Foodies know that faster is not necessarily better, but do kayakers?

Carlo Petrini founded the Slow Food movement in Italy in 1986 to recapture the pleasure of eating from the incivilities of fast food culture, to “seek a slower and more aware pace of life.”

According to the movement’s founding document, The Slow Food Manifesto: “We are enslaved by speed and have all succumbed to the same insidious virus: Fast Life, which disrupts our habits, pervades the privacy of our homes and forces us to eat fast foods…. Homo Sapiens should rid himself of speed before it reduces him to a species in danger of extinction.”

Maybe it’s time for a Slow Kayaking Manifesto. There’s no better time than now, in this issue where we have a feature focusing entirely on going fast.

Hey, I’m not saying I know how to relax. Just ask my wife. She’d tell you to rip out this page and use it to fertilize your vegetables. I have a long history of speed addiction, on and off the water.

That’s why I know that we need to be extra careful not to always carry the hamster wheel mentality of our work lives into our recreation.

In these days of adventure racing mania and the media obsession with speed expeditions (always easier to report on than just another great trip) I think we need to pause to remem- ber the value of going slow.

This summer we are witnessing yet another record attempt around Vancouver Island, with the indefatigable Joe O’Blenis setting out to beat Brit powerhouse Sean morley’s 17-day circumnavigation.

Then we have Freya Hoffmeister for whom it wasn’t enough to be the second person in his- tory, and first woman, to kayak around Australia. She called her expedition a “race” and set out to beat a time set by only one other kayaker a quarter century ago.

Why should the people who go the fastest get all the attention?

Wouldn’t it be better for our sport to be known for its lifestyle, the way surfing is with its culture of Jack Johnson tunes, board shorts and scruffy kids on skateboards—a culture of leisure?

Leisure is the polar opposite of trying to paddle as fast as possible around a landmass. It’s a near spiritual state of mind—a state of play, a creative and meditative mindset. It’s apart from and opposite to the ultra rational state of mind that dominates our everyday lives—in which time is better spent at a desk earning money than it is walking outside breathing fresh air— and dominates our society that values fast cars more than the clean efficiency of bicycles.

I would rather people look at sea kayakers and say, “I want to live like that” than “those dudes are crazy!”

Yes, partly I’m just jealous. When I read about morley or O’Blenis racing around Van- couver Island, I wish I could be there with them. Taking time away to do nothing but paddle is a dream. I’d love to know how fast I could go. And even at top speed, kayaking is still leisure.

But let’s also celebrate our slow side.

In the words of The Slow Food Manifesto: “may suitable doses of guaranteed sensual pleasure and slow, long-lasting enjoyment pre- serve us from the contagion of the multitude who mistake frenzy for efficiency.”

By all means, perfect your stroke, push yourself to the pleasure of exhaustion, but also take rest days. Kick back and read about somebody else’s epic. The coast will wait for you as it always has.  

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2010 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Portage.

That’s what lakewater trippers do—we portage. From lake to lake, into remote wilderness, we heft mounds of stuff, all intricately organized into wannigans, canvas packs and polyethylene barrels. Yokes dig into our tired muscles as 60-pound canoes balance precariously on our shoulders. We are like oxen plowing the last furrow of the day, ready to unburden our load.

Many sport enthusiasts willingly subject themselves to torturous masochistic prac- tices—boxers accept head punches, cyclists wear tight spandex and canoeists…well, we portage.

It’s no wonder the word portage is often synonymous with gruelling pain and agony. As renowned canoeist Bill Mason once reminded us, “…portaging is like hitting your- self on the head with a hammer: it feels so good when you stop.”

So, when it came to planning a 200-day ca- noeing expedition, my husband and I found a way to paddle days on end, enjoying wide-open views, endless scenery, crystal clear wa- ter and the full gamut of weather conditions with no portages. Well…except for one. I will get to that later.

If you are a serious lakewater tripper, you must travel some of the coastline of the five immense lakes that shape the heart of North America—the Great Lakes. Vast and diverse, they are the largest chain of freshwater lakes on the planet, holding 20 per cent of the world’s freshwater.

Over the last three summers, we paddled this ancient waterway, travelling the entire 4,000-kilometre coastline of the Canadian Great Lakes from the Pigeon River, west of Thunder Bay, to Kingston on Lake Ontario, where the Great Lakes flow out the St. Lawrence River.

Along the way, we paddled the shores of Lake Superior, Lake Huron, Lake St. Clair, Lake Erie and Lake Ontario.

Each lake lives up to its great reputation. Lake Superior is the deepest, its greatest depth at 406 metres. Lake Huron is home to Manitoulin, the largest freshwater island in the world. Lake Erie boasts endless sand beaches around Long Point, Rondeau and Point Pelee and supports the richest aquatic life of all the lakes, a total of 46 million fish. And Lake Ontario offers its own challenges when your route takes you right through the busy city waterway of Toronto harbour. Oh, and there is only one portage. It happens to be 25 kilometres long, around a pretty major waterfall—Niagara.

THE COUNTDOWN TO P-DAY

After two blissfully portage-free summers, preparations for our third summer had begun and we were inadequately prepared for the 25-kilometre hike ahead. The longest portage in our combined portfolios was a mere three kilometres, but we felt confident in the helping hands of friends and family eager to lend their support in what was soon coined, P-Day.

As P-Day drew closer, however, our helpers dropped faster than the 100,000 cubic feet of water that flows over Niagara’s brink every second. We heard the full range of excuses, from dentist appointments to busy work schedules. Instead of a brigade, we were reduced to three helpful saints, who made the one-day carry possible. Portage technology had also advanced since the fur trade and we were well equipped with a modern canoe trolley that proved invaluable. Some call it cheating, but after a few kilometres, I call it smart. I’ll bet not one voyageur would rather carry a barrel of whiskey than roll it.