The Marmora and Area Canoe and Kayak Festival (MACKfest) just kicked off the paddling season in Ontario for it’s 4th season. There was a freestyle competition, extreme down river race, raffles, gear swap, live band, vendors, camping, good food, and great rivers. Here is a short highlight vid of what it’s all about and look for Rapid Media TV to be there again next year.
Only a handful of times have I been to the edge—life threatening, soul searching, that-almost-killed-me events. The kind, to put it mildly, I never wish to experience again. What I remember about these brief, endless moments on the river is two things: first, the burning of water blasting through my sinus cavity and behind my eyeballs; and second, the confusion.
The other half of my life is considerably more sedate. I’m an academic, which means I read a lot, teach some, think about ideas and go to conferences. While sometimes I still walk away saying, “That almost killed me,” for the most part it is a safer place. Within this reading, teaching, ideas and conference circuit, there are a couple of gurus. One of them, a round, grey-haired sociologist, specializes in confusion.
Sensemaking, actually. The opposite of confusion. Sensemaking is “the process by which people give meaning to experience” he writes in his seminal work on risk management and error prevention. Karl Weick is fascinated with how individuals make sense of a situation. His specialty is how people deal with crisis.
Back to the edge.
It was a medium drop on the Upper Yough with a way-left boof line. Lock the lip, boof…why am I not coming up? Where am I? How long did it take me to figure out I was getting surfed between the curtain and the rock wall? Minutes? A second? Hard to tell. My confusion was dark, loud and all consuming.
The field of risk management and accident investigation commonly retraces the decision-making process preceding and during a critical event. In this case, the decisions preceding my slip (being 16 inches off line) were sound. What should occur next—the decisions in the moment of crisis—either minimizes or escapes the situation. This is where Weick and sensemaking comes in, or doesn’t.
Confusion precludes decision-making. Weick explains that how one makes sense of a situation directly affects what gets decided. If sensemaking does not catch up with a situation that is desperate and life threatening, then other critical decisions are not made.
“The less adequate the sensemaking process directed at a crisis, the more likely it is that the crisis will get out of control,” he concludes.
The thing with theory is that it doesn’t help with the water blasting my eyeballs and the rock wall where I want to put my paddle. In this case I didn’t make sense of where I was until I had already minimized the problem to something I could deal with. I needed air. As I focused on solving my basic air problem, I eventually figured out what was going on.
Weick can explain this, too. “There is a delicate trade-off between dangerous action which produces understanding, and safe inaction which produces confusion…people don’t know what the appropriate action is until they take some action and see what happens.” In effect, trial and error helps define what is going on, and brings sense to the confusion. Waiting to see what happens only makes things worse.
Sensemaking grows with experience. A wider range of experience allows wider breadth of sensemaking. That doesn’t mean I’m going to volunteer to get pinned just to get a sense of it. I’d rather take my chances on the conference circuit.
This article originally appeared in Rapid, Spring 2013. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App orAndroid App or read it here.
The new Esquif L’Edge was in the concept and development phase for an unbelievable eight years. Designer Craig Smerda was originally inspired by the design innovations of the late Frankie Hubbard’s Spanish Fly—a freestyle boat much loved by southern creekers.
Smerda began building on this benchmark in 2002 and in the years that followed he designed and tested and eventually teamed with Jacques Chasse at Esquif Canoes to produce just two prototypes. One bounced around the 2009 Open Canoe Slalom Nationals and the other was shipped to the Ottawa River for renowned open boaters Paul Mason and Andrew Westwood. The feedback allowed Smerda, design collaborators Mark Scriver and Dave Proulx, and Chasse to dial in final specs for the long-awaited production boat.
The L’Edge is the first canoe available in both open and decked versions. We had the chance to paddle both and preferred the open one. Call us old fashioned, but we like our open boats…well…open. Eight pounds lighter than its decked counterpart and with ash gunwales, the open version feels and looks more like a canoe. The decked model is drier, but both are so much drier than anything we’ve ever paddled that it’s of little advantage.
When OC creeking, the wobbles should be the last thing on your mind. The L’Edge is very, very stable. While faster than the Spanish Fly, the L’Edge is definitely slower than the Prelude and Zoom. With so much stability, we’re inclined to monkey around with the L’Edge’s width to gain a little speed. With the open model, you can chop thwarts and suck it in. Smerda himself recommends cutting off one to one-and-a-half inches if you’re looking to make the boat snappier.
A foam bulkhead is the simplest, most universal outfitting system, though not the most precise. It fits more like athletic support than dentures. In the case of the L’Edge this outfitting is out of sheer necessity. The patch anchors needed for thigh straps don’t stick well to polyethylene. Also, the L’Edge is a creeker at heart. Emptying my boat in a micro eddy with only a few feet of water before the next drop, I’d rather slide quickly back into a bulkhead than wiggle around, cinching thigh straps.
The extreme rocker of the L’Edge allows it to boof anything. It rides high over reactionaries and pops over holes. The boat’s poly construction also makes it super durable if you’re into shallow slides and concrete rivers like the U.S. National Whitewater Center.
Eight years later, Smerda finally pulled it off—he designed a canoe that should swat the Fly. The L’Edge is our new favorite creek boat, but we’re not giving up our Zephyrs, Ocoees and Sparks as longer, lighter, big-river boats. The secret is to match the L’Edge with the two-stroke technical rivers and play spots for which it was designed.
ESQUIF L’EDGE DECKED/OPEN
Material: Polyethylene
Length: 9’2”
Width: 29.8”
Depth: 16”
Weight: 56/64 lbs
MSRP: $1,729 US / $1,900 Cdn
$2,033 US / $2,233 Cdn
This article originally appeared in Rapid, Spring 2011. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
Camping is synonymous with campfires. There is some atavistic aspect of staring into the dancing flames over a bed of embers that is primitively satisfying and deeply comforting.
Campfires are not, however, without their drawbacks. The scarring of land, harvesting of firewood and the residual trash not consumed by flames are apparent at nearly every campsite that sees even moderate use. So how can campfire impact be reduced?
Here are some tips for building a low-impact fire that will still allow you to partake in this timeless tradition.
Where is the best place to build a fire? Use an existing pit where available. Make sure the fire is contained in a fire ring, or—even better—carry and use a metal fire pan or fire box to prevent ground scarring. You can also make a fire on a mound of sand or earth, and then scatter the mound and cooled grey ash so that you cannot tell a fire was ever burned there.
Ideally, you should be able to break the wood with your bare hands. For most people, this means using sticks that are wrist-size or smaller. Small pieces of wood burn to grey ash more readily, leaving behind fewer unsightly pieces of charcoal and half-burned wood.
At most campsites there is an abundance of fallen small wood overlooked by campers who scavenge for larger pieces. It is easy to gather and will keep even the most obsessive fire-pokers busy feeding it to the flames.
Metal will not be consumed, lumps of uneaten dinner will not burn to ash and no one wants to sit around a campfire smelling the fumes from melting plastic.
If you are not going to be close enough—or awake enough—to control it, put it out.
[ Paddling Buyer’s Guide: View all camping gear ]
At least, not every night. Make having a campfire a special treat.
Enjoy your fire, but don’t take it for granted. Keep it clean and small and don’t use all the wood. The next campers will thank you.
Put simply, a crossing occurs anytime you cannot safely return to land virtually instantaneously. This includes shortcutting across the mouths of bays or fiords, island hopping and paddling around cliffs or rocky capes where you may be close to shore but still vulnerable with no safe exit.
There are three dangers inherent in any crossing: general fatigue, capsizing and drifting off course.
When Dr. Hannes Lindemann prepared for his solo kayak crossing of the Atlantic in 1957, he trained to stay awake and alert for long periods of time. Fatigue can affect judgment and decision-making ability as well as paddling ability.
To gauge your personal limits, start with short crossings and gradually work your way towards covering longer distances. You’ll find strength and joy as you tickle the borders of exhaustion, but don’t get halfway out on a 20-mile crossing and realize that it’s too much.
Kayaking books teach techniques for getting back in your boat after you’ve capsized. The best advice: Don’t tip over in the first place. Practice bracing and righting skills in rivers or surf—any place with complex hydraulics. If you don’t enjoy the chaos of rough water, limit your exposure to crossings. As with training for fatigue, match your risk to your skill level and personality, leaving leeway for the situation to become more intense than you initially envisioned.
In order to avoid drifting off course, careful calculation and planning for a number of scenarios are necessary.
Catabatic winds can occur any time high, cold peaks border warmer shorelines. Cool air may spill down the mountains, creating intense offshore winds that can push you off course.
They usually intensify in the afternoons, so plan accordingly.
Tidal currents are most intense where there is a large tidal range and where narrow straits connect two bodies of water of different sizes and depths. For example, tides would race through a channel connecting a shallow bay and the ocean, creating shears and eddies where speeding water interacts with calmer water. To avoid the impacts of tidal currents, travel at slack tide or take potential drift into consideration.
The most exciting crossings involve passages to small islands where, if you miscalculate, you may find yourself adrift on the open sea. Deepsea waves, winds and currents require that you study pilot charts, talk to local sailors and fishermen, and always err on the upwind side. It’s much easier to drift downwind at the end of a long day than to battle against wind or current in the fading light.
When taking on a crossing, be sure to bring lots of food and water, and have your navigation gear and extra clothes in an easily accessible, waterproof deck bag.
Jon Turk’s book, In the Wake of the Jomon, chronicles his two-year crossing from Japan to Alaska.
This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak, Spring 2011. Download our freeiPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
Add reliability and ease to your roll by incorporating an active leg drop. The active leg drop better uses your body to roll the kayak and moves you away from relying too heavily on your paddle.
The quick, powerful action of rolling a kayak with the hips—a hip snap/flick—is widely described as getting the upper body near the surface and supported by the water, while righting the boat with a rolling action of the hips. Most people are told to lock their knees under the deck and concentrate on the upward action of one knee.
Both legs pushing up against the deck creates resistance to the rolling action. A paddler will often compensate by pulling harder on his paddle. He is essentially trying to lift his body up underneath the still overturned kayak, resulting in a cumbersome or failed roll and additional stress on the upper body. Avoid these problems with an active leg drop.
Start your roll by actively driving your leg closest to the paddle down, transferring con- tact from the thigh brace to the hull. Roll that hip and sit bone down while lifting with your opposite knee, bringing the kayak underneath your body.
This opposition of forces results in the kayak rolling almost upright before your body lifts out of the water, which reduces the need to pull on the paddle. As the kayak rolls up, your lowered leg and hip create a solid platform to help prevent it from tipping back over.
Watch another roller who is incorporating an active leg drop and you will notice that the boat moves before she starts to move her paddle.
Practice the action with this exercise. Hold onto a fixed object—a pool side or a friend’s bow or hand—and lower yourself into the water by rotating onto your back and bringing your shoulders parallel to the side of your kayak. Keep your arms bent in a strong position. Roll the boat over on top of your body while keeping your head on the surface.
Drive the leg closest to your hands to the bottom of the kayak while increasing pressure against the thigh brace on the opposite leg. Arc your spine and leave your head on the water. You will feel the kayak roll easily into a more upright position. This is similar to what Greenland paddlers refer to as a static brace position.
Repeat until you start to feel the coordination of your opposing leg actions, and then incorporate it into your roll.
In addition to rolling your kayak more efficiently, the active leg drop can also be incorporated into edging and bracing to the same advantage.
Shawna Franklin is the co-founder of Body Boat Blade International, an award-winning kayak school located on Orcas Island, Wa. A BCU coach Level 5 aspirant, Shawna was the first woman in North America to achieve the BCU 5 Star Sea award.
Peer review
“Shawna’s article is a great isolation and description of an important component to the roll. The connection to using downward pressure is key. ” » Ginni Callahan, ACA level 5 instructor and BCU level 4 coach, Cathlamet, WA
“It is great to see a coach moving paddlers away from the hip flick technique. Instead, think of your hips as a relaxed and flexible joint separating upper and lower body. Remember the mantra “Boat first, body second, head last” for the timing of a successful roll.” » Doug Cooper, BCU level 5 coach, Aviemore, Scotland
“Try backward learning to reinforce the leg drop. Holding onto a solid object, use one leg to actively pull the kayak upside down. Use the other leg to right the kayak. As you build confidence and skill, try Shawna’s drill holding onto a paddle float or flutter board. This will force you to drive the roll with your legs. If you use your arms, you will sink.” » Michael Pardy, Paddle Canada level 3 instructor trainer, Victoria, BC
“Many Greenland kayak designs [have] a wooden bar that holds both legs flat. [In] whitewater kayak designs, the limited space forces knees up and out- ward. So there’s a group of paddlers rolling with both legs straight and another rolling with both legs bent. Conceptually, I welcome Shawna’s instruction to prevent adverse pressure against the deck, although it’s not always possible. ” » Nigel Foster, BCU level 5 coach, St. Petersburg, FL
“Make sure your boat fits you correctly so you don’t fall out when using this technique. A keyhole cockpit offers a much better fit than a more open style. ” » Christopher Lockyer, BCU level 4 coach and Paddle Canada level 3 instructor, Halifax, NS
This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak, Spring 2011. Download our freeiPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
When people say the Perception Essence 17.0 Airalite is a “good looking boat”—as they inevitably do—they’re likely referring to the sexy lines of the long, slender bow. For it’s here that the Essence reveals its designers’ intentions to prolong the transition from bow to midsection to make for the finest possible entry lines.
The Essence is a sharp contrast to rough water designs that carry more volume in the ends for buoyancy in waves. Crafted by longtime Confluence Watersports boat designer Bob McDonough to be a friendly, high-performance tourer, it has a sporty feel and excellent capacity and speed for its length. This is achieved by the tapered bow and the Swede form shape, with the widest point rear of the midsection like a racing kayak.
The stern is stockier than the bow—a nod to packability. In McDonough’s words, “You’ve got to carry the volume somewhere.”
The result is capacity for long trips combined with excellent efficiency that is refreshing to find in a plastic boat. The Airalite we tested is the lighter, thermoformed version but the Essence also comes in more affordable poly, and both options are available in a 16.5 length for smaller paddlers.
A limited rocker plus the tapered bow’s emphasis on knifing the water equals strong tracking and minimal weathercocking. There’s perhaps less need for the skeg than for the optional rudder, which novices might appreciate for easier turning.
The hull under the cockpit is a shallower V than other popular British-style 17-footers like Confluence’s Wilderness Systems Tempest 170 and the NDK Explorer. It’s also about an inch wider and the chine is slightly softer, resulting in greater initial stability and more smooth, predictable edging.
For this new top-end touring boat, Perception has taken a winning British formula and expertly honed it to be a tad more welcoming to a wide range of paddlers and uses. And, dare we say, a little faster and more spacious.
With a distance swimmer’s heart for the straight and narrow, the Essence is perhaps not your first choice for a day in the surf. However, like the touring edition of a high-end sports sedan, this kayak is perfectly capable of dialing up the adrenaline and having some fun if opportunity booms. Which, in our books, is the definition of the perfect tripping kayak.
Rudder readyIn addition to the standard hydrofoil- shaped skeg and easy adjusting SlideLock foot braces, the essence comes rudder-ready with a mounting bracket on the stern and routings for cables.
The Essence includes a 10-inch bow hatch, 8-inch day hatch and an oversized stern hatch, all with tight- fitting kajak-Sport rubber lids.
Perception touts its Zone eXp Seating System as “expedition grade.” It includes a long, padded seat bottom with adjustable height to promote circulation on extended outings, and adjustable padded thigh braces. a long, spacious cockpit accommodates tall paddlers.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
I was conceived in a tarpaper shack. It had a door handle of silver-polished driftwood scavenged from the neighboring beach, and a chicken wire window through which carried the sound of waves gently lapping or violently thrashing three-billion-year-old volcanic greenstone.
My parents never set foot in this rustic hut. I’m not referring to the conception of the large-lunged, platinum-haired infant they named Virginia and raised in a semi-rural colonial. Rather, it is my adult identity—a sea kayaker by passion and trade—that was born here.
Few people can pinpoint the protozoan moment they became the essence of who they really are. Identify the choices that defined the course the rest of their lives would take. I can.
For me, it was during one of those golden, bewitchingly long summer days just after solstice on Lake Superior, when shadows seem to stretch to the horizon and the lumpy hills turn softly purple.
I arrived on the lake eager and impressionable, a week out of college and sopping-wet-behind-the-ears—even more so after a first day initiation in the surf.
I had an extra large mesh duffle containing my worldly possessions, a Rubbermaid full of books and an invitation to work as an assistant kayak guide.
For the next four months, I divided my time between the shack known to my co-workers as the Taudis des Souris (not without good reason, I soon discovered), my no-longer-new-smelling tent and the cockpit of a kayak. At season’s end, I was a sea kayaker.
Even more than the incredible tripping and surfing or adjective defying landscape, the other kayakers with whom I shared those blissfully isolated, uncomplicated months defined me. From them, I learned to be master of my craft, confident on open water and in avalanching waves. I discovered how to live simply and comfortably out of 130 liters of plastic for weeks at a stretch. I listened to remarkable stories that would eventually lead me to my own thrilling adventures. I fell in love and shared the shack with more than just mice.
Every raw experience further glazed the patina of my evolving identity. I couldn’t know the places kayaking would take me, but I was eager to discover. I’m still discovering. Settling in to helm this issue of Adventure Kayak, I’ve added another layer of identity: Sea kayak magazine editor.
Driftwood and paddles still decorate my home, but I’ve traded chicken wire acoustics and isolation for high-speed and a broad- reaching industry and community network. I look forward to the inspiring stories and people to which this job is an unrivalled portal. I’ve no doubt your tales will lead some fascinating places.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
The view is every bit as unique and spectacular as the viewpoint.
I am standing 20 feet above Lake Superior with arms outstretched to steady myself. My form fills the dark, rectangular defile cut into the rock face of South McKellar Island.
Like me, the men who carved this mine adit—a horizontal tunnel burrowing roughly 450 feet into the heart of this tiny outcrop—were on a fervent search. Where they sought silver nearly 130 years ago, I am looking for a healing peace. To me, the true treasure here is the lake itself, as gentle this day as an outsized millpond.
Below my feet, our three kayaks are lashed to a giant iron staple driven into the rock. Looking landward toward Pie Island, the view is of stunning headlands, sheer cliff faces and rugged shores cloaked in spruce. In an exchange of roles, the lake seems to have switched with the land as a place of refuge. Sky and water ap- pear interchangeable. It is a peace-giving place, and that is precisely why I am here.
I slammed the door last summer on a 29-year career as a special education teacher serving deaf and hard-of-hearing students, terminally fed up with administrative bureaucracy.
A mutual passion for paddling has connected me with some amazing individuals over the years. On this two-week trip from Pigeon River to the tiny hamlet of Rossport, Ontario, I travel with a lifelong speleologist. We poke our bows and noses into every rock fissure, mineshaft and sea cave.
Keep your senses open and your ego in a box and you have quite a lot to learn from the company you keep out here. What you see on the surface is rarely all there is. This is as true of the wilderness as it is of the people passing through it.
We are blessed with another ethereal calm on the morning we make the 10-kilometer crossing from Pie Island to Thunder Cape through the heart of a busy shipping channel. The huge lake freighters steaming in and out of Thunder Bay will not even see a kayak, much less adjust course for one.
No one speaks as we paddle. We are all keenly alert for ship traffic, but there is so much more to this stillness. Gulls, cormorants and calling loons are the only witnesses to our passage. I will remember this fine morning as one of the most peaceful I have ever experienced kayaking.
I am a bit past middle age right now. There are certainly many other waters to explore. However, in the time I have left to paddle, it is my choice to travel deep rather than travel broad. The peace I find kayaking on Lake Superior is a gift that can be shared only between intimates.
Tim McDonnell lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where he is busy savoring retirement and dreaming of his next Lake Superior kayak trip.
This article first appeared in the Spring 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
The once-cheery white paint on Michipicoten Island lighthouse’s flying buttresses is peeling. The doors and ceilings of the 80-year-old lightkeeper’s house sag.
Michipicoten Island’s compact cluster of eroding buildings isn’t alone. Late last May, the federal government of Canada quietly declared the still-active beacon “surplus” along with nearly 1,000 of its maritime brethren across the country.
The announcement came packaged with the new Heritage Lighthouse Protection Act—legislation “to conserve and protect heritage lighthouses” that elected officials, the Heritage Canada Foundation (HCF) and various other groups across Canada worked for over a decade to enact.
“This move undermines the intent of the Act, leaving the door open to the lighthouses’ abandonment and demolition by neglect,” says HCF spokesperson Carolyn Quinn.
The Act establishes a process to select and designate federally owned lighthouses for heritage status, requiring their maintenance by the Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO). However, it excludes surplus ones— which, not incidentally, now constitute 96 percent of all major light stations—from being designated. Unless, that is, community groups or private individuals commit to buy them and take responsibility for their upkeep.
Surplus lighthouses will be on the auction block for two years—until May 29, 2012. Interested parties must apply to Parks Canada for heritage designation and present a business plan to prove they can manage such a site. Ac- tual navigation aids would remain the property of, and continue to be maintained by, the Coast Guard. Preference is being shown to non-private buyers—community conservation groups, not-for-profits and municipalities—for whom the price is just $1.
“We’re trying to do good things,” says DFO Senior Divestiture Analyst Andrew Anderson.“We’re very sensitive to the fact that these [lights] are of enormous value for heritage purposes.” Anderson continues that the sale of lights isn’t new, “We’ve been doing this for 10 or 15 years.”
Only now the clock is ticking. After the divestiture period, those lights that remain unsold will face an uncertain future.
“It’s difficult to speculate what would happen to unsold surplus lighthouses,” says DFO spokesperson Nelson Kalil.
Kalil says that maintaining the 480 still-active—and 490 inactive—surplus lighthouses is beyond the budget and mandate of the Coast Guard. He emphasizes it is the lights, not the structures themselves, which are essential. “They can be replaced with simpler structures whose operation and maintenance would be more cost-effective.”
Many see this as government double-speak for an obvious outcome: Remote havens that have served mariners for two and a half centuries will disappear and be replaced by steel skeleton towers.
Former B.C. lighthouse keeper Jim Abram is among those who predict the replacement beacons will be “inferior” and of little use to mariners seeking shelter in storms.
If the DFO had hoped to pass the buck to another federal department, it doesn’t seem to be working. Parks Canada has been offered some of the lighthouses, including those within national parks like Pukaskwa Park’s Otter Island and Newfoundland’s iconic Cape Spear, but this “hasn’t fit into that department’s strategy” says Kalil.
For kayakers and other coastal recreationists, equally disquieting as the loss of safety and heritage is the thought of “No Trespassing” signs plastered on these sometimes-rare patches of public land. On some parts of the coast, the familiar red and white enclaves are the only guarantee of an unmolested campsite.
In a passionate letter to the Kingston Whig Standard, a Simcoe Island, Ontario, resident summed up Canadians’ sense of loss, and raised the call for action:
“If this is fiscal responsibility, it is, frankly, fiscal responsibility Canadians can ill afford. My Canada includes lighthouses. Does yours?”
This article first appeared in the Spring 2011 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
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