It wasn’t for the faint of heart. I sent my paddling mate, Andy, details about the trip I had planned—a 350-kilometer loop around Algonquin Park labeled the Meanest Link.

My emails outlined the difficulty of paddling up three of the six rivers we would encounter and that we had to portage 93 times, adding up to 68 kilometers of drudging along bug-infested trails. The problem was, he didn’t read my emails. Four days into our journey, Andy told me I was never to organize another trip, not for at least 10 years.

We weren’t the typical candidates for the route. It’s usually type-A personalities, striving for perfection and personal challenge that take it on. Our reasons for adventure were solitude and relaxation. The record for completing the loop was seven and-a-half days; I allocated three weeks.

We were the turtles, not the hare. Anyone who paddles the route is celebrated for trying and, if necessary, having the sense to call it quits. Except, maybe, us.

Local paddlers developed the route in 2004 in honor of Bill Swift Sr., one of the founders of Algonquin Outfitters, a man with a tough exterior but a heart of gold. Aside from sticking to the route, there are rituals to follow—camping on a specific site, travelling only by canoe and visiting 100-year-old Camp Pathfinder. That’s where our trouble began.

Andy had a scant 16 days of holidays and I thought it would take 20 days for us to complete the trip. At first, Andy planned to leave the trip on day 16 and let me continue alone. By day 12, however, he changed his tune. He wanted to cross the finish line. Finishing together was a far better way to complete the Link, I thought. A change of plans was in order.

We had to make a few shortcuts. First, we hired a boat shuttle across Algonquin’s biggest lake, Opeongo, as it’s more than half a day’s paddle. Then we hitchhiked the three kilometers of Portage Road. Our biggest time-saver, however, was to skip paddling up the Madawaska River to visit Camp Pathfinder.

At the finish line, on the afternoon of the sixteenth day, we learned of the controversy. 

I had posted online throughout the trip, sending photos and text, but not receiving. After writing about our change in plans we received righteous online lashing. A few Meanest Link alumni disagreed with our shortcuts and labeled us cheaters. Some even wrote we didn’t deserve to travel the route and had disgraced the institution of Meanest Link paddlers. Ouch.

On one hand, all others who completed the route kept to the customary ways. But the cheater label is hard to stick when you’re honest about what’s going on. Should I have kept to the plan and left my canoemate behind only to follow the rules? Or were we right to alter our trip to cross the finish line together?

In typical 21st century fashion, I let the device that initiated the debate decide our fate. I posted the question to Facebook and Twitter. Five cursed us and over 11,000 agreed with our decision. Andy and I had completed the Meanest Link together—guilt free.

Kevin Callan lost 10 pounds on the Meanest Link. His favorite section involved dragging upstream along the Big East River for four days. He recommends you try it sometime.

This article first appeared in Rapid Media’s 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here.

“You’re supposed to keep emergency stuff on you, right?” Po asks as we finish packing the kayaks. Pressing a hatch cover into place, I smile, pleased that she has remembered our discussion on ditch kits and survival principles. “Yeah, always…” I glance up and trail off as I watch her carefully stashing a wad of toilet paper in her PFD pocket.

I was once a beginner, too. New to paddling and out of my depth, I had plenty of clumsy, awkward and embarrassing moments. Some I look back on and chuckle. Others I just shake my head—what was I thinking?

Most experts agree: I wasn’t. There’s a tremendous amount of information to absorb even in an entry-level kayaking class. Pedagogical theory recognizes that most new paddlers are struggling to simply remember and imitate. Critical thinking and problem solving come much, much later, when the miles and hours have accumulated into that ultimate mentor: experience.

Silly mistakes are bound to occur when we’re learning. Most will be harmless—like the November camping trip where I packed juicy, softball-sized navel oranges for breakfast and awoke in the morning to find my hatch filled with frozen citrus kettlebells. At least we had ballast for the rest of the trip, should we have needed it. 

This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak, Early Summer 2013. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read here for free.

It used to be when someone wanted to film an expedition or design a kayak, their avenue to success involved only sacrifice and determination. They might’ve saved money, quit their job and reached out to friends, family, sponsors or even the bank for financial support. Then they’d go out and humbly attempt to fulfill their dream. Except in the most audacious cases, the public was never privy to their project until after the fact.

People still do this today, but like most everything else in our ultra-connected, social networked world, the Internet is rapidly changing things. Take San Francisco-based paddler Anton Willis, who was inspired by origami as a way to make a folding kayak for storage in his apartment. He started with paper models and progressed to corrugated plastic signboard. After making more than 20 full-size prototypes he came up with a 12-foot light-tourer that folds up to the size of a sofa cushion.

Sensing his design had broader appeal, Willis made a pitch to the world on Kickstarter, a crowdfunding website, last November. Within weeks he raised over $440,000 in seed money from 730 backers, and his ORU Kayak was featured in Fast Company magazine and on CNN.

Willis is a poster child for the massive potential of Kickstarter, which launched to support independent “creative work” in 2009 and has generated over half a billion dollars in pledges to date. Aspiring entrepreneurs, inventors and creative-minded adventurers set a fundraising goal and deadline, pitch their idea in words and video, promote it on social media and hope for donations. The project is funded only if the entire goal is met. Backers act on faith and get nothing in return for their donation except for feel-good karma and perhaps a piece of memorabilia—or in the case of ORU Kayaks, discounted prices and first-run shipping for those willing to ante up the full cost of a new boat.

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

Recently, international development workers have identified a new and surprisingly effective tool: the kayak.

As a sea kayak guide who spends much of my time working in the Arctic or overseas, I am well acquainted with the remarkable way in which our crafts glide smoothly through linguistic, social, physical and economic barriers. But in early 2012, my jaw hit the deck when I saw a volunteer posting for kayak instructors to work on a development project in Tanzania.

I applied for and got the posting, and in May headed to East Africa to share my kayaking skills with instructors at the National College of Tourism (NCT) in the bustling coastal city and commercial capital of Dar es Salaam.

For this final stage of a three-year, Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA)-funded partnership with the College of the Rockies in British Columbia, NCT had requested help developing marine tourism modules for their Tourism Diploma program, including kayak training for their instructors.

The request fit in neatly with the partnership’s aim to help Tanzania diversify their tourism products. Home to half of the world’s remaining wild lions and the two largest protected areas in Africa, Tanzania is well known amongst ecotourists for inland attractions like Serengeti National Park, Ngorongoro Crater, Gombe Chimp Park and Mount Kilimanjaro. But other than the history-rich Spice Island of Zanzibar, there is little in the way of developed tourism along the endless white sand beaches and crystal clear waters of the country’s Swahili Coast. Dynamite fishing threatens Tanzania’s world-class reefs and marine life, and tourism is seen as a way for locals to put a different value on marine resources.

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

In Rapid Media’s 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide, there’s no shortage of choice. Short boats, long boats, folding and inflatable boats, standup boards for idling, surfing, racing and rapid shooting—and all made from a cornucopia of space-age materials and presented in every shape and color imaginable.

What’s nothing short of amazing is that with the wide-ranging preferences and predilections of the current paddlesports marketplace, you can still buy a canvas-covered wooden canoe essentially unchanged in more than a century of service. Yes, you too can have a premium-grade, 16-foot Old Town OTCA for $7,599.99. Fiberglass skin is $200 extra, plus tax and shipping.

Back in 1925, an OTCA sold for about $50. The exact price depended on a variety of options, including length, color, finish, sponsons, outside stems, floor racks, canoe seats, middle thwart, long decks, half ribs and sailing accouterments.

Adjusting the 88-year-old price tag in today’s dollars using the consumer price index, that boat would be $663.50. A tremendous deal and a far cry from what is now demanded for a fancy throwback double-ender. In today’s market, it’s the labor costs that push the price through the roof. Nevertheless, the OTCA and others of its ilk have survived.

And while I find it harder to imagine a buyer in the year 2100 flipping through some e-catalogue, telepathically delivered of course, and picking out a standup paddleboard that’s essentially unchanged since 2014, I can envision the venerable wood and canvas canoe still quietly plying the waters.

Regardless of manufacturer, length, material, weight, style, history or price, the essence of self-propelled recreation persists and is as relevant today as it was when the whole concept of leisure came along as a happy consequence of the industrial revolution. Canoes, kayaks, boards—hell, even improvised craft like Huck Finn’s raft—still offer their paddlers and polers a chance to get on the water, to connect to a river or shoreline and to participate in an activity that is as old as North America itself.

In 1925, the average life expectancy for men was 57.6 years and for women 60.6 years. Today, we can expect to live 20 years longer and many of us choose to spend it immersed in the happiness found in the rhythm and camaraderie of silent craft.

Looking back at some of the old canoe manufacturers’ catalogues, the range of products on offer is much narrower and the options seem a bit antiquated, however some of the slogans are as apt now as they were back then. In 1919, for example, the Old Town Canoe Company catalogue reflected on the post-WWI era, showing an image of a soldier advancing with bayonet mounted against a montage of paddle, pack, canoe and blanket. The slogan, referring to the Allies victory in WWI, says, “Outdoor life did it,” meaning that the strength of mind, body and spirit of a young person heading into conflict was shaped by the paddling experience.

In 1920 and 1921, the bristle of that sentiment was softened to “Old Town Canoes for outdoor vigor.” And, in 1922, my favorite, beneath a happy couple on the water in a handsome canvas-covered canoe, the slogan reads, “Waterways for pleasure days.”

More than ninety years later and the sentiment is equally as true. Happy shopping.

This article first appeared in Rapid Media’s 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here.

To the uninitiated, paddling seems like a young person’s sport. Adventures by canoe and kayak, complete with portages, open water crossings and especially whitewater, can seem best enjoyed by young bucks. I recently read an article in Rapid titled, “Paddle Til You’re Fifty”. While the mate­rial of the piece actually encouraged paddlers to continue well into their golden years, the title stuck in my craw. Not only did it imply I was past my best-before date, but most of the paddlers I know are exceptions to that watery ceiling. Am I part of a deluded co­hort, paddling my way over the edge of mortality?

I have the great fortune to offer paddling expeditions on twenty rivers across the north, from Alaska to Nunavut, all of which are life list-worthy destinations. Most people are surprised to learn the average age of our guests is 57. Of course, this means many of the clients are older than 57—the oldest was 84. In fact, Genera­tion X and Y are noticeably absent from northern waterways, on both guided and self-guided expeditions.

Even while our own stats show that more paddlers take on big trips after they hit the 50-year milestone, these demographics fly in the face of research by the Outdoor Industry Association. The OIA’s 2013 Outdoor Participation Report shows that outdoor recreation for the average American begins a slow and steady decline starting at the age of 40. The population segment where outdoor activity is growing the fastest is in males between the ages of 13 to 17—unfor­tunately, they can’t afford northern river trips, nor the sleek refine­ments that increase the longevity of the sport for Boomers.

Indeed, Boomers and Zoomers are fully capable of enjoying the paddling world, whether in canoes, rafts or kayaks. For some, it’s not until they’re older that they feel confident in the skills required to embark on their dream destinations. Their outdoor experience, techniques and risk management abilities acquired over 50 years far make up for the bull-headed power of a 20-something.

Ultimately, economics play a big part in why there’s more grey hair on northern rivers. Being over the hill often means more disposable income, which comes with increased opportunity to travel and access to better equipment. When you factor in the skilled guides, great food and even better wine that paddling tourism offers, what’s not attractive to a golden-aged adventurous spirit.

Neil Hartling is owner of Nahanni River Adventures and Cana­dian River Expeditions, an author and Fellow of the Royal Canadian Geographical Society. He’s 52 and sees no end in sight to his paddling career. www.nahanni.com.

This editorial originally appeared in the 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here. 

The most recent outdoor activity participation study results are in. Cycling is huge. Trail running is still growing. On the water, standup paddleboarding is way up. Kayak fishing is really catch­ing on. Why?

These grab-and-go activities fit conveniently into busy lives. It’s easy to grab a road bike or lace up runners and be back before din­ner. Paddleboards require only a paddle and PFD. Fishing kayaks launch just about anywhere. But adventures like whitewater, ca­noeing and kayaking that have traditionally required more than a couple hours of commitment are sliding down our to-do lists.

I’ve written over the years in Rapid about the pros and cons of urban whitewater parks. I’ve compared them to climbing walls and foretold the slow death of real adventure. Now, I see that climbing walls and whitewater parks aren’t killing us. We are killing ourselves.

Our leisure habits are changing and the smaller windows of time we have to play outside must fit between school, overtime, traffic and daycare drops. Urban whitewater parks remove barri­ers, making a surf session as easy as a game of squash.

Access however isn’t a barrier for canoeing and kayaking. There is flatwater almost everywhere. The problem is that our dearly beloved tripping canoes and expedition sea kayaks aren’t exactly grab-and-go in today’s world.

Bill Kueper of Wenonah Canoe first tipped me off to this new way of thinking during a round table discussion about the state of canoeing in America.

“For years we’ve been selling people their once-a-year canoes and kayaks, the ones they take on annual trips to the Boundary Waters or the San Juan Islands,” he said. “Instead, we should be selling them boats that perform best for the water they can paddle most often.”

Bill calls these Tuesday night boats—the ones we can most easily enjoy every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or whenever there’s a few hours to escape.

“But my husband and I already have our canoe,” protested one instructor. Why, I asked her, should paddling be any different from other outdoor activities? Why shouldn’t we have more than one canoe or kayak?

Last fall, my wife and I got back into mountain biking. To enjoy our precious time together, I bought a new mountain bike. Now, on Wednesday nights we book a babysitter and join a community ride. We’ve made new friends and tailgate in the parking lot after­ward. It’s fun, social and it’s easy.

In only 13 months, I’ve purchased three new bikes—all of which, for the record, cost more than any of my canoes or kayaks. I evolved from a born-again mountain biker to a guy who rides bikes—all kinds of bikes. Different bikes allow me to ride more often. Yes, I could have ridden my trail bike on the road and off big jumps, but it would have sucked.

I believe the same is true for paddling. If I’m going to get out more, it has to be easy. Otherwise I’ll spend my leisure time doing other things, or worse, nothing at all.

The river is a short walk from my office. For years I stood at my desk talking on the phone and looking out the window, dreaming about paddling at lunchtime. Why hadn’t I gone? Bill nailed it. I didn’t have my Tuesday night boat. Nothing says miserable lunch break fitness paddle more than a 70-pound Royalex Prospector. I needed my grab-and-go boat.

Increasing participation in paddling is simple. Here, in our 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide, you’ll find 369 canoes, kayaks and paddleboards. Buy the one, or ones, that best suit your local rock garden, lake, river, park, pond or swimming pool. Then paddle the hell out of them. No excuses.

Scott MacGregor is the founder and publisher of Rapid Media. He is the proud owner of a new 32-pound Wenonah Advantage solo racing canoe and a bent shaft carbon paddle. He won’t be taking any more calls between noon and one.

This editorial originally appeared in the 2014 Paddling Buyer’s Guide. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it on your desktop here.