Over the many years, I have been teaching kayakers it has always been a goal of mine to stay current with the evolution of our sport. This has meant many minor (and some major) tweaks to teaching progressions to ensure that our team is delivering content and information that lines up with modern paddling techniques.
Being in Western Canada, much of this focus has been on developing creative and successful progressions for creeking and river running as most of our clients are interested in that realm. One day a year or so ago it struck me that although I still playboat a bunch that I had neglected to stay current with how to teach modern playboating moves.
With this realization, I went full blast last season trying to put together (and put into practise) a solid freestyle progression for beginner paddlers all the way through to those starting to play around with aerial moves (both on waves and in holes). That is where this video and progression stemmed from. It is a slight departure from many how to loop videos in that it breaks the move down into 5 easily practised components and hopefully gives aspiring freestyle paddlers a set of smaller goals to attain, and in doing that the loop will be an easier to achieve and less frustrating goal.
Step 1
Find an appropriate feature. It needs to be a hole, reasonably retentive, ideally with good eddy service and one you are comfortable moving around in.
Step 2
The 5 steps of the loop:
The Setup: This is simply how you get lined up to the upstream current. The video outlines a couple of different techniques
The Plug: Initiating the bow in the green water coming downstream (basically in the seam between whitewater and green water). How you go about this depends on the depth and size of the hole.
The Stomp: Here, we stand up on our foot pegs to plunge the bow deeper into the green water in turn loading up the volume in the kayak.
The Jump: Once the plug goes as deep as it can, we now want the volume to release in an upwards motion. In this stage, we jump up and a little upstream whilst sucking our hips towards the sky.
The Finish: The last step as we bring the boat over our head and complete the loop. As the boat comes over your head you lay out backwards and throw your feet towards the green water. Then sit up once you’ve landed and you are done!
Step 3
It is important (IMHO) that you practise each stage until you are successful about 90% of the time. Once you achieve that, add the next step on until you have all 5 combined and a loop is achieved.
Thanks for checking out this instructional video, we hope it is useful and helps get you looping at your local play hole and beyond. If you have any further questions, please don’t hesitate to contact us at courses@aquabatics.com.
For more great instructional videos check out our You Tube channel at www.youtube.com/aquabaticscalgary or our website at www.aquabaticscalgary.com.
An inflatable PFD for paddleboarding can be your bridge over troubled waters. | Feature photo: Simon Podehradsky
“Everything’s okay, until it isn’t,” says Hawaiian big-wave surfer Roger Erickson, referring to the perils of surfing in giant waves. His quote applies equally to standup paddlers—even on a perfectly calm day. Everything’s okay until the wind comes up, a current sweeps a paddler out to sea or someone ends up in the cold water. That’s just one reason why choosing and wearing the right inflatable PFD is so important for paddleboarding.
The other reason is to avoid a ticket. Despite the toned and PFDless beach bodies decorating industry ads and Instagram photos promoting the #SUPlife, U.S. Coast Guard regulations are clear. Paddleboarders are required to carry an approved PFD at all times when outside of the surf zone or an obvious bathing area.
How to choose the right inflatable PFD for paddleboarding
Despite the risks and U.S. Coast Guard regulations, PFD use by the recreational paddleboarding community remains spotty. A 2012 survey by the American Canoe Association estimated just 25 percent of paddleboarders always wear a PFD when on the water. Amongst paddleboarders, inflatable PFDs have been used with far greater frequency than foam-filled flotation vests. This is because inflatable PFDs have many advantages: the minimalist designs are low profile, cooler in hot climates, and offer an unrestricted range of motion and fewer tan lines.
“When standup hit the ground running after Outdoor Retailer in 2009, I knew that this was the place to focus our attention,” says Lili Colby, co-owner of PFD manufacturer, MTI Adventurewear. “MTI has made inflatable belt packs since 2006. We went from selling a few hundred belt packs a year to thousands. All because of standup.”
An inflatable PFD for paddleboarding can be your bridge over troubled waters. | Feature photo: Simon Podehradsky
Automatic versus manual inflation
More than a dozen companies are now manufacturing inflatable PFDs. Two types are available: automatic and manual. Both have an inflator mechanism that triggers a CO2 canister to fill the PFD’s bladder. In manual designs, inflation must be initiated by a conscious paddler who pulls the vest’s inflation tab, piercing the CO2 cylinder.
An automatic PFD inflates when a water-soluble bobbin comes in contact with water, releasing a spring-loaded pin that punctures the CO2 canister.
Both types of inflatable PFDs have a manual inflation tube for inflating the PFD by mouth in case of mechanical failure.
An automatically inflating vest could save a paddler’s life if they were knocked into the water unconscious. However, in lower end models, automatically inflating vests have been known to deploy when exposed to heavy rain. Beginners and some recreational paddlers may also find themselves falling off their boards and in the drink regularly, so a PFD that inflates on contact with water may be a nuisance.
Waist belts versus collars
Inflatable PFDs come in two styles: waist belts and collars. A waist belt must be worn in front, so that when the horseshoe-shape bladder pops out, it’s easy to pull over a swimmer’s head, Mae West-style.
“Have you pulled a waist belt?” asks veteran paddleboarding instructor, Rob Casey. He recommends practicing so that managing paddle, board and pulling the inflated bladder over the head is a fast and familiar process when it counts.
“Swimming with inflatables isn’t much fun,” cautions Casey. “The inflated part is wrapped around your neck and lower head, so it’s hard to see.” Paddlers who want flotation for non-emergency scenarios would do better to look for foam-filled flotation vests.
A waist belt must be worn in front, so that when the horseshoe-shape bladder pops out, it’s easy to pull over a swimmer’s head. | Photo: Reed Naliboff/Unsplash
Other considerations
Inflatable PFDs are also not recommended for use in whitewater. Paddlers in cold climates or frigid waters may prefer foam flotation vests, which provide core insulation and may help protect against hypothermia during immersion.
“In my experience, a first-time paddler should be wearing a non-inflatable PFD [in case they panic],” recommends Starboard paddleboard athlete, Dan Gavere. It’s up to everyone else to weigh the pros and cons of inflatables and foam vests and pick what’s right for them.
While there are advantages to each style, ultimately the best PFD is the one you always wear. “Inflatables are certainly a better option for hot environments, where vest styles are simply too warm,” says Casey.
Side effects may include uncontrollable fits of laughter.| Feature photo: Evan Boyd
Everywhere I look these days, there are weekend mindfulness retreats, five-minute stress reduction regimens and self-help gurus proselytizing the four-day work week. “Slowing down” and “being mindful” have become pop culture catch phrases, but by seeking shortcuts to enlightenment we risk missing the point entirely. What can slow travel teach us about retreats that truly calm our anxieties?
Meditation and mindfulness programs in classrooms, businesses and even medical practices promise everything from soothing the savage pre-schooler to increasing workplace productivity and helping to heal disease. People seeking to unplug from the over-connectivity and constant busy-ness of modern life are looking to mindfulness for the antidote. Yoga studios and commercial meditation centers are booming. Across our culture, there is a growing recognition that fostering inner stillness, slowing down our pace and taking a break from our technological addictions has immense benefits for our physical, mental and emotional health.
Take, for example, the outdoor industry where average trip lengths and program durations have grown ever briefer in response to participants’ lifestyles and demands. Time outside has become one more thing to cram into our busy schedules; hurried at best, irrelevant at worst.
Exploring the wilderness of the mind
One promising area of growth has been wilderness expedition-based mindfulness programs. I’ve been involved first hand as a program director and senior instructor for an organization that has been steadily building a raft of these programs over the past 10 years.
Side effects may include uncontrollable fits of laughter.| Feature photo: Evan Boyd
In 2012, I found myself signed up to instruct a nine-day mindfulness backpacking course. I arrived to the pack-out day unaware that the marketing department had sold my eight students on this curriculum. Amidst the usual flurry of course planning and logistics, I fretted about being unable to deliver the promised experience. Although I had some personal background with meditation and was a student of Buddhism and mindfulness-based practice, I had never been trained as a teacher and had no small measure of imposter syndrome.
To further complicate matters, the route that had been sold to the students on our website was a committing and physically challenging hike for novice backpackers. How were we going to fit the distance in, along with the promised hours of cross-legged beach-sitting, expectations of slowness and time for long, contemplative silences?
On that course, while neither the students nor myself got what we expected based on our previous associations with mindfulness, the experience provided many of the associated benefits. The innate qualities of time in the wilderness and group process did much of the work for us, no Shavasana required. Over the years since, I have adjusted my view of just what mindfulness is and how it can be achieved.
Mindfulness may be one of the buzzwords of this decade, but what does it really mean? The Oxford English Dictionary defines midfulness as, “a mental state achieved by focusing one’s awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one’s feelings, thoughts and bodily sensations….” When we think about meditative practices, many people envision long hours of physical stillness and gratuitous navel gazing. But when we look more closely, it doesn’t necessarily exclude movement and purposeful activity. Indeed, it’s possible the repeated challenges that pop up and resolve themselves over and over in the course of a backpacking or paddling trip contribute to the sense of calm, centeredness and inner peace that are said to result from more sedentary practices.
If mindfulness is inherent in time spent outside, then the outdoor industry could be considered far ahead of the curve. Recently, however, another trend is pulling us in a conflicting direction.
Mindfulness promises everything from soothing the savage pre-schooler to increasing workplace productivity.
Witness sea kayaking: In the ‘90s, images of kayaking featured idyllic calm waters and a relaxing tranquility. The activity had an approachability that suggested only a minimum of technical skill was required. In the past 20 years, that image has shifted away from a gentle pursuit for the novice adventurer to an activity focused on cutting edge equipment, technical instruction and hard-core adventuring.
To use a term coined in a recent article in Adventure Journal, sea kayaking—along with the rest of the outdoor industry—is becoming “bro-ified.” In so doing, we’ve begun to alienate those attracted to its more esoteric qualities. We’re in danger of missing out on the societal need for retreat, of becoming irrelevant.
The mindfulness revolution is a Band-Aid cure to the problems plaguing our culture today. We fail to take the time we need to stay healthy and sane, away from modern distractions, so we look to these programs and other trendy prescriptions for a fast fix.
Physical, nature-based activities like kayaking are the real deal and, irrespective of public image, they’re accessible to anyone. While it’s exciting to celebrate the achievements of daring outliers, we need to do a better job as an industry and as individuals of promoting the far-reaching benefits of slow travel. Kayaking trains us to focus on the present moment authentically. It forces us to take time away, in order to come back to the here and now.
Fiona Hough has worked as a paddlesports guide, instructor and trainer for more than 25 years.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Side effects may include uncontrollable fits of laughter.| Feature photo: Evan Boyd
“10 SECONDS UNTIL HE BAILS...”| PHOTO: HEATHER JACKSON
It was a bright fall day in Durango, Colorado, and seven young slalom kayakers were training after school on the Animas River. As they worked on skills with coach and Olympian Cathy Hearn-Röthenmund, another group of kids in the local mountain bike club did interval work on the trail that runs alongside the river, often full of birders, cyclists and young families. This was a quintessential moment in Durango, a town with a fiercely strong paddling community and a whitewater park that ties them all together. A 2006 study showed whitewater recreation on the lower Animas had an annual economic impact totaling $19 million.
The young paddlers that day were just a tiny fraction of the passionate river users drawn to the Animas and the 1,200-foot-long Durango Whitewater Park. Local paddling legend Kent Ford estimates roughly one-third of the 18,000 residents of Durango own a raft, canoe, kayak or paddleboard. Located less than a mile from downtown, the parking lot near the river is often full of boats, boards, inner tubes and duckies adorning roof racks.
One of the oldest whitewater parks in America, Durango continues to undergo upgrades to make the park safer and more suited to a wider variety of users. Enthusiasts, along with commercial rafting companies and private rafters, come for waves like Smelter, Corner Pocket, Ponderosa and Clock Tower. These year-round paddling opportunities for Durango residents are an important part of the local economy.
“10 seconds until he bails…” | Feature photo: Heather Jackson
The original Durango Whitewater Park was built in the early 1990s. Rocks the size of 55-gallon trash cans were placed in the river, but since the rocks were not grouted down, the free-flowing Animas altered their position season to season. When the city of Durango secured recreational water rights to preserve the river’s natural flow for boaters, upgrades were required at a construction cost of approximately $1.5 million.
Scott Shipley, owner of S2o Design and Engineering, says the design process and modernizing the park was tricky. “There’s a lot of stakeholders in that town,” he says.
After an extensive consultation and public process, S2o redid the entire reach of the park beginning in December 2013, creating two new waves—Ponderosa and Clock Tower—and restoring two old waves—Smelter and Corner Pocket.
Durango’s grand re-opening
The updated park opened in 2014 and in a town saturated with paddlers, everyone has an opinion on the rebuild. Many are pleased, especially as the changes provide a more exciting experience when water levels are low. However, some local rafting companies argued that rebuilt features negatively affected their trips and necessitated portaging around waves known for flipping rafters at high water.
This winter S2o will do some further fine-tuning on Ponderosa and Corner Pocket to adjust how they flow at over 6,000 cfs, as well as create a new feature not yet seen at high flows. On natural river courses, continued maintenance and fine-tuning like this is the norm. In Colorado alone, whitewater parks in Salida, Buena Vista, Vail, Eagle and Boise have all required some kind of adjustments.
Regardless of opinion or paddling discipline, construction will be complete in time for the whitewater community to come together at the annual Animas River Days, a celebration of the river and park. The festival culminates in the River Parade, where hundreds of vessels—ranging from inflatables with couches strapped to them to 10 rafts tied together—carry revelers downstream through the park while spectators watch from under the cottonwoods and native willows on the banks of the Animas.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Rapid Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
“10 seconds until he bails…” | Feature photo: Heather Jackson
Wondering whether to seize the day or sleep in? Or which nightcap to pack for your next campfire social? Perhaps your dilemmas are more existential: how to make the world a better place, what advice to offer others, or why is it so difficult to turn dreams into reality?
When we put these questions to some of paddling’s finest coaches, we learned a lot about the leaders we trust to make us better in our boats, safer on the water and, yes, happier in our lives. From dirty jobs and pet peeves to speculations on the true nature of contentment, their responses surprise, inform and reaffirm what we already know: kayakers share many core values, but we are a wonderfully diverse community.
Location: Ucluelet, British Columbia Occupation: Adventure Guide, Co-owner of Expedition Engineering
Roots: For the past 12 years, skis and kayaks have been Bueckert’s tickets to mountains, rivers and saltwater around the world. From teaching whitewater paddling in Tibet, Nepal and Ecuador to guiding sea kayak expeditions in Norway, Greenland, the South Pacific and throughout British Columbia, she’s expertly spun these once-in-a-lifetime trips into her full-time job.
Chris Audet | Photo: Christopher Lockyer
2 Chris Audet (CA)
Location: Searsport, Maine Occupation: Outdoor educator and athletic trainer
Roots: His high school students know him as Mister Audet, while his Friday night fans know him as lead singer, rocker and Sammy Hagar lookalike in the Van Halen tribute band, Balance. A registered Maine sea kayaking guide since 2001, Audet’s wild blonde curls are equally recognizable on the water, where his paddling students benefit from his years of teaching and performing.
Christopher Lockyer | Photo: Virginia Marshall
3 Christopher Lockyer (CL)
Location: Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia Occupation: GIS mapping tech
Roots: Out of a desire to develop a strong community of skilled kayakers in his backyard and showcase the region’s first-rate paddling opportunities, Lockyer founded Committed 2 the Core Sea Kayak Coaching. In 2013, the Nova Scotia native expanded on those goals with the establishment of the annual Bay of Fundy Sea Kayak Symposium, drawing top coaches from around the world.
Roots: Descendent of a Lake Superior lightkeeper, Mihell has lived with the restless lake all his life, drawing from its infinite well of inspiration and adventure. His students and friends respect him as much for his work-to-paddle lifestyle as his exhaustive knowledge of the north shore.
David Johnston | Photo: Virginia Marshall
5 David Johnston (DJ)
Location: Toronto, Ontario Occupation: Web designer
Roots: Kayakers across the country know Johnston as the tireless and self-effacing chair of Paddle Canada’s sea kayak program development committee. While the role can be a challenging one for the busy coach and father, it embodies his belief that the best instructors listen as well as they lead.
Ginni Callahan | Photo: Freya Fennwood
6 Ginni Callahan (GC)
Location: Loreto, Mexico and Skamokawa, Washington Occupation: Founder of Sea Kayak Baja Mexico and Columbia River Kayaking
Roots: Callahan boasts that while she’s never held down an indoor job for an entire year, she’s survived on sea kayaking for nearly twenty. An impulsive move to Baja in 1998 kicked off her journey to top certifications in coaching and guiding, as well as the migratory pattern she follows between paddling seasons in the Sea of Cortez and the Columbia River.
James Roberts | Photo: Virginia Marshall
7 James Roberts (JR)
Location: Parry Sound, Ontario Occupation: Co-founder of Ontario Sea Kayak Centre
Roots: A product of surfing the steep, gray swell of his native Isle of Wight and exploring the rugged coastlines of Canada, Roberts has also mastered a remarkable repertoire of Greenland rolls, making him a true student of the world. Those who’ve mentored with him appreciate his insightful feedback and outrageous sense of humor.
Paul Kuthe | Photo: John Waller/Uncage the Soul Productions
8 Paul Kuthe (PK)
Location: Portland, Oregon Occupation: Business, life and paddlesports coach
Roots: Parlaying his extensive kayak coaching experience into a growing life and business coaching career was a natural next step for Kuthe. When he’s not teaching the finer points of paddling as program director for Portland outfitter Alder Creek, he’s helping students achieve their personal and professional goals through his work at Tributary Coaching.
Paddling coach Q&A
My advice for paddlers who want to step up their game is…
AB: Do solo trips. Relying on your own judgment and decision-making lets you know pretty fast where you’re at.
CA: Paddle with as many different people as possible.
CL: Repetition is the key to learning.
CM: Paddle rough water.
DJ: Set specific goals with a deadline for this paddling season.
GC: Try whitewater, surf, open canoe, SUP, competition, sailing, rock hopping and journeys.
JR: Learn to roll. This will increase your confidence and the rest of your skills will get way smoother.
PK: Get some quality coaching.
If I weren’t so into kayaking, I’d…
CA: Take up flying airplanes.
CL: Take up mountain biking.
CM: Take up triathlon.
DJ: Be a professional waterslide tester.
GC: Take up outrigger team paddling, underwater photography and writing a book.
AB: Not being patient with the weather and I learned that it always pays to wait out the wind.
CA: That I didn’t start kayaking until my late twenties and I learned that the younger you start the more experiences you can have.
CL: Getting lost in dense fog around the Tusket Islands and I learned to never underestimate the ocean environment and the power of the tides.
CM: Not taking advantage of each and every opportunity I’ve had to go paddling and I learned that if you make an excuse not to go, you’ll likely regret it.
Happiness is…
AB: In the moment, not something that is wrapped up in the next big thing.
CA: A large glassy wave and a boat to surf it in.
CL: Catching rides on the Shubenacadie River with other members of Team Core.
DJ: Sitting around a campfire with friends.
GC: Living daily according to one’s values. And paddling the turquoise lagoon of a palm-studded atoll in the South Pacific.
JR: An amazing meal, a glass of wine and a stellar sunset in the wilderness.
PK: Sharing the sport we love and making a difference in the lives we share it with.
The coastline that stirs me most is…
AB: Norway because I feel my Viking warrior princess heritage taking over.
CA: Maine because I feel at home.
CL: Brier Island because I feel I am paddling at the end of the world.
CM: Lake Superior’s north shore because I feel at home here.
GC: The Sierra La Gigants because I feel awe, inspiration and at home.
PK: The Oregon Coast because I feel insignificant.
One thing you probably wouldn’t guess about me is…
AB: Funny and brutally honest and that’s true when you want the truth.
GC: My husband Henrick and my stuffed moose and that’s true even on a small sailboat together for six months.
PK: Willing to challenge you as much as they support you.
The greatest piece of advice I ever got was…
AB: It’s all a game and I made that up.
CA: Don’t be afraid to walk away from a rapid if you’re not feeling it and I got that from Michael J. Smith.
CL: Remember to take things as they come and don’t push yourself too hard and I got that from Andy Stamp, my BCU Level 5 mentor.
CM: Always make contingency plans and backup your backup and I got that from my friend Bruce Lash.
DJ: If you are unsure of the answer just speak with confidence and everybody will believe you and I got that from my father.
JR: When paddling in surf you are playing in a three-dimensional world with X, Y and Z axes—forward, turning and revolving—and I got that from Turner Wilson.
PK: Don’t worry about what you can’t change and I got that from my mom.
Ten years from now…
AB: I will be whispering to wild mustangs.
CA: Will still be trying to improve my personal paddling skills and instruction methods.
CL: I will be watching my three boys surfing waves on the Shubie.
CM: I hope I am doing the same things I do today.
DJ: I will still be debating if I should get that tattoo or not.
GC: I would love to have helped inspire a local, self-sustaining community of paddlers in Loreto.
JR: I will own a Mercedes Sprinter 4X4 dream van.
PK: I want to go on a huge expedition with my son who is now two.
The kayak I’m paddling most right now is…
AB: The kayak that I rent from whatever country I am paddling in at the time.
The hardest part about making that dream trip happen is…
CL: Vacation time.
CM: Choosing between so many dream trips.
DJ: Getting everybody’s availability synced up.
GC: Picking a date to leave. Without a date, it’s just a dream.
JR: Getting free time during the peak season.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.
A while back, a publisher sent me a manuscript for review that eventually became the book, Inheriting a Canoe Paddle: The canoe in discourses of English Canadian nationalism. I didn’t particularly like what author, University of Victoria English professor Misao Dean, had to say about the canoe as a vessel of conquest.
In the book, Dean alleges the canoe to be a symbol of theft, genocide and colonialism, appropriated by mostly white, middle and upper class men. She charges that by turning the canoe into a symbol synonymous with the natural world, we’ve disassociated ourselves from the crimes the Canadian government and Canadians committed against First Nations.
While I chafed at the post-structuralist language she used to make her argument—and that she pointed to romantics like me as perpetuators of the idea of the canoe as a “morally untouchable symbol”—I knew at the core of what she had to say was a perspective all canoeists must engage.
Fast forward to 2016. I ran into Jim Brown, the irrepressible host of contrarian radio program, The 180. “Got any contentious canoe stories?” he asked. Did I ever. I tipped him off that Dean would be sure to put the contrarian post-modern cat amongst the self-possessed paddling pigeons.
Following the radio program, response to Dean’s thesis blew up. Reaction was swift and largely furious, expressing vitriol that would never be used in face-to-face conversation. Even Fox News picked up the story.
The recent findings of the Canadian Truth and Reconciliation Commission call for a long overdue righting of historic wrongs put upon North American Indigenous by those of us who followed Columbus in 1492. The central message of the TRC Report is that these transgressions are so deeply seated in our ways of thinking and so seamlessly integrated into the decision-making structures of our governments as to be totally invisible. We see, hear and experience ongoing consequences of conquest and still, for the most part, configure trauma in Indigenous communities as problems for “them” to solve.
TROUBLED WATERS BELOW.| PHOTO: MICHAEL MELFORD
The ongoing legacy of colonialism is not their problem. It is our problem—it belongs to us all. And it’s high time we started taking collective action to reinvent ourselves, as individuals, as communities and as nations. The trouble is finding workable ways to turn that desire to become part of the solution into our everyday lives. That’s where the canoe has massive untapped potential.
Canada is a river of nations flowing through a nation of rivers. The canoe in all its forms is still the often best and most appropriate way to get around. It’s also something that Indigenous and settler peoples of every stripe have in common. Whether in Albuquerque or Attawapiskat, we are all in the same proverbial boat. If we are to reconcile successfully, all paddlers need to pull together. That means listening to all well-considered voices, including Misao Dean. While I respectfully disagree with much of Dean’s views on the canoe, she does say some things that are worth repeating.
Toward the end of The 180 interview, the host asks what the author would like paddlers to do.
“When they go to their put-in points, when they plan their trips, they should ask themselves, ‘Whose traditional territory is this? How did it get to be in public domain? How do I feel about the fact that kind of narrative was done in my name?’” says Dean. “Look online and see where you can support the struggles of Indigenous people, for their legal rights, for their treaty rights and for their real valuation in Canadian culture.”
That’s a sentiment all canoeists can get behind.
James Raffan is the director of external relations for The Canadian Canoe Museum in Peterborough, Ontario. Watch THE CANOE, an award-winning film that tells the story of Canada’s connection to water and how paddling in Ontario is enriching the lives of those who paddle there. #PaddleON.
This article originally appeared in Canoeroots Spring 2017 issue.
Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.
A student uses bark etching (scrafitto) to add a moose to the canoe. | Feature photo: Courtney Boyd
It’s a cool, misty morning at the powwow grounds on Anemki Wajiw, which overlook the City of Thunder Bay on Fort William First Nation on Lake Superior’s north shore. A group of four young men and women are prepping the workspace and materials to build a birchbark canoe. They’ve already gathered the bark, spruce roots, cedar and spruce gum from the land, following traditions of their ancestors. Their work is part of a resurgence of Ojibwe culture at Fort William, but what appears to be a lesson about craftsmanship is actually about respect—for the land, culture and each other.
Birchbark dreams: Canoe building connects First Nations youth to their roots
Fort William First Nation is located just outside of Thunder Bay, Ontario, on the north shore of Lake Superior. It’s a region steeped in canoe culture lore. The area’s earliest inhabitants traveled the waterways by birchbark canoe. Thousands of years later so did the European fur traders who came seeking beaver pelts.
Nestled where the Kaministiquia River flows into Lake Superior, the area was also a voyageur mecca and host to an important fur trading post. Today Fort William Historical Park—the world’s largest reconstructed fur trading post—stands as a testament to that era.
Nowadays, there are not many birchbark canoes in the Thunder Bay area, save those used for re-enactments. This group of Fort William First Nation youth are working to change that.
Each student dedicated hundreds of hours to achieving the finished piece of living history. | Photo: Courtney Boyd
For the past two years, Gail Bannon, Fort William First Nation’s community and recreational coordinator, has lead a group of local youth in canoe building. The small team has built a 15-foot and an 18-foot birchbark canoe completely by hand. The project evolved from Bannon’s love of birch and passion for involving youth in harvesting materials to make baskets and wigwams.
“I’ve always been into watersports, so I thought ‘let’s get them into that,’” she says. “I don’t see many of the kids out there swimming in the bay or going out on boats, so I thought this would be a cool project.”
Reaching out to rediscovering traditional knowledge
In 2015, Bannon contacted Darren Lentz, a local elementary school principal with experience teaching in Indigenous communities.
“She wanted to revive Fort William’s canoe culture, and get youth out on the land engaged in cultural teachings,” says Lentz. He agreed to provide the expert skills instruction for the youth, having learned to build canoes while working at nearby Fort William Historical Park.
Eager to learn more than his coworkers could teach him, Lentz initially sought out an elder at Fort William First Nation who knew how to make snowshoes. By spending time with elders and craftspeople over several years, Lentz learned to make a variety of traditional items, including drums, sleds, tikanagans, baskets and canoes. As an educator, he is passionate about bringing these lessons into schools and to youth.
Gores are added along the side to bend the bark into the shape of the canoe. | Photo: Courtney Boyd
“I want students to explore and feel the connection and relationship to the land. A connection back to the land is a connection to culture, language, community and, in the end, ourselves,” Lentz says.
When Bannon started talking to Lentz about building canoes, she didn’t know of anyone in her community with that knowledge.
“I don’t know of anybody in my mother’s generation that knows how to build one. I asked myself, how could we have lost that?” she says.
[ Paddling Buyer’s Guide: View all wooden canoes ]
Prior to this initiative, canoe building at Fort William First Nation was last done during the Great Depression of the 1930s as part of a government effort to create jobs on the reserve. However, those were cedar strip canoes built using modern tools.
Though many youth were eager to sign-up for the project, it was a small and dedicated team of five that persevered and completed the canoes, giving more than 200 hours each towards the build.
Photo: Courtney Boyd
Students prepare the bark for bending. Hot water makes the bark more supple. | Photo: Courtney Boyd
Students collect spruce root (watap) from the beautiful but buggy black spruce forest. | Photo: Courtney Boyd
Bannon with a spruce root. The roots are used to sew the bark together and lash the gunwales. | Photo: Courtney Boyd
Tanya Fenton, a young mother and college student who helped supervise the group in 2016, says it was the opportunity to work outdoors as part of a team that attracted her 18-year-old daughter. Shaylah was part of the first build in 2015 and was in the unique position to share her knowledge with her mother the following year.
When I visit, the small group at Anemki Wajiw is laying out huge sheets of birchbark on a long table while spruce roots soak in a pail filled with steaming hot water. It’s an egalitarian effort with no clear leader. The youth are in constant communication. They move confidently around the table, passing tools and materials back and forth; it seems to me they’ve done this a hundred times. Conversation is punctuated with laughter as they discuss the prospect of taking the 18-foot canoe they built the previous summer out for a sunrise paddle. It’s a dreamy yet seemingly insurmountable prospect for the teenagers given their shared disdain for the dawn hour.
An integral part of any build is collecting materials from the land. Although the materials required depend on the size of the canoe, approximately six to seven square meters (60 to 80 square feet) of bark is needed. Winter bark is preferable—it is removed with the inner rind attached, whereas summer bark can be dry and prone to cracking.
More than 210 meters (700 feet) of spruce roots is needed to complete the lashings on the gunwales and stitching of the bark.
Lentz says that the time required gathering materials “depends on whether you know where to collect them and whether you have scouted spots last year.”
It’s like picking blueberries or fishing—having someone take you to their favorite honey hole is always more efficient than scouting your own.
Bannon believes showing respect for the resources is showing respect for oneself. “Knowing how the canoe comes to be forges a deeper connection to the land.” It’s a unique introduction to canoeing—collecting materials, building the canoe and then learning to paddle.
“It’s cool to learn traditional crafts and make something that can be shared with the community,” adds Shaylah. Lentz confirms her work was meticulous and her lashings “stunning.”
A student uses bark etching (scrafitto) to add a moose to the canoe. | Feature photo: Courtney Boyd
“She might never build a canoe again, but what I see in her is excellence,” Lentz says. He thinks the experience was positive for all of the youth involved, whether they only participated in the early stages or stuck it out until the canoe was completed. The project isn’t really about building a canoe. It’s about building relationships with one another, cultural traditions, and the land.
Program provides for the teachers of tomorrow
Bannon knows building a canoe is meaningful to the youth. It’s a hand-on experience and a lot of hard work—there’s no abstract learning or classroom daydreaming. “It’s a lot of touching and feeling—they get to really experience the materials,” she says.
Not even paddling their new birchbark canoe for the first time compared to the proud moment when Fort William First Nation elders visited and expressed happiness at seeing the teenagers learning a traditional craft. For the elders, it’s a sign that traditional knowledge will continue on.
“If we do this five years in a row we’ll have a few students that will know how to build a canoe from scratch on their own,” she says. “Then they’ll be able to pass on that knowledge and connections. That’s what it’s all about.”
Michelle McChristie is a freelance writer who loves writing about the people and places of Northern Ontario. She lives on the north shore of Lake Superior.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
A student uses bark etching (scrafitto) to add a moose to the canoe. | Feature photo: Courtney Boyd
A grizzly bear tries to open the otterbox venture cooler.
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High tension on the Gatineau River. | Feature photo: Thiomas Fahran
Looking back, the American Canoe Association’s River Safety Report 1982–1985 is one of the more important artifacts in our relatively short and lightly-documented whitewater history. A paddling friend found a stained but otherwise decent copy in a used bookstore and left it on my doorstep. The thin volume makes for a fascinating read because, except for obvious improvements in equipment, very little about running rivers has changed in the last 35 years.
Why whitewater classification continues to embrace ambiguity
The book provides a snapshot of paddling via an unlikely medium; accident reports. The majority of these accidents resulted in fatalities, of which the echoes can still be heard today. Collected at a time when whitewater kayaking was just emerging from its fiberglass infancy in the 70’s to an adolescence driven by a plastic polyethylene revolution, this little booklet managed to capture a fringe group coming to terms with the risks inherent in our sport.
Edited by the venerable grand-daddy of river safety, Charlie Walbridge, the reports are succinct, honest and insightful. Some examples: A discussion of the “unusual mental fitness” required for running class V rapids, the near futility of rope rescue when dealing with a heads-down pinned kayaker, and the moral dilemma involved in offering to help a group of struggling paddlers make it to the take-out.
High tension on the Gatineau River. | Feature photo: Thiomas Fahran
Even in these pre-Dancer days (the Perception Dancer being the boat that brought kayaking into its first boom beginning in 1986), the limits of the sport were well understood and, quite frankly, are mostly unchanged. All of the bread and butter classic runs, including the Gauley in West Virginia and Colorado’s Arkansas, were well traveled even by 1982. The majority of high-end difficult rivers even by today’s standards were already run.
A new look at an old problem
It was at the back of the booklet in the appendix that I took the most interest. A five-page piece entitled “River Classification—A new look at an old problem” essentially set the tone for managing risk in a way that we have all adopted and use today, perhaps without even knowing it.
The paper was intended to standardize our class I to V difficulty rating scale by benchmarking well-known runs against each other. The hope was to create equilibrium between a class III in New Mexico and a class III in Maine, or equate a class IV in Idaho with a class IV in Georgia. Whitewater paddling was regionalized up until this point, so this benchmarking movement was somewhat contentious.
Classification was first inspired by the already established mountaineering hiking route difficulty scale. Over the years, there have been proposals seeking to refine and specify a river scale that could account for gradient, volume and navigational hazards. None have caught on. More than 30 years later, the class I to V river classification system remains a bit vague with much room for interpretation, even though the descriptions themselves have barely changed since 1959.
The appendix is notable for its underlying message: Rivers are too complex to simplify into a number. Walbridge goes to great lengths in this piece to explain what a river classification cannot do. It cannot account for all of the variables of every river, for cold weather or poor paddling partners, nor for ego or ignorance. These themes are woven throughout the accident analyses that precede the discussion on river difficulty rating, and point to an ethic on risk now pervasive in whitewater.
“With this [class I to V scale] and a bit of healthy skepticism resulting from the realization that accurate classification is an elusive goal you should be able to stay out of trouble,” concludes Walbridge.
Walbridge plants responsibility firmly in the hands of the paddler to deal with every river on a rapid-by-rapid and hazard-by-hazard basis. Since then, rather than eliminate ambiguity, whitewater has grown to embrace it.
Our dynamic environment is what sets our activity apart from almost all others, and that elusive goal of standardization has more or less disappeared. What is left is every individual paddler’s choice to walk an easy rapid or to charge a hard one—either way it is up to individuals to decide for themselves.
Scout, come up with a plan, anticipate and accept what can go wrong and commit to that or come up with a plan B. None of this has changed from the earliest days of running whitewater.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Rapid Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
High tension on the Gatineau River. | Feature photo: Thiomas Fahran
Williams: A free stern is a free mind. | Feature photo: Jan Bloch Photography/Sea Kayaking UK/NDK
Following a move to the East Coast, Dale Williams developed a fascination with riding the chaotic beach waves of Georgia’s now-famed Tybee Island, opening up new terrain for a sport he’d discovered quite by accident. When Williams co-founded Sea Kayak Georgia out of his Tybee home in 1994, it was the only high-end retail and instruction center between New Jersey and Tampa. By the end of the decade, the sleepy barrier island was appearing on Top 10 lists for adventurous paddlers from coast to coast.
Q&A with Dale Williams on surfing the Tybee Triangle
1 Who talks about yaw?
I do, all the time. I came to sea kayaking from skiing, paragliding and competitive skydiving. I also spent six years as a fighter controller in the U.S. Air Force training programs. Yaw, pitch, roll—such great conversation starters. It’s become my default language for translating body-boat-blade relationships to my students. They either love it, or I get the blank stare.
2 What guides your approach to coaching?
I’ve had many great coaches and I learned from every one of them, but two aspects of training I never enjoyed were the boot camp-style emphasis on pass/fail performance and the use of ill-constructed on-water scenarios.
Williams: A free stern is a free mind. | Feature photo: Jan Bloch Photography/Sea Kayaking UK/NDK
The stress management skills necessary for real world decision-making are not the same as those learned in manufactured situations. These develop good acting skills and a tolerance for illogical suspensions of reality, but they may also delay productive action in real situations.
I might ask students to surf with a cockpit full of water or with half a paddle, but I stopped asking them to pretend to be someone they’re not, or to pretend that environmental conditions exist that actually don’t.
3 When did you start surfing your kayak?
I started going out daily in the winter of 1994, when I first moved to Tybee Island. Steve Braden, who would help me found Sea Kayak Georgia, and I were temporarily unemployed, with lots of time on our hands.
We knew very little about kayaking and hardly anyone who intentionally tried to surf sea kayaks. But I was hooked as soon as the first wave walloped me in the face.
We learned that sea kayaks don’t fit on the face of a concave wave like surfboards or surf kayaks. Bury your bow or stern on a big wave and you broach. So it was back to lift, drag and stall—basic aerosports principles that work wonders for long boats on waves.
4 Where is Tybee Island’s most exciting paddling?
When I moved here to be with my wife Debbie, it was mostly backwater paddling by naturalists and camping enthusiasts. Kayaking then was an extension of backpacking culture.
I wanted to see if expeditions were feasible ocean side. With so many creeks and rivers emptying into our coastline, the sandy sea bottom moves and throws up new wave dynamics every day. These beach waves are confused and small compared to West Coast point breaks, but Tybee Island’s river mouths make for great tide races and learnable surf, year-round.
It was experimental at the time, but by offering rough water instruction, we got people into the surf zone and helped bring a new athleticism to the sport.
Before I discovered surfing, I thought sea kayaking was one of those “safe to ignore” sports, with not much sense of urgency or risk management required. Shows how little I knew. After that first winter learning rough water, I remember thinking: not only does kayaking take you to places of amazing beauty, it’s also full of peak experiences.
Right now, I’m all about new paddling destinations and more wilderness. You know, it’s not wilderness unless other critters are above you in the food chain. So I’ve been organizing trips with Turnagain Kayak in Alaska and I’m collaborating with partners for excursions in Chile, Ecuador and possibly China.
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Adventure Kayak. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.
Williams: A free stern is a free mind. | Feature photo: Jan Bloch Photography/Sea Kayaking UK/NDK
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. 
This article was first published in the Spring 2017 issue of Rapid Magazine. 
James Raffan is the director of external relations for The Canadian Canoe Museum in Peterborough, Ontario. Watch 
This article originally appeared in Canoeroots Spring 2017 issue.
