At its roots, the term freestyle is pretty self-explanatory. You are free to do whatever you want, expressing your style however you want. Freestyle kayaking is no exception; paddlers invent new moves on waves and in holes, and add personal flair to existing maneuvers.

Unfortunately, when it comes to scoring freestyle competitions, freedom and style could not be further from judges’ minds. To do well in competition, paddlers are forced to check their style in the eddy and conform to the definitions in a rulebook.

The system rewards speed over execution, assigning the same point value to a move whether it is performed perfectly or sloppily. This often leads to poor form and makes competitions less appealing for spectators. The loss of spectators, and competitors, is the single biggest hurdle facing freestyle kayaking competitions today.

This shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone who’s attended a freestyle event lately. Competitor turnout at freestyle events around the globe has dwindled tenfold in the past decade. The senior men’s class at the World Championships dropped from 131 participants in 2003 to just 70 in 2007 (the 2009 Worlds drew a more encouraging 103).

“Numbers are down at the big events, especially in the pro classes,” multi-time U.S. Free- style Team member and pro circuit competitor Bryan Kirk says. “Although participation seems to be increasing at new amateur events like the World Kayak Hometown Throwdown series, I’m not sure it will ever equal what it was in 2000.”

Decreasing kayak sales, waning sponsorship dollars and a slew of less-than-ideal event venues contributed to this decline, but competition format has played a critical role. Since its incep- tion, the freestyle scoring sheet has changed almost every year, making it hard for competitors to keep track of how they’re judged, and nearly impossible for spectators to keep track of who’s winning.

Fixing the scoring system could help solve the attendance problem. But the change needs to happen at a fundamental level. Simply putting a number value on each move just doesn’t work for freestyle kayaking. The current bonus points for amplitude and trick combinations are not enough.

“The problem with the scoring system is that it produces a big gap between the top paddlers, who can do every trick both ways, and the average competitors,” says Jeremy Laucks, OC1 World Champion and long-time pro tour judge. “The hard tricks are worth so much more…that if you don’t have them wired, you’re not competitive. For a lot of competitors, that’s discouraging.”

A NEW SYSTEM NEEDED

A new system needs to be devised that will reward competitors for flawless execution, style and creativity. Nearly every sport that celebrates the same free and style roots as kayaking is judged subjectively: half pipe snowboarding, freestyle skiing, skateboarding, bmx, figure skating, even baton twirling. A skater is not awarded a set number of points for merely landing her triple axel, regardless of how it is executed. So why is a kayaker?

Adopting a system like this would give athletes a rubric that stands the test of time, no matter how many new moves are invented or how drastically boat designs evolve. More importantly, it would bring freedom and style to competition, and with it the paddlers who are the lifeblood of the sport.

Kelsey Thompson is a four-time member of the Canadian Freestyle Kayak Team and the current national champion. 

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2011 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.

For many, sea kayaking is synonymous with quiet paddles into the sunset and multi-day trips on scenic coasts. Lovely, challenging even, but not exactly thrilling. That’s changing.

Over the past five years, interest has exploded among a growing subset of paddlers in a more adrenalized aspect of the sport: rough water sea kayaking.

Sea kayaking in rough water isn’t new. Small pockets of paddlers have been taking long boats out to play in surf, rock gardens and tidal races for over 25 years. When Stan Chladek founded the infamous Gales of November on Lake Superior in the mid ‘80s, the annual event drew up to 50 of the sport’s top paddlers, including Nigel Dennis and Dave Ide.

Footage of early pioneers like Eric Soares and the Tsunami Rangers careening through impossibly narrow passages and exploding haystacks, along a cliffed-out coast pounded by 20-foot Pacific swell, is still hair-raising nearly three decades later.

I am a man. But I have happily used a paddle with the super-girly name Athena. I have paddled a kayak called the Eliza that is allegedly designed specifically for women—although I happen to know firsthand that the Eliza’s male designers quite enjoyed her svelte lines and graceful handling.

I have worn a Lola: a PFD inspired by the bodice of a wedding dress. Alone at home, I have even tried on my wife’s Kokatat women’s Gore-Tex drysuit.

That’s right—I am a cross-paddler.

I rented the aforementioned Eliza from my local paddling shop. The young studly dude at the counter was concerned.

“You know this is a chick’s boat, right?” he asked.

I said I did. There was a prolonged uncomfortable pause. He shifted uneasily and eyed me suspiciously. A Village People song played on the radio. I’m sure you will find / Many ways to have a good time / It’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A. The hairy eyeball treatment was really getting to me.

So, with an easy smile, I lied that my wife was looking forward to trying it. The rental counter dude immediately relaxed. We chatted about hunting and hockey as he helped me load the Eliza on my Jetta.

At the beach, I quickly launched the Eliza before anyone else could witness my aberrant behavior. Frightened of being bullied by my male paddling buddies, I went alone. Scorned and misunderstood, the cross-paddler’s life is a lonely one.

What exactly is a woman’s kayak?

Why is it that we men are so hung up on avoiding anything that is marketed as women-specific? It’s just a kayak after all—we’re not talking about bras and tampons.

Try this: In a crowded outdoor store, offer a guy a fleece jacket to try on. It fits him perfectly and is both functional and handsome. He is pleased. Now casually mention that it is a woman’s jacket and watch as he rips it from his body before the vice squad can kick in the door and haul him away for gross indecency.

His reaction is the same as one might expect had he been caught wearing a silver lamé bustier, stiletto heels and heavy eye makeup.

What exactly is a woman’s kayak? What defines it and makes it women-specific? Is it pink and covered in bows? Must you lift its stern and peer under its keel to really be sure? Ridiculous, right?

Women are generally more than willing to try men’s gear. In the past, they had little choice because so few companies offered technical ap- parel and equipment cut for the female form.

So why are men so sensitive about using women’s gear?

I say there is no such thing as a gender-specific kayak or paddle. At least there ought not to be. There is only gear that may be better suited to smaller or larger paddlers, or folks with less or more upper body strength on tap. What paddler, male or female, doesn’t want a kayak or paddle that is light and appropriate for his or her size and paddling style?

Let’s be a little more accepting of those who enjoy cross-paddling. After all, every time you go sea kayaking, I bet you’re wearing a skirt.

Alex Matthews is dead butch. He lives and paddles in a manly way on southern Vancouver Island. 

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

The region could benefit greatly from navigation safety education to decrease a high annual drowning death toll. To bolster sustainable economic growth, area guides need training to establish a stable and reputable eco-tourism industry. These issues are important to boaters who value life on and around the water, be they western expedition paddlers who are passionate about their lifestyle or Africans who rely on the lake for sustenance.

Distance and economic disparity can be overcome by celebrating a common denominator. For the people of Lake Nyassa, the kayak is a perfect fit. Paddlers planning international expeditions have the potential to show solidarity in their endeavors. By doing so, they’ll give the world at large one more reason to get involved in kayaking—benevolence.