as well as the Bio Bio in Chile. Training was completed as part of the Paddle Tribal Waters Academy, a collaboration between Rios to River’s Paddle Tribal Waters program and World Class Academy, and training included developing whitewater kayaking and river safety skills while carrying full-class loads and studying an Indigenous-informed curriculum. Preparation for the trip took three years.

“I feel so proud to have completed this trip, and am feeling grateful for the support of my family and the fact that I got to honor my grandma’s legacy in her fight for dam removal,” Ke-Get Omar Dean V, 18, a member of the Yurok Tribe, shared in a press release from Rios to Rivers. “We got to complete this journey because of the people that came before us and ensured a free-flowing river.”

(Paddle Tribal Waters youth, family and tribal members and supporters form a ceremonial circle Friday on the sand spit at the mouth of the Klamath River Friday). — Paddle Tribal Waters youth, family and tribal members and supporters form a ceremonial circle Friday on the sand spit at the mouth of the Klamath River Friday. Image Courtesy Eric Boomer / River Roots.

The new free-flowing Klamath River

The Klamath River dam removal project restores nearly 400 miles of habitat for salmon. In addition to hopefully reviving that vital salmon habitat, the dam removal project also brings relief to Indigenous communities along the banks of the Klamath dependent on salmon and the river – communities that suffered while the dams were in place including the Yurok, Karuk, Hoopa, Shasta and Klamath.

Once the third-largest producer of salmon in the contiguous United States according to American Rivers, the health of the Klamath River, the health of salmon and the health of the Indigenous communities along the Klamath are closely tied. Indigenous communities on the banks of the dammed Klamath were cut off from traditional healthy food sources and live in one of the largest food deserts along the West Coast, Frank shared.

The first of the four hydroelectric dams came down in October 2023 and Iron Gate Dam, the final dam, came down in September 2024. Rehabilitation of the Klamath River is far from complete, but in October 2024 Chinook salmon were observed in the Klamath basin for the first time in over a century.

Paddle Tribal Waters youth carry a tribal flag at the mouth of the Klamath River on June 11. Feature Image: Courtesy Eric Boomer / River Roots

a group of rafters paddle down the renowned Hells Canyon section of the Klamath River

Last Call On The Klamath River

How To Pack For Kayak Camping

By

Virginia Marshall

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July 15, 2025

A well-packed kayak is one where you know where everything is, and nothing important gets left behind. So, as a veteran guide, I felt personally responsible when our group’s second snack bag failed to turn up halfway through a weeklong trip.

We searched every kayak, pulling the contents from the hatches until the boats lay empty and the beach resembled an outdoor gear swap. We stuck our heads through the large oval hatches to peer inside and probed the smaller round hatches with arms buried to our shoulders. Nothing. How did a brightly colored five-liter dry bag simply vanish? Given the bag’s precious contents, there was the inevitable speculation of foul play.

How to pack for kayak camping

Packing a kayak for multiday camping journeys is both an art and a science. There’s a deceptive amount of space in those slender hatches. Compare a compact touring kayak’s 150-ish liters of available storage to a typical 60-liter backpack or 70-liter pair of bicycle panniers, and that’s more than double the capacity you’d have trekking or touring on two wheels.

A place for everything and everything in its place. | Photo: Virginia Marshall

Optimizing your packing game means considering the size, shape and material of your gear bags, planning for efficient access, and understanding how weight distribution affects on-water performance. With a bit of practice and strategy, even smaller touring kayaks have ample space for all the essentials and a few luxuries (fresh food!) as well.

Follow these tips to ensure your favorite camp chair makes it into your hatch at the put-in, not back into your car.

Pro tip

Next time you’re at IKEA, pick up a couple of their heavy-duty reusable shopping totes for carting your constellation of small bags around the campsite. They’re spacious, water-repellent, weigh nothing, can be stuffed just about anywhere and cost just 99 cents.

Know your hatches

Familiarize yourself with the idiosyncrasies of your kayak’s storage areas. The size of the hatch opening may determine whether bulkier items, such as pot sets and sleeping bags, will fit in the bow or stern. Similarly, the depth of the hatch is a consideration for larger, non-compressible packages. Sometimes, these two factors are at odds with each other—the bow of a kayak is usually deeper than the stern, but often it is outfitted with a smaller hatch lid. Figuring out what gear best fits where can be a process of experimentation. Kayaks outfitted with under-stern skegs have the added complication of a molded-in skeg box to work around in the rear hatch.

Good things in small packages

When it comes to kayak touring, numerous smaller bags are much easier than a couple of large bags to fit like puzzle pieces into your hatches. Aim for bags in the five- to 15-liter range; tapered, kayak-specific dry bags are another great option for making efficient use of the narrow bow and stern ends.

Pro tip

Any water inside your hatches will pool at the lowest point (usually at the bulkhead, along the hull). Keep dry-priority items higher in the hatch, just under the deck. My favorite spot for my tent, sleeping pad and camp footwear is stuffed far up the bow, high and dry.

Waterproofing 101

On paper, kayak hatches are watertight. In practice, most hatches are nearly watertight. This means that over the course of a paddling day, especially a splashy one, a small amount of water may find its way into your sealed hatches. Pack anything that absolutely must stay dry—such as your sleeping bag, spare warm layers, camp clothes and sensitive electronics—in durable polyurethane-coated dry bags. It isn’t practical or necessary to dry bag everything in your hatch. Items like tarps, canned or sealed foods, fresh produce, cook sets and even tents are fine to pack in lightweight stuff sacks.

Balance your boat

Pro tip

Aim for neutral trim—sit in the loaded kayak in the water and ask a friend to check your profile.

One of the enduring pleasures of kayak camping is not obsessing over every ounce of weight. Unlike hiking with a heavy pack, a loaded kayak paddles nearly as effortlessly as an empty boat. It is important, however, to ensure you distribute the weight in a way that promotes balanced handling and performance. Pack the heaviest items in the bottom of the hatches, centered along the keel and closest to the cockpit. This keeps the center of gravity low and distributes weight evenly from side to side.

Front-to-back weight distribution—known as trim—is just as critical. A bow-heavy kayak tracks poorly and is tiring to paddle, not to mention wet in wavy conditions. Stern-heavy is similarly problematic.

Pro tip

Make use of hard-to-reach spaces for storing food or gear items you won’t need until later in the trip. I pack a spare fuel bottle, a bathroom kit resupply, and a Tetra Pak of Pinot Grigio for the final night behind my skeg.

Pack for accessibility

Keep frequently used items and safety essentials close to hatch lids so they’re readily accessible. I like to pack the first aid kit, repair kit, sunscreen, water filter and tarp within easy reach in my day hatch, just behind the cockpit. A low-profile deck bag, or under-deck bag, is a great option for stashing smaller essentials in kayaks without a day hatch or built-in deck pod. Avoid extraneous deck clutter—strapping dry bags, camp chairs, frying pans and other riff-raff to your kayak isn’t just aesthetically disagreeable, it’s also a real safety hazard impeding rescues and reentry should you capsize.

Consistency, not confusion

Learn what works for your kayak, then stick with the same packing routine for the whole trip. On group trips where shared essentials and meals are distributed among all the kayaks, I jot down a group gear and food inventory for each boat in a waterproof notepad at the launch. In the chaos of the first pack-out, this minimizes confusion later and is a great way to double-check nothing is overlooked.

Socks, poncho, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, and other gear laid out on floor of tent

9 Accessories For The Comfiest Kayak Camping Trip Ever

We didn’t find the missing snack bag until after the trip had ended. Back at the outfitters, following a long trailer shuttle, it appeared as if by magic in a front hatch. Two-and-a-half hours bumping down the Trans-Canada revealed what days of diligent searches had not—a red dry bag stashed within a kayak of precisely the same color. Wedged at the very tip of the bow, it had been perfectly camouflaged and beyond our reach.

Kayak camping packing checklist

Whether you’re going on your first kayak trip or your hundredth, it’s always best to refer to a checklist so you don’t forget any essentials. Check off items as you pack, but bring only what suits your trip, conditions and style. Not every item is essential for every paddler.

Kayaking essentials

Kayak
Paddle
Extra paddle
PFD (Personal Flotation Device)
Paddle float
Sprayskirt
Cockpit cover
Emergency throw line (in throw bag)
Bailer or bilge pump
Large sponge
Weather/VHF radio
Signaling devices (whistle, mirror, flares)
Waterproof maps/charts + compass
Dry bags (various sizes)

Safety & navigation

Waterproof matches/lighter/firestarter
Cellphone (in waterproof case)
First-aid kit
Knife
Watch
Kayak lights (if paddling after dark)
Sunscreen
Lip balm
Water bottles
Water filter/treatment
Electrolyte mix
Bear spray
Satellite communicator

Camp basics

Tent
Sleeping bag
Sleeping pad
Stove + fuel
Meals + snacks
Cookset + utensils
Dishes + cups
Insect repellent
Headlamp or flashlight + extra batteries
Trip itinerary (copy in car + with friend)
Camp permits (if required)

Clothing

Drysuit or paddling top
Shorts or zip-off pants
Wicking base layers
Insulating layer (jacket, vest, pants)
Rain jacket + pants
Socks
Paddling footwear
Camp shoes
Sun hat
Sunglasses
Neck gaiter or bandana
Warm hat
Swimsuit

Personal items

Toilet paper + trowel
Toiletries
Hand sanitizer
Camera
Book
Binoculars
Credit card + small cash

Repair & tools

Duct tape
Kayak repair kit
Tent pole splint
Cord
Sewing kit
Multi-tool

Get a Printable Kayak Camping Packing Checklist

Virginia Marshall is a 20-year veteran guide on Lake Superior’s northern shore, and a former editor of Adventure Kayak magazine.

This article was published in Issue 74 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Minimal-ish. | Feature photo: Cody Shimizu

Canoeist Rescued After Treading Water For 12 Hours (Video)

By

Maddy Marquardt

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July 15, 2025

Rescuerer interviewed after saving woman who, after her canoe capsized, treaded water for 12 hours. — Rescuer Russel Tryder interviewed after saving woman who, after her canoe capsized, treaded water for 12 hours. Feature Image: WINK News | YouTube

A Florida woman was rescued in Charlotte County after her canoe capsized around nine in the evening and she was left to tread water overnight.

The canoeist was found the next morning by a good Samaritan charter captain, Russel Tryder, in the Peace River in the middle of Charlotte Harbor around ten in the morning. She was located about one mile from shore.

Charter captain rescues canoeist who spent night treading water

“I heard someone yelling ‘help’,” Tryder said in an interview with WINK News. “And I looked over and here’s a woman yelling ‘help’ and she was able to wave her hands.”

Tryder saw the woman’s head in the water and heard her calling for help, then turned his boat around to assist. As he approached, he saw the canoeist’s arms go up and her head go underwater. The canoeist told Tryder that she didn’t know how much longer she could hold on, and that she had been out all night.

Tryder was able to get a line to the canoeist and pull her aboard the boat. The canoeist was then able to climb aboard without assistance, WINK News reported.

“She kind of crawled on, and she was shivering and it looked like she was in the water for a long time,” Tryder said in the interview.

It was also reported that the rescued canoeist was one of two people in the canoe when it capsized; both paddlers were separately rescued by good Samaritans.

Surviving a capsize

Tryder told WINK News that the incident cemented for him the importance of wearing a personal flotation device (PFD), or life-jacket, when out on the water.

While many paddlers secure a PFD to their boat, PFDs and life jackets are nearly impossible to put on from the water, particularly in the conditions that cause capsize. Capsized paddlers may become separated from their paddle craft in the event of unexpected capsize; if the PFD is secured to the paddlers boat rather than worn, it can easily become lost when you need it most.

In addition to wearing a PFD, there are several other steps paddlers can take to decrease time in the water and increase chances of rescue. Leaving a float plan that details where you plan to paddle and when you plan to return with a trusted friend or family member is a great way to help rescuers know when to initiate a search, and where to begin searching. If attempts at self-rescue fail or are impossible, your next chance is to call for help. Beyond the float plan and a worn PFD, carrying several waterproof ways to call for help such as a cell phone in a secured dry bag, a VHF radio, a whistle, flares and/or a signalling mirror.

Rescuer Russel Tryder interviewed after saving woman who, after her canoe capsized, treaded water for 12 hours. Feature Image: WINK News | YouTube

How To Kayak Surf In Style

By

Alex Matthews

-

July 14, 2025

a man kayak surfing on a wave — If you know, you know. | Feature photo: Kevin Light

Aside from being one of the coolest feelings in the world, good surfing skills let you make controlled landings when conditions aren’t perfectly flat. They also help you to catch rides on wind waves to pick up dramatic speed downwind.

Because sea kayaks are fast, you can start your ride on gentle swells, before they become steep and start breaking.

How to kayak surf in style

To catch a wave, line up perpendicular to its face and, as it approaches, paddle aggressively forward in the direction the wave is moving.

Time your acceleration so you reach maximum speed just when the wave reaches you and starts to pick up your stern. This will mean waiting until the wave is quite close before paddling forward. It should take only three to five strokes to get up to speed.

As you feel your stern being picked up, lean forward and continue with a few more powerful strokes until you’re sure you’ve caught the wave.

Once surfing, you can stop paddling; gravity will keep you on the wave face. Now’s the time to shift your weight back a bit to unweight your bow and use a stern pry stroke to control your direction. A stern pry is the primary stroke for surfing because it’s the most powerful way to make small course corrections without slowing forward momentum.

To set up for the stern pry, plant your paddle firmly in the water behind your body. Submerge the whole blade for maximum power, and position the blade parallel to the kayak to minimize braking.

A strong pry requires aggressive torso rotation. Turn your whole upper body toward your ruddering blade. Your forward hand should be comfortably in front of your chest. Keeping your hands in front of your body in a power position protects your shoulders from injury. To steer, use the power of torso rotation to push away with the backside of your paddle blade.

Alternate between stern pries on either side of the boat. Plant your pry on the opposite side to the direction your bow is beginning to deflect. If your bow starts to veer to the right, stern pry on the left, and vice versa. With time, you’ll get good at prying in anticipation of where the bow is going. As you build your skills, you’ll also discover how edging your kayak helps steer the boat and keep it going straight, or turn it far more responsively.

As the wave gets steeper and breaks, your bow will likely dive, or pearl, and dynamically deflect to the left or right. Don’t bother trying to fight this. Instead, quickly edge your boat toward the direction of the turn (into the wave) by shifting your weight onto the inside butt cheek and lifting the outer knee. If the wave is still green, you can carve right off of it. If it’s breaking, you’ll end up side surfing.

How To Scout Surf For Kayaking

Ensure you have a safe and kayak-friendly run-out before hopping on any wave.

Five steps to kayak surf

Lean forward and paddle hard to catch the wave
Lean back and steer with a stern pry
Edge your boat aggressively into the turn
Brace into the wave
Carve off the back or ride out the side-surf

This article was published in Issue 73 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

If you know, you know. | Feature photo: Kevin Light

Inside The Whitewater Accident That Led To An Underwater Amputation (Video)

By

Maddy Marquardt

-

July 10, 2025

On Nov 22, 2024, a Lithuanian whitewater rafter with 50 years of experience was scouting rapids on the remote Franklin River in Tasmania when he slipped, falling into the rapids and wedging his leg between the rocks. So began a more than 20 hour rescue effort that culminated in an underwater above-the-knee amputation, a story now documented in an Australian Story documentary The River.

“How does someone’s leg go into a crack and not come out? Like, surely there’s a way. There’s always a way. And there wasn’t,” Rohan Kilham, a paramedic on the scene shared in the documentary. “I remember the Lithuanian doctor sort of asking… he’s dead isn’t he? And I couldn’t say yes but I… I definitely couldn’t say no.”

From an epic rafting trip to a desperate rescue

Valdas Bieliauskas and his friends aimed to raft one river on every continent and Australia was their final destination. On Nov 22 the group was using a drone to scout the Coruscades rapids and made the decision not to run them. It was in the process of scouting these rapids that Bieliauskas, jumping from rock to rock, slipped into the river–an incident caught on camera from several angles.

Bieliauskas fell on his back and turned over; somehow his leg got wedged in a small gap between two rocks. His friends fixed him with safety ropes and tried to extract him from the hole without hurting him, but Bieliauskas’ leg was stuck. For nearly 40 minutes they worked at freeing Bieliauskas before making the decision to send out an SOS signal via satellite phone.

Rescuers later estimated the water temperature to be 8-10 degrees Celsius (46-50 Fahrenheit).

Five hours after Bieliauskas fell, the rescue team arrived. Pilots ruled out landing on the scene and needed instead to winch first responders down into the ravine. A new helicopter circled every few hours bringing in different specialists and new equipment. Communication out of the ravine was unreliable.

Man stuck in a rapid on the Franklin River — Valdas Bieliauskas slipped into a rapid on the Franklin River, wedging his leg between to rocks, resulting in a 20+ hour rescue effort. Feature Image: ABC News In-depth | YouTube

First, they tried to manually manipulate the leg by pushing and pulling. Then, they tried a sling around the leg.

“65-year-old male, fit, well. No medical history, no daily medications. He seems to be for the most part in relatively good spirits and we’re doing our best to keep him warm,” said one of the rescue team members in a debrief on the scene after dark. At this point Valdas had been in the water more than five hours.

Adrain “Ace” Petrie, a swiftwater rescue technician, on the scene shared with ABC News that during the rescue you could feel the pressure of the water like an undertow pulling to where Bieliauskas’ leg was stuck.

When they couldn’t free Bieliauskas’ leg manually, they tried spreaders, then a hydraulic jack and airbags to move the rock itself, all to no avail. The team discussed jack hammering the rock but decided there was too much potential that it would make things worse.

“There was an understanding across our group that if anyone had an idea as far-fetched as it might be in any combination of our equipment,” said Mitch Parkinson, a paramedic, in the documentary, “We would try every single one.”

A difficult decision

As efforts wore on through the night it became increasingly apparent that Bieliauskas’ knee was stuck in such a way that rescuers would have to break it to pull it out. Throughout the rescue Bieliauskas’ friends communicated with him to help him translate and brought him hot food.

Kilham shared that it took a while for Bieliauskas to become dangerously hypothermic. “Even into the early hours of the morning Valdas was actually doing remarkably well,” Kilham said in the documentary.

“You could see the determination in Valdas’s eyes. Even though his body was deteriorating he was not giving up,” shared Petrie.

By the morning of Nov 23, Bieliauskas had been in the water about 16 hours. At this point the rescue team decided to make one more attempt to pull Bieliauskas out – an attempt that would involve breaking his leg to free him. The attempt failed. The team had one course of action left.

“It was a big mental hurdle, realizing that we were now going to cut his leg off. I felt so conflicted. I’d never ever had to hurt someone to save their life,” Kilham said in The River.

Arvyadas Rudokas, Bieliauskas’ friend and Lithuanian rafter and doctor, explained to Bieliauskas that they were preparing to amputate his leg and this was the only chance he had. He explained to Bieliauskas that he may become handicapped but if they did not do this he would die.

Bieliauskas nodded his head and 19 hours after his initial fall, the team began to prepare for amputation. As the preparations began, Dr. Nick Scott slipped and broke his wrist and so with the team now 20 hours into the mission they decided it was time to request new personnel.

Underwater amputation in a rapid

“I must admit I was pretty horrified,” said Dr. Jorian “Jo” Kippax in the documentary, coming into what he described as an overwhelming scene. There was about a 10-minute handover and it was impressed upon Kippax that the amputation needed to happen immediately.

Complications continued: due to the rushing water it was initially difficult to get a tourniquet on. They couldn’t use general anesthesia due to the angle of Bieliauskas’ head; they used Ketamine instead. Generally, amputations are done visually; with Bieliauskas’ leg submerged, Kippax opted to not wear gloves in order to better feel what was happening beneath the water. Halfway through sawing through the femur, the saw broke. Kippax broke Bieliauskas’ femur and he was free. There was no gush of blood, and the entire procedure took about two minutes.

Valdas Bieliauskas and rescuers as the mission wore on into the night. Image: ABC News In-depth | YouTube

“No one ever trains to amputate a leg above the knee under water in the wilderness with no resources in a rapid on belay. It’s such an extraordinary circumstance,” said Kilham in the documentary.

When Rudokas saw Bieliauskas as he was pulled from the river, he thought his friend was dead.

The doctors anticipated Bieliauskas would have cardiac arrest due to hypothermia when they got him up. Bieliauskas’ heart rate slowed and he stopped breathing after a half hour and was connected to a ventilator. As a helicopter circled to extract Bieliauskas, his heart stopped and the rescuers performed CPR and put him on a mechanical CPR device. Bieliauskas and Kippax were winched out.

By the time Bieliauskas reached the Hobart hospital he had been on the CPR machine for an hour and a half, and was in a coma for four days before he woke. Not long after, he met Kippax, the man who amputated his leg in a rapid.

“I survived. I endured. That’s the greatest joy,” Bieliauskas told ABC News after the accident. “As for the leg, that’s not a problem. The main thing is being alive and life is a beautiful thing.”

Why Packrafting Might Be The Ultimate Adventure Sport

By

Luc Mehl

-

July 9, 2025

Floating down river in a packraft. — Drifting down the Elbow River. | Image: Matt Allen / AQ Outdoors

Created In Partnership With AQ Outdoors

I had a “mind-blown” moment in a packraft while paddling out from the crater lake of an active volcano in Alaska. “Seriously?” I thought. “Who gets to do this?” I was enraptured. The crater lake was turquoise-blue, surrounded by black basalt, green grass, blue lupine flowers and a curious red fox. The only objects with more pop were our vibrant personal crafts. And this wasn’t even supposed to be the highlight of the trip. After leaving the crater, we’d paddle the Aniakchak River as it ramped down from volcanic boulder-garden class IV to drifting class I over 30 miles of wilderness at the far corner of North America.

It was our ultra-portable human-powered vessels that made this trip possible. It took two flights, a hitched ride and a 25-mile hike to reach the crater lake, none of which would have been fun lugging in a kayak or larger inflatable boat. In fact, the members of our party who didn’t want to paddle the class IV section simply portaged the eight-pound packrafts around.

Despite having grown up on the bank of Alaska’s second-largest river and attending college in the land of 10,000 lakes, I never really saw water until I bought a packraft. Once I did, I made up for lost time. My packrafts have surfed waves in Hawaii (poorly), guided my in-laws through an iceberg-filled lake (frigidly), caught Arctic char in sleepy pools (fillingly), and transported kids, dogs, skis and mountaineering gear (not all at the same time). I even hosted a game of “packraft polo” during my wedding.

Packrafting down a rapid. — Navigating a rapid on British Columbia’s Elbow River. | Image: Matt Allen / AQ Outdoors

Lightweight and portable boats have appealed to cultures worldwide for millennia, initially as woven boats. The first inflatable raft was created within a few years of the vulcanization process for rubber in the 1800s, and could even be worn as a cloak. The modern era of packrafting co-originated in Tasmania, where flatwater inflatables and sleeping pads were modified for downriver use, and in Alaska, where Sheri Tingey built a river-capable boat for her college-aged son to carry into the mountains. Today’s packrafts range from four to 10 pounds and fit in the sleeping bag compartment of an overnight backpack.

Being old and new at the same time, packrafts provide a unique offering to the paddlesport community. The key to understanding the modern packraft’s value is knowing they were initially designed as hiking accessories, with downriver performance only gaining attention in the last two decades. The result is both a blessing and a curse. Let’s start with the blessings.

Busting down barriers to paddlesports

Packrafts are an excellent option for water-curious recreationists. They are easier to transport than any other boats, more stable than everything except for sit-on-top kayaks, and more comfortable for new paddlers than river kayaks.

The wide, flat bottom of a packraft provides an immediate sense of comfort and capability. The hull design of most packrafts results in excellent primary stability (while flat in the water) and poor secondary stability (while on edge). In more useful terms, packrafts are very stable until they get tipped on edge. The common open-boat design also feels less committing and contained than a kayak. Even decked packrafts have oversized non-confining cockpits.

If water-curious folks become whitewater-curious, the packraft is again an easier entry point. It helps to draw a parallel to the “qualifier” feature commonly found at the start of many technical mountain bike trails. The idea of the qualifier is if you can’t bike it, you shouldn’t ride the rest of the trail. The kayaker’s equivalent of a qualifier is the combat roll—your ability to roll controls your progression into more challenging whitewater, and your boat lets you know when you aren’t ready for the next level of difficulty. While some packrafters can roll their boats, most rely on a wet reentry, which is significantly easier than learning to roll a kayak. With practice, the reentry can take seconds. The primary stability and this ability to self-rescue without a roll allow paddlers to enjoy whitewater without these barriers kayaks present.

I recognize Alaska rarely represents national trends—otherwise we’d see a lot more Carhartts and beards—but most new whitewater kayakers here in the state were introduced to whitewater as packrafters.

Combat roll not required for an open boat. | Image: Matt Allen / AQ Outdoors

Man carrying boat over rocks along river. — Carrying a fraction of the weight of a kayak helps with mountain goat maneuvers. | Image: Matt Allen / AQ Outdoors

From the local park to the most remote corners—packrafts can go anywhere

It is still incredible to me that these functional and durable boats can be carried at the bottom of a backpack or strapped to the handlebars of a bike. One of my first impressions with a packraft was that I had missed so many opportunities to bring the boat on vacations and road trips. Why not? From picnics with the kids, playing in the surf, to technical whitewater, a packraft can take you there.

The other benefit of the small package is the ease of storage and transportation: in the corner of a closet, the trunk of a car or the overhead compartment of an airplane.

On a float of the Colorado River’s Grand Canyon, our group had a spare packraft inside another packraft! It’s just that easy.

Packrafting and remote access have also always gone hand-in-hand—the blue lines on the map suddenly turn into trails. I typically seek more scenic rather than technical rivers in my packraft, and my favorite trips have involved switching between hiking and paddling, such as on the Aniakchak. Other paddlers seek harder water, and recent advances in hull design have opened hard-to-access class IV and V rivers to capable packrafters.

Willing Teachers

An attribute of packrafts easy to overlook is their stability can quickly create a false sense of ability. I paddled class III and IV rivers for years without good technique when catching eddies and peeling out. This is because the attributes that make a packraft easier to jump in can also make it hard to distinguish between skill and luck.

It took a series of close calls and a few fatalities within my paddling community to bring the consequences of poor technique to my attention. I had been running rivers like I hiked trails: fast and straight down the middle. This worked, until it didn’t.

I recognized the need for mentorship and found it in a warm (if wet) embrace from the river running community. Instead of a backpacker with a boat, I became a river runner. I tried to match kayakers’ maneuvers stroke-for-stroke. I took a swiftwater rescue course, and made eddy-hopping a normal part of my outings. In addition to becoming a better and more prepared paddler, I was rewarded with new friendships and trip partners.

The global packrafting community has done a wonderful job of developing a safety culture, and proper equipment and training are more common than ever. But the motivation has to come from within; you can’t rely on the packraft to tell you what you don’t know.

a woman paddleboards in an idyllic tropical location in Indonesia

Our Favorite Paddling Trips You Can Do

Return to the Aniakchak

On those last miles of the Aniakchak River, the gradient waned, and we faced a brutal headwind before reaching the ocean. But once we had finished, the reward was a dry cabin and an endless shore of driftwood to fuel the woodstove.

We listened to the waves crash, dried our gear and prepared for the next leg of the journey: a week of walking and paddling our packrafts along the coast to reach the next airstrip, where I got bit by a dog. I suspect he was just jealous of my boat.

Feature Image: Matt Allen / AQ Outdoors

Navigation Apps Are Making Us Dumber

By

Maddy Marquardt

-

July 8, 2025

Nowadays, it’s rare to hit the trail or water without finding someone’s nose glued to a phone or navigating by hand-held GPS device. Smartphone navigation is especially common in hiking, but paddlers are uniquely positioned to recognize a stark truth: GPS devices and apps are making our navigation skills worse.

person holds up a Garmin handheld GPS at a mountainous kayak location

The Rise, Fall And Rise Of Handheld GPS

Navigation apps are making us dumber

A 2024 study from researchers at the University of California, Santa Barbara found that individuals who relied heavily on GPS tended to have poorer spatial memory and a diminished ability to form mental maps of their surroundings. So, while devices can be helpful—sometimes even lifesaving—following a traced route on a screen might short-circuit the learning process and leave us unprepared when things go wrong.

In some ways, user-generated trail data is invaluable. In 2022, I was part of a 70-day paddle trip on the British Columbia coast and encountered big tidal currents for the first time. Reading old trip reports was critical to understanding tidal quirks that didn’t make the guidebooks published primarily with sailboats and yachts in mind. Trail data—whether by land or sea—provided in real-time by users is inherently useful. Knowing when the road to a put-in is washed out or a storm has rendered a portage inaccessible is helpful.

But much like footprints on ice in the spring don’t always indicate solid ice, user-generated input is only relevant so long as conditions haven’t changed since the last entry.

In a story reminiscent of drivers who follow GPS directions off a cliff, the Canadian Press reported on November 28, 2024, that search and rescue for Metro Vancouver’s North Shore mountains rescued a hiker who ran into trouble after they “seriously underestimated the difficulty” of a route found on an online hiking app and continued despite deteriorating and snowy conditions. Three nights later, North Shore Rescue conducted another “virtually identical” rescue with an unprepared hiker guided by an app. While apps might be great for your local woods or lake, blindly following them in the wilderness can kill you.

Beyond losing cell service or battery, relying on GPS robs us of building vital navigation skills, especially critical in marine environments. For example, if your GPS constantly reports your speed, it becomes difficult to develop strong dead reckoning skills—the ability to accurately estimate how far you’ve traveled and how much distance remains based on elapsed time. Dead reckoning is important on the water in risk management calculations, such as determining if you’ll reach the safety of an island before a storm hits and in situations in which you may not be able to check your GPS and do a calculation.

GPS also robs us of practice with triangulation—determining your location on a map using compass bearings or angles of known landmarks in front of you. It’s a skill that becomes important not just in determining your location in the event electronic GPS fails but in staying found in the backcountry.

The difference between GPS instructions and navigation is especially pronounced for paddlers, with our twisting waterways in lieu of marked trails, islands that seem to change places and all look the same, fog banks to disappear into, and waves and currents to factor in when choosing a route.

In the world of sea kayaking, where calculating a ferry angle across a four-knot current isn’t something your phone will do for you, that difference is far more pronounced and consequential than casual day hiking.

person moving the bezel on a compass, over a map with another person watching on.

The Ultimate Guide To Using A Compass For Paddlers

And when you’re looking at a screen while you’re hiking or paddling, you’re not looking at your surroundings and actively developing the most important navigation skill any paddler or outdoors person can have—intuition. Paying attention is the only way to recognize the sawtooth look of large waves in the distance, to know that haze on a hot July Great Lakes morning means a storm in the afternoon, or to estimate the distance of an island based on the size of its trees.

Ultimately, GPS apps and user-generated trip reports are tools; they aren’t inherently good or bad. What matters is how you choose to use them. I’ll use mine sparingly and in tandem with a good old-fashioned printed chart and compass.

When she’s not writing, you can find Maddy Marquardt paddling her home waters of Lake Superior.

This article was first published in Issue 73 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Folds funny. Works anywhere. | Feature photo: Virginia Marshall

“Don’t Leave Me, Kid”: 14-Year-Old Saves Paddleboarder After Freak Accident

By

Jeff Moag

-

July 8, 2025

Decades before standup paddleboarding became a thing, Gavin Bowden was chasing waves all over the globe, from his childhood in Australia on to Indonesia, South Africa and Europe before finally settling in Devon on the southwest coast of England, where a strip of beach called Saunton Sands catches the North Atlantic swell and shapes it into a world-class longboard wave.

“Like First Point at Noosa Heads,” the 60-year-old says, name-dropping one of Australia’s most iconic rights.

April 25 was a Friday, the tail end of a three-day swell, and Gavin knocked off work a few hours early to catch the last of it. The offshore wind was howling and the tide was too high, but the set waves were still overhead if you could get into them. Gavin’s 10’4” Gulfstream custom standup paddleboard was the perfect choice for the conditions.

For a while he had the break all to himself. Then the grom paddled out, a wiry 14-year-old on a shortboard, scratching gamely for every wave. Later, Gavin would learn his name is Oscar McCrae.

The Accident

Gavin doesn’t recall exactly how it happened, only that he wiped out on the second-last wave in a powerful set. Maybe the wind caught the underside of his board, or perhaps he just slipped. In a fraction of a second the heavy standup board whipped around and struck him above the forehead.

He remembers being underwater. In his peripheral vision he could just make out the bottom of his board and his motionless hands. When he tried to stroke for the surface they wouldn’t move. Neither would his legs. He was paralyzed, face down in the water.

Gavin isn’t sure how long he floated that way—10, maybe 20 seconds—all the time thinking he’s got to turn over. And then, somehow, he was face-up on the surface.

“A miracle,” he says now. “I just thought it and it happened. So I look up at the sky and I thought, ‘Where’s the kid? I need the kid.’ So I shouted help! three times—Help! Help! Help! And on my third help, he was there.

“He said, ‘I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got you.’”

Oscar has been a member of the Saunton Sands Surf Life Saving Club since he was 6 years old. The club teaches all manner of watermanship, from surfski paddling to open-water swimming and ocean rescue. Oscar had practiced surf rescues many times with mannequins and with his friends, switching off in the role of rescuer and victim. But this was different. This was real.

Oscar got Gavin to the surface, then to his standup paddleboard, which was leashed to his ankle and floating upside down. Somehow Oscar had to get Gavin onto the board and out of the surf zone before the next set of waves came crashing down on their heads.

“He’s quite a big guy and I wasn’t sure I could lift him,” Oscar recalls. Size is a matter of perspective, of course. Oscar is 5’2” and just over 100 pounds, long-limbed and lean—“like a sock full of walnuts,” one of his surf coaches says. Gavin stands 5’7” and about 150 pounds, but he was completely inert. He was dead weight and, by his own admission, starting to panic.

Don’t Leave Me, Kid

In Gavin’s recollection the next ten minutes were pure chaos. “He got underneath me and he’s pushing me up on my board. He’s on the other side of my board trying to pull me, next minute he’s around underneath me. He was everywhere. And somehow my board turned over so now it’s fins facing up, and you know what the bottom of a board is like when it’s wet. It’s slippery.

“He’s pushing me up across the board but I can’t hold anything because nothing’s working and I’m sliding off, saying ‘Don’t leave me, kid. Don’t leave me.’

Finally, Oscar managed to drape the older man’s lifeless arms over his upturned paddleboard, then swim around to lock arms over the slick fiberglass. For the moment at least, they were stable.

Oscar describing the rescue to Neil Phillips of Saunton Surf Life Saving Club. | Photo: Neil Phillips

After stabilizing Gavin outside the surf zone, Oscar signaled ‘surfer in distress’ to his father on shore. | Photo: Neil Phillips

Oscar now signaled to shore, where his father Danny was watching from the beach with Neil Phillips, a part-time coach at the Surf Life Saving Club. Oscar swept his arm slowly from side-to-side, the signal for “surfer needs assistance” that he’d learned on day one of surf lifesaving. His father answered with both hands overhead: “Make your way in.” But Oscar kept waving—a clear sign that bringing Gavin back through the surf was not possible.

Danny was nursing a sore back—otherwise he would have been in the lineup with his son—and Neil had broken a rib earlier that same day. Neither had a board or wetsuit, and a handful of beginners in the shore break were candid about their ability to help. One told Danny he’d spent the last hour trying to paddle out and couldn’t get past the whitewater.

Oscar was on his own.

“You could not have got Gavin back in safely with the injuries that he had, and it was very apparent that he was quite badly injured,” Danny says. “Getting more people out to him was not a priority. The priority was getting a boat to him.”

Danny called 9-9-9, the emergency services number in the U.K. The dispatcher alerted the Royal National Lifeboat Institute, which launched a rescue boat from Appledore, about three miles south. Help was on its way, though out in the lineup Oscar and Gavin could only take it on faith that someone would come for them. There’s no recognized hand signal for “wait there, a boat is coming but we’re not sure when,” but Oscar didn’t tell Gavin that. He just kept telling him everything would be okay.

Top 10 Tips For Paddling Safety

A Huge Weight Lifted

With their arms linked over the board, Oscar asked Gavin about his life and family, what he did for work, and the places he’d surfed. “I was just asking questions, making sure his mind was occupied, and he wasn’t thinking about what’s going to happen,” Oscar says. After a few minutes, Gavin began to regain some feeling in his arms and legs. That lifted a huge weight from his mind. Thanks to Oscar he wasn’t going to drown in the surf, and now it seemed he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life as a paraplegic either. He still couldn’t use his hands, but he managed to hook his forearms around Oscar’s over the board.

They stayed that way for more than half an hour, until Danny tracked down a longboarder who had been surfing farther down the beach. “He was just putting his board up and you could see he was thinking ‘I’m knackered and now I’ve got to get back in.’” But in he went, eventually reaching Gavin and Oscar with the message that help was on its way. A minute or two later the rigid inflatable rescue boat arrived, took Gavin aboard and roared off, giving the surf zone a wide berth. Nobody got the longboarder’s name.

Just like that, it was over.

Oscar caught the next wave in and trotted up the beach. Greeting his dad and a small crowd of onlookers who applauded him off the beach. Only then did he begin to shake, as the massive adrenaline dump left his body.

Young Oscar carving a turn at Saunton Sands the day of the rescue. | Photo: Neil Phillips

Gavin spent three days in the hospital, where doctors told him his temporary paralysis was caused by central cord syndrome—in layman’s terms, a severe form of whiplash. When the board struck his forehead, the impact pushed his neck back so hard and fast that it damaged his spinal cord. The impact left a five-inch crack in the fiberglass board but didn’t hurt at all. “Not even a headache,” says Gavin. He’s recovering well and expects to be back on the job as a painting contractor—and to paddling—in four to six weeks.

Just one week after the accident Gavin was on his feet, greeting Oscar and his parents with the BBC’s cameras rolling. Asked what he learned from the accident, he takes a deep breath. “Don’t surf alone,” he says finally—“and be lucky.

“Oscar got to me so quick. But he said he’d just missed a wave. If he’d caught that wave, I don’t think I’d be here.”

Gavin Bowdon riding a wave the afternoon of the accident. | Feature photo: Neil Phillips