Something valuable from my child- hood canoe trips has been lost. It’s not the Swiss Army knife my dad gave me when I was nine (that’s lost too, but don’t tell him). It’s not the oversized poncho that was supposedly the only piece of raingear a growing canoeist needed (I finally outgrew it).

What’s lost is the single portage carry. Time was we would land at a portage, each paddler would shoulder a canoe or a pack and two paddles and walk the portage trail exactly once.

Now we get to a portage and become beasts of burden. We hoist a pack full of video cameras, stoves, sleeping pads, ham- mocks, water filters, solar chargers, cameras and coffee makers. With knees about to hyperextend we bend over and collect a few handfuls of Pelican cases, water bottles and fishing rods before shuffling to the end of the portage. After dumping the first load we retrace our steps to see if the pile is any smaller. Countries have been invaded with less sophisticated supply lines than those on modern-day portage trails.

Ray Jardine would not approve. Jardine has sailed around the world, hiked the longest trails in America and once pioneered the world’s hardest rock climbs. He has sea kayaked the Northwest Passage and canoed many northern rivers including the Kazan and Coppermine.

Through it all he saw himself and others suffer from bent spines and cluttered campsites. In 1992 he self-published The Pacific Crest Trail Hiker’s Handbook, a trail guide that tells readers not just where to hike, but how to hike. Jardine thinks if hikers are carrying more than 12 pounds of gear they are missing the point and might as well stay home. Why bother lugging around a sleeping pad when you can sleep on “leaves, pine needles, and duff” he wonders.

No doubt most canoeists would dismiss that with a snort between laboured puffs into a full-length Therm-a-Rest (the one with a fuzzy top). But it wasn’t long ago that that was how it was done. Until I was 11, when I first saw the temptress that was a roll-up drybag, everything I needed for a canoe trip would fit into a bedroll that rolled up smaller than a rugby ball.

True, it was wound pretty tight, you wouldn’t want to be nearby when it sprang open, but everything I needed for two weeks of lake-hopping north of Superior was packed in the folds of that thin sleeping bag. Taking my reliance on gear as a measure, I was more of a man then than I am now, and I hadn’t even hit puberty yet.

I’ve since been so seduced by stuff sacks full of supposed essentials I’m little more than a burro on the portage trail and an equipment manager at the campsite. These aren’t roles that lend themselves to enjoying the outdoors. Canoe tripping should be about leaving not just civilization behind, but its trappings too.

As Jay Morrison points out in his feature on shedding pounds, the ability to reclaim a fast and light style of travel in the wilderness requires just a little discipline. I’m going to take his advice and try to be more like my friend Dave. When we paddled the French River over Thanksgiving a few years ago Dave showed up with a drybag not much bigger than my bedroll of yore. I think he enjoyed the trip, but I can’t be sure; I was too busy fussing with gear to notice.

If I ever find my Swiss Army knife, I hope I have the sense to leave it behind in favour of a knife that doesn’t have a corkscrew, magnifying glass and toothpick.

This article first appeared in the 2009 Late Summer issue of Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine. Read the issue in our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it online here.

Deep in the heart of North America, surrounded by forest and field, there is an ocean.

A vast inland sea containing nearly a quarter of the world’s freshwater—enough to flood the lower 48 states to a depth of almost 10 feet—the Great Lakes contain upwards of 35,000 islands and their 10,000 miles of shore rival that of the U.S. ocean coastlines.

To those who dismiss them as “mere lakes”—mild tempered, serene and dreadfully boring—I invite you to consider the following.

As on the world’s seas, large weather systems can sweep in to whip the water to a violent fury. Storms originating on the hot, dry northern plains rush out over the lakes and unwary paddlers, increasing their ferocity with every mile.

When I visited the Battle Island light, the northernmost Great Lakes lighthouse, in Rossport, Ontario, the keeper there recounted how a 1977 winter storm sent three-story waves rolling past the tower, while spray and chunks of ice broke the glass out. “There’s 250 miles of fetch between here and Duluth,” he said. “So when the waves got here…well, they were pretty big.”

Also like the world’s oceans, the Great Lakes offer a water highway for vessels ranging in size from sea kayaks to thousand-foot-long bulk freighters. Deep in the American heartland, nearly 2,000 miles from the nearest ocean, it isn’t uncommon to see a cargo ship from Sweden sidle up to a dock in Milwaukee to unload wind turbine parts, while another takes on a load of grain bound for Jordan or coal for South Korea.

The same storms that threaten kayakers can plague even these large vessels. The first ship to sail the Great Lakes, La Salle’s Le Griffon, was almost inevitably the first to sink, presumed lost in a Lake Michigan storm while on her maiden voyage in 1679. The lakes account for nearly a quarter of all U.S. shipwrecks—nearly 8,000 in total.

Still have your doubts that these are real seas? Don’t tell that to the U.S. Coast Guard, who is responsible for safety and security on the 6,700 miles of America’s “third coast” bordering the Great Lakes and Saint Lawrence Seaway, performing everything from search-and-rescue operations to annual ice-breaking duties.

There are differences between the Great Lakes and the ocean, of course. But even these show that the lakes can be every bit as mercurial as the sea.

Only Lake Superior boasts any sort of measurable lunar tide (less than two inches), but all the Great Lakes can experience seiches, storm-surge-like oscillations of water caused by wind or atmospheric pressure variations. In 1929, a seiche with 20-foot waves came ashore near Grand Haven, Michigan, and swept 10 beachgoers from the pier. A 1995 seiche on Lake Superior raised and then lowered the water by over three feet, leaving small boats in Duluth’s harbor dangling from their mooring lines.

A ranger in the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore related how three kayak campers were stranded on Outer Island when a mysterious rise in water levels claimed their unsecured boats one night. Savvy Great Lakes paddlers—like their salty brethren—pull their kayaks far above the typical high-water mark and tie them to trees at night.

The very composition of freshwater lends it some distinctly different behaviors from seawater. Lake water is simply less dense: For paddlers, this lighter density creates steeper, sharper waves more easily whipped up by the wind. Rather than the gently rolling swells typical on the ocean, Great Lakes waves tend to stack up into taller, short-period waves with steeper vertical faces and breaking crests.

Lake or ocean? Ultimately, the question is irrelevant. If you have to take sides, you don’t get it. Instead, you’d be wise to humbly accept the Great Lakes on their own terms: a singularly beautiful and utterly unique place we call the Fresh Coast.

Jeffrey Lee edits www.SuperiorPaddling.com, a site that seeks to inform and inspire sea kayakers to explore the endless possibilities of paddling in the upper Great Lakes region.

This article first appeared in Adventure Kayak, Early Summer 2013. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here. 

Thanks to Archimedes, we know that an object immersed in fluid is buoyed upward by a force equal to the weight of the fluid the object displaces. In other words, when your body is in the water, it floats because the weight of the water it displaces is greater than the weight of your body.

What does that mean for paddlers? Well, because the human body is made up mostly of water, the average adult weighs between about 10 and 15 pounds submerged in freshwater. Body fat is less dense than bone or muscle mass, making it quite buoyant. Therefore, just because someone is heavier doesn’t mean they require more flotation.

That’s a lot of science, but stick with us here. If we trust the cute kid from Jerry Ma­guire when he says a human head weighs around eight pounds, then in order to keep the most important parts above the water, somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 to 20 pounds of flotation is required. Phew!

A PFD, which stands for personal flota­tion device, is anything used to keep you afloat and includes everything from a seat cushion to a life saving ring to a vest.

A lifejacket on the other hand, is specifi­cally designed to keep your head above the water should you become unconscious. These are usually either keyhole-shaped, like you might find on a cruise ship, or vests that have flotation flaps behind where your head would go. True lifejackets must also be red, yellow or orange, one-size-fits-all and reversible so they’re easier to don in an emergency.

This is an important distinction—most paddling jackets are PFDs, not lifejack­ets. Designing for comfort and mobility has won out over the necessity to keep a paddler’s head above water should he go unconscious.

Okay, back to the science.

Any flotation device worth its salt has been approved by one of a number of agen­cies depending on its type and your loca­tion. Most vest and waist belt PFDs de­signed with paddling in mind currently fall into either Type III or Type V U.S. Coast Guard ratings, or Type III or Special Use ratings in Canada. The dis­crepancy in regulations has created some difficulty for consumers. But all that is about to change.

An initiative to har­monize standards across North America has been underway for the past five years and a resolution is likely to come sometime in 2013. Flotation devices will soon go through the same testing in both countries so that they will no longer be sub­ject to separate certification processes in or­der to meet legal requirements. The hope is that this will reduce confusion for users, put more options on the market and increase innovation since the barriers to releasing a new product into both U.S. and Canadian markets will be fewer.

Among other things, these ratings mean that the PFD offers a minimum level of buoyancy. Currently, for Type III that’s 15.5 pounds in a buoyant foam device and for Type V or Special Use ratings, it’s anywhere between 15.5 to 22 pounds, depending on its intended use.

Why the extra flotation? In choppier con­ditions, like coastal paddling or whitewater environments, it’s nice to have a little extra clearance above the water. Aerated water like the stuff found in rapids and surf is less dense than water, requiring even more flotation to keep a swimmer afloat. Another important factor is whether or not a pad­dler intends to perform rescues with the vest. If you’re towing another person or boat, once again, more flotation will help keep your head above the water.

Many paddlers opt for inflatable devices that use a cartridge or lungpower to blow up the device. Belt packs are espe­cially popular for standup paddlers. These are handy as they don’t interfere with your strokes (or your tan) like a traditional vest will. They don’t, however, offer the same degree of pro­tection as inherently buoyant foam-packed paddling jackets because they require the ex­tra step of inflation to become buoyant.

The consequence of a well-used paddling jacket isn’t just faded nylon and a worked-in feel. All inherently buoyant PFDs will lose flotation over time as the foam breaks down. Keep your jacket stored out of the sun so UV rays can’t break down the ma­terials. Allow it to dry fully so mold and mildew can’t accumulate. And resist the urge to sit or kneel on it to maintain its effectiveness. If you attend a pool train­ing session be sure to rinse out your PFD as chemicals can break down its compo­nents. It’s also a great idea to check for worn stitching and weak points to ensure that the jacket will do its job during an emergency or rescue situation.

To test out a new PFD or to check the effectiveness of an older one, try it out in the water. Relax your body and let your head tilt back. Make sure your PFD keeps your head out of the water and that you can breathe easily. If not, check the label and go for something with a couple more pounds of flotation or retire your old one. For average users, replacement every five to seven years is a safe bet, more often if you’re on the water every day.

Competent paddling shops will only sell PFDs that are approved, making most of this technical stuff less vital informa­tion. That frees people up to focus more on style, fit, comfort and whether the col­ors match. The flotation offered by your device will come into play in more adverse conditions and rescue situations. At the very least, now you understand the label in your paddling jacket and have some great conversation for your next cocktail party.

This editorial originally appeared in the 2013 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here.