My Love-Hate Relationship with Portaging

Stories

February 1, 2010

Photo: Christopher Pratt — My Love-Hate Relationship with Portaging

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.

The Niagara Falls Review, the oldest newspaper in Ontario, reported that no one had portaged the route in recent history. It’s estimated that the last portage taken was over a hundred years ago. The ancient trail, however, is still intact—now paved and suitably bearing the name Portage Road.

As we approached the brink of Niagara Falls on foot, with our canoe in tow, citizens and vacationers sent worried glances in our direction. It was understandable considering that, in their lifetimes, more people have paddled over the falls than portaged around them. Within minutes a police cruiser pulled up and out stepped two straight-faced uniforms.

“I hope there’s no law against portaging, officer,” my husband said with a smirk. After telling our story, the police were delighted to help us out, making routine visits throughout the day. “I’m happy we weren’t the first portagers to be arrested,” I said as they sped away to another call.

The busloads of tourists filling the sidewalks proved no more difficult to navigate than overgrown balsam on a seldom-used trail. The crowds also made for an interesting portage, as we were an attraction ourselves, posing next to our canoe for hundreds of snapshots.

Stops at places like the Hershey’s Chocolate Factory and Candy Planet fuelled the journey. The 25 kilometres rolled on and by the end of the day we rested and dined lavishly at Peller Estates Winery. With a fine glass of private reserve, barrel-aged golden Chardonnay, we toasted our fun-filled day, a bit sad that it was all over. Because as Bill Mason also wrote, “It’s the portage that makes travelling by canoe unique.”

Stephanie Park is the new editor of Canoeroots magazine and has rekindled her love of portaging.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Betcha Didn’t Know About Pitcher Plants

Stories

Stephanie Park

February 1, 2010

Photo: Virginia Marshall — Betcha Didn't Know About Pitcher Plants

Pitcher plants are carnivorous. Although they may not feast on drive-thru Big Macs, they trap insects, spiders, newts and even small frogs for their protein-rich meals.
Colourful deep red and purple veined pitchers attract prey and entice them to rest on the slippery leaves at the top of the plant. The prey falls into the pitcher and becomes trapped in the digestive juices below. Escape is futile—little downward-pointing hairs block any retreat.
Gigantic man-eating plants exist only in Hollywood thrillers, like Journey to the Center of the Earth—the box office hit in which actress Anita Briem plays a tasty snack.
The pitcher plant is the official flower of Newfoundland and Labrador, symbolizing the inner strength and willful determination of Newfoundlanders.
The pitcher was historically used as a drinking cup (perhaps another reason why it’s Newfoundland’s official flower).
For a one-time, low price of $2,149.95 you can purchase one of the world’s purest 99.999 per cent gold coins from the Royal Canadian Mint. The 12th coin in this series is pressed with the symbol of the pitcher plant.
Pitcher plants grow in wet, acidic soils that are deficient in nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorous. They are found in marshes and bogs throughout Canada and the eastern United States.
The largest pitcher plant, Nepenthes attenboroughii, was discovered in the Philippines in 2007. Named after the famous BBC Planet Earth broadcaster, David Attenborough, this plant has large enough traps to consume a rat—hey, a mousetrap that empties itself!

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Risk Management: Squeezing the Lemons

Stories

Matt Cruchet

February 1, 2010

Photo: Scott MacGregor — Risk Management: Squeezing the Lemons

As I quickly approached the accident scene, I could see that my paddling partner was in considerable pain. I gathered that the overturned canoe, spilt pot of steaming spaghetti noodles and the string of choice expletives pouring out of his mouth added up to a cooking burn.

“How bad is it?” I asked. “The pot caught me on the back of my leg,” he responded, with a painful twinge in his voice. An examination revealed that the second-degree burn was severe, ending the trip and requiring an evacuation over the next two days.

[ Also Read: Why Your Mistakes Don’t Make You Smarter ]

I frequently use this story as my introduction for risk management seminars. What I’ve found interesting is how the discussions that follow have changed, over the years, from one paradigm to another—from lemons to systems.

In 1987, James Raffan introduced a risk management theory referred to as the Lemon Theory. The Lemon Theory’s premise is that during the course of an outdoor trip a sequence of events occurs, that if left unchecked, can lead to a crisis. Raffan uses the analogy of the slot machine that if too many lemons line up—jackpot, an incident occurs.

Counting Lemons

The genius of lemons is that they serve as an easy symbol to incorporate into day-to-day tripping activities. Canoeists, kayakers, mountaineers and skiers across North America spend their trips counting lemons—literally.

In our scenario above, it was late in the day, lighting was poor, equipment was new and unfamiliar and dehydration put pressure on my partner’s judgment. All these lemons would have been manageable, if the proper routines of setting up camp and creating the conditions to safely operate the stove had been established.

[ Also Read: How Risk Management Is Sucking The Life From Kids’ Paddling Trips ]

Today’s risk management paradigm recognizes that we no longer have to identify and pre-empt all those lemons and instead, we should work to establish a series of systems.

By focusing on systems, we don’t need to account for every interaction that could lead to a jackpot. Once implemented, these routines create the conditions to have safe and fun adventures.

Matt Cruchet is an educator, consultant and co-author of the new book Managing Risk, which is an exploration of systems planning, applied to outdoor adventure activities.

Traditional Paddling with a Punch

Skills

Becky Mason

February 1, 2010

All photos this page: Reid McLachlan — Traditional Paddling with a Punch

“Keep your stroke short, it’s more efficient and relaxing,” Dad suggested as we paddled the flatwater stretches of the trip. It was 1983, and we were on the Nahanni River preparing me for a summer of guiding. I fondly remember my dad’s voice as I paddled in the stern of the canoe. Being a teenager, I rolled my eyes at his instructions and was determined to prove him wrong. With stubborn resolve, I pulled with both arms and lengthened my stroke. Dad’s stroke was smooth and relaxed even as he took two strokes to one of mine. I watched him more closely just as he had learned by studying a First Nations paddler. This short stroke, which I now call the traditional stroke, has become an important forward stroke in my flatwater repetoire.

Master the Traditional Stroke

Start with the blade in the water at your knee and your grip hand at your chin.
Punch your grip hand forward and down towards the onside gunwale creating a lever with your lower shaft hand as a travelling fulcrum. Rotate your torso to put some bodyweight behind the punch.
As your grip hand gets closer to the gunwale start to roll your thumb down setting up the blade for the correction stroke. Having your grip hand over the gunwale ensures that the blade is close and parallel to the hull throughout the stroke.
After the grip hand punch is accomplished relax your arms, let your bottom hand trail smoothly behind you and do your correction stroke.
Return to an upright position and feather your blade out on the recovery knife the paddle in toward your knee to start the next stroke minding that your grip hand doesn’t creep up over your head.

To get the feel of the punch with power, try this learning technique. Hook your shaft hand thumb onto the gunnel to force yourself to create a fulcrum, punch your grip hand from your chin all the way to the gunnel until your knuckles touch. Repeat this a few times and you’ll be well on your way to mastering this relaxing traditional stroke.

Becky Mason is a canoeing instructor based in Chelsea, Quebec. She has contributed to several books, produced an award-winning video, Classic Solo Canoeing, and presents workshops throughout North America. Find her at redcanoes.ca.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Red Riding Hood Beware: Keeping Wolves Away from Your Campsite

Skills

Dave Quinn

February 1, 2010

Few experiences embody the essence of Canadian wilderness like the haunting howl of wolves in the chill air of a backcountry night. Even better is a glimpse of wild wolves prowling a river’s edge or loping along a distant skyline. As paddlers we seek these encounters, like wolves on a scent.

However, our feral romance of wolves quickly fades when a 70-kilogram predator enters our campsite.

In 1996, a biologist was killed at a wildlife preserve in Haliburton, Ontario, while feeding captive wolves. In 2000, a kayaker was attacked on Vargas Island in British Columbia by wolves that had been fed by previous kayakers and most recently, a Canadian folk singer was fatally injured from a coyote attack while hiking Cape Breton Highlands National Park in Nova Scotia.

Once humans are associated with food, it is only a matter of time before curiosity and hunger overcome fear, increasing the chances of close encounters that almost always result in extermination for the wolf, and can result in injuries or death for humans.

Curiosity in wildlife is natural, and it is our responsibility to ensure that any interest in our campsites is never rewarded. The same principles used to protect wild bears from human carelessness should be applied to wolves.

Photo by Caleb Falkenhagen: https://www.pexels.com/photo/wolf-in-grass-27067802/ — Photo by Caleb Falkenhagen

Tips for Keeping Your Campsite Wolf-Free

Keep your campsite clean: locate your kitchen at least 100 metres downwind from your tent site. Hang all food and toiletries out of reach, or use animal-proof storage devices provided at some campsites. In treeless areas, stow all food and kitchen equipment in animal-proof containers. Do not burn food scraps in fire pits—pack them out.
Frighten wolves away: if wolves approach your campsite, scare them away with loud noises or by throwing sticks and rocks. While this may appear to cross the lines of wildlife etiquette, you are doing them a favour by convincing them to give humans a wide berth. In most cases, your simple two-legged presence should be enough to frighten them off.
Secure your gear: Wolves are very curious, and any unsecured gear—drybags, shoes, and jackets—is fair game. Clip dry bags to your tent and leave shoes and loose items in your tent. This will alert you if an animal is trying to sneak off with your gear.

The last unprovoked, unfed wolf kill in North America has been traced back to 1922. However, with an estimated 60,000 wolves roaming the untamed regions of North America, and an ever-increasing number of humans searching for solace deep in the heart of their habitat, encounters between our two species are sure to increase. It is up to us to ensure that our dances with wolves remain distanced and friendly.

Dave Quinn is a wildlife biologist and wilderness guide based in Kimberley, British Columbia. He has worked extensively with carnivores and has led many expeditions into the heart of wolf country.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Canoe Treasure Hunting

Stories

James Raffan

February 1, 2010

Afew years back, a friend of mine in Calgary, Alberta, was looking through his weekly tabloid advertising supplement, The Bargain Finder. Beside the advert for Ab Rockets with As Seen On TV guarantees was a lonely ad that read, “For Sale: one good used birchbark canoe.”

My friend called the number. The woman explained that her late husband had purchased the canoe and she was hoping to find it a good home.

In a heartbeat, my friend was there, although sure he would find a beater, something with the aesthetics of a hog trough made by hands part of an offshore assembly line sewing up souvenir canoes to be titivated with dyed chicken feathers for sale in the tourist kiosks of Disney World.

What he found instead was a beautiful handmade 14-foot birchbark canoe. The ribs and planking were made of hand-split eastern white cedar, the shell was one large piece of birchbark and the gores were gummed with the exact mixture of conifer gum and tallow that you would expect on a traditionally handcrafted canoe. The sewing with split spruce root was exquisite, obviously done with great skill and care. Best of all, it was signed by William Commanda, renowned canoe builder and spiritual leader from Kitigan Zibi Reserve, near Maniwaki, Quebec.

HUNTING FOR CANVAS COVERED CLASSICS

If you are looking for a new canoe, by all means use the Canoeroots Buyer’s Guide. However, if you’re looking for canvas-covered classics or birchbark canoes try your local pawnshop—really!

In Edmonton, I was giving a presentation when a chap came up and mentioned that if I was really interested in canoes I’d best get myself to his local pawnshop.

In the Loan Star Exchange, just west of 122nd Street on 118th Avenue NW, hanging above the music section, over the knock-off Gene Simmons autographed guitar and the framed special-issue Jan Arden CD, was an absolutely beautiful bark canoe.

It was dusty, but the lines of this amazing canoe flowed like pure poetry. It was 16 feet long, made from one piece of birchbark. The woodwork was all hand done by a very practiced hand. The thwarts had a gentle curve, as if they’d been steamed and placed under pres- sure between the gunwales to give the boat even more vital life and tension. Lastly, there, on the outside of the hull, was a very familiar carved and painted ornamentation.

The shop owner, Mike Monaghan, was a little nonplussed by my enthusiasm for the item, which for him was just window dressing.

Turns out, the canoe had come with the store when he had purchased it. The bill of sale had included the promise that he never sell the canoe. Beyond that he didn’t know much about it except that along with a huge stuffed buffalo head it gave a kind of frontier atmosphere to his place.

With a stepladder and a dust rag, we found the name. Not William Commanda, this one said, “Henri Vaillancourt, 1989.” That would be the Henri Vaillancourt whose canoes are in the Canadian Canoe Museum and the Smithsonian Institute—the same Henri Vaillancourt whose canoe-building legacy is featured in John McPhee’s classic book, The Survival of the Bark Canoe.

James Raffan is the executive director of the Canadian Canoe Museum.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Stall Tactics for Regulation in Columbia River Wetlands

Stories

Dave Quinn

February 1, 2010

Renowned nature artist and wildlife advocate Robert Bateman calls southeastern British Columbia’s Columbia River Wetlands “one of the most precious things on a world scale,” and he is among thousands joining the call to protect this critical wildlife habitat from increasing threat of fast-moving, noisy, motorized recreation activities such as jet boating and jet skiing.

This 180-kilometre-long wetland complex forms the headwaters of the Columbia River and is one of the largest intact wetlands left on the continent. Filling the Rocky Mountain Trench between the towns of Canal Flats and Golden, B.C., these wetlands are particularly critical to both migratory and resident birds and wildlife.

The Columbia River Wetlands were designated wetlands of international significance under the Ramsar International Convention on Wetlands. They also join South America’s Lake Titicaca, Siberia’s Lake Baikal, Eastern Africa’s Lake Victoria and nearly 50 other water bodies in the Global Nature Fund’s Living Lakes Network, an international conservation network dedicated to the protection of water resources.

AN ACCEPTABLE COMPROMISE

In response to nearly 10 years of effort by local canoeists, hunters and conservationists led by a local non-profit, Wildsight, Transport Canada is finally poised to impose regulations to control unsustainable motorized recreation activities in these wetlands.

The proposed regulations include a ban on waterskiing and powerboat operation in the wetland portion of the system. However, pressure from motorized users has stalled protection measures for the Columbia River main channel—a central habitat feature of the wetlands.

The initial proposal, which included a ban on all motorized use of the river during critical spring and fall wildfowl staging and nesting periods, was shot down by motorized interests, who earlier launched a lawsuit to rescind a 10-horsepower limit imposed by the Province of British Columbia, based on the premise that the river is a navigable waterway, and therefore under federal jurisdiction.

Now up for debate is a proposal for a year-round 20-horsepower limit on the river.

“We see otters, beaver, heron, eagle, waterfowl with chicks, songbirds, moose and bears using the main channel, and it is one of the few remaining opportunities for non- motorized recreation in this region,” says Maryann Emery with the Golden Outdoor Recreation Association, who has been canoeing the Columbia for over 30 years.

“Our members would like to see a complete ban on motorized use of the main channel, but the 20-horsepower limit is an acceptable compromise,” concedes Emery. “This place is an unbelievable treasure, both from a wild- life and quiet recreation standpoint, and we need to act now to protect it, not just for us, but for the future.”

Transport Canada says they will make a final decision on the future of the Columbia River main channel and its wildlife sometime in 2010.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

Stories

Conor Mihell

February 1, 2010

Photo: Gary McGuffin — Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

After canoeing across Canada, around Lake Superior and through the wildest reaches of northern Ontario, acclaimed photojournalists Gary and Joanie McGuffin are now getting their adventure kicks closer to home. The McGuffins have partnered with Michael Burtch, the retired director of the Art Gallery of Algoma, to retrace the trails and photograph the painting sites of the Group of Seven.

“We grew up in homes and cottages with images of the Group of Seven,” says Gary McGuffin, “and now we live right in the heart of their favourite places to paint. We were working with Michael on another project and it hit us. Wouldn’t it be neat to find some of these painting sites of the Group of Seven?”

Burtch and the McGuffins piloted the project last summer with a canoe trip down the Petawawa River in Algonquin Park, in search of Tom Thomson’s Petawawa Gorges series of canvases. “Michael brought us up to speed on all the biographies of the Group of Seven painters,” says McGuffin. “It’s a great combination of art history and adventure.” The project will focus on the period between the group’s formation in 1919 and when they disbanded in 1930. When they find the exact site of a painting, McGuffin frames the scene in a photograph proportional to the artist’s original canvas.

A DREAM PROJECT AND QUEST

Currently, Burtch and the McGuffins are combing the Algoma Central Railway line, north of Sault Ste. Marie, for painters J.E.H. MacDonald, Lawren Harris and Frank Johnston’s most iconic subject matter. Since parts of the landscape have been altered by logging and hydroelectric development, a large portion of the project has involved identifying how scenes have changed over time, and poring over painters’ journals and letters for clues on directions to specific sites.

McGuffin was especially struck by MacDonald’s response to the landscape along the Agawa Canyon. “He was obviously overwhelmed,” notes McGuffin. “In his letters home he called it ‘the original site of the Garden of Eden’!”

Ultimately, McGuffin says he wants to produce a book of 100 then-and-now Group of Seven images from across Ontario. “The story would be how the painters got to these places,” he says, “and describing the investigative work we did to revisit the sites.”

A sideline project might be a “map-intensive guidebook to actually get people to find these spots on their own,” says McGuffin. “It’s turned into a quest…it’s a dream project for us.”

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Editorial: Urban Adventurers

Stories

Stephanie Park

February 1, 2010

Photo: Jonathan Pratt — Editorial: Urban Adventurers

I met Terry Bachmeier, a member of the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, this summer as he waved to my husband Jonathan and me from a rusty breakwall elevated above the waters of the upper Detroit River. He motioned for us to land our 19- foot lakewater expedition canoe on a narrow sand beach—a public canoe and kayak launch site developed by the club.

Pointing to our story in his copy of the Windsor Star, he was enthusiastic to meet the couple “trying to canoe the entire Canadian shoreline of the Great Lakes”—a 4,000 kilometre journey from the Pigeon River on Lake Superior to Kingston on Lake Ontario.

Before launching our canoe back into the powerboat-infested waters, Bachmeier made an offer we couldn’t refuse: a paddle and pot- luck barbeque with club members 25 kilometres downstream. By this point in the trip, more than a month into the third summer of our expedition, our freeze-dried rations were reminiscent of paper-mâché paste and we welcomed all offers of real food.

Skyscrapers towered above on both sides of the river and our canoe felt insignificant compared to the multi-million dollar power cruisers that sent curling wakes crashing wide variety of species ranging from spotted Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, into the sides of our canoe. We felt like a Smart car on a transport-ridden highway.

THE ADVANTAGES OF THE URBAN WILDERNESS TRIPPER

The busy city waterway didn’t hold the same wilderness appeal as the remote and pristine areas along the north shores of Lake Superior and Georgian Bay and I found it hard to imagine why canoe club members would enjoy paddling along such an urban and industrial shoreline. However, it didn’t take us very long to discover the advantages of the urban wilderness tripper.

Where else would you have the opportunity to canoe beside a giant 1,000-foot bulk freighter carrying 60,000 tons of cargo, barter for fresh walleye on the commercial docks, enjoy a hot pizza for lunch on the Tiki patio of a waterfront restaurant and snuggle under a down-filled duvet at a neighbouring bed and breakfast.

If you have never tried urban paddling, I suggest you do. You might be amazed at the wilderness in your own backyard.

Later that afternoon, members of the canoe club guided us on a paddling tour of the lower Detroit River. Massive Carolinian trees stood tall along the shoreline, as they had for centuries, and natural wetlands hosted a wide variety of species ranging from spotted gar pike to green herons.

Our newfound friends were passionate about the region and its environment. They pointed to a bald eagle nest high on a treetop with a young fledging tucked inside. At nearby Fighting Island, a constructed reef was allowing sturgeon to spawn in the Detroit River for the first time in 30 years—all indicators that the ecosystem is healthy.

Needless to say, I shouldn’t have worried so much about water pollution disintegrating our Kevlar canoe hull.

It’s a fact that more of us live closer to urban waterways than wilderness areas. Thanks to local canoe clubs, such as the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, you don’t need to leave the city to enjoy canoeing. Clubs are an excellent way to meet paddlers, learn about the natural history of the region, protect our historic right to navigate our waterways and enjoy urban canoeing adventures in your own backyard.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

The Beginner’s Guide to Downriver Overnighting

Skills
Stories
Trip Planning

Steve Whittall

February 1, 2010

An overnight kayak trip may seem like a huge leap from downriver daytripping or park-and-play, but try it and you’ll discover that overnighting just might be the ultimate paddling experience. Packing your kayak with everything you need to survive a few days— or even just a single night between shifts—combines the fun and excitement of whitewater with a grander feeling of independence, exploration and river travel tradition.

Start with a few easy overnighters, dial in a system and then keep everything you need in a duffle bag by your back door…so you’ll always be ready when the levels are right, your friends are psyched and the river is calling.

Boat Selection

If you don’t own a creek boat or river runner, try to borrow or rent one. Larger volume boats with a high back deck are easier to pack, allow you to travel with a few additional camp items and are more comfortable.

For a summer weekend out, a river running playboat might do the trick, but keep in mind that a boat much smaller than 58 gallons will be a nightmare to pack. The exact volume you’ll need depends on the length of the trip, the weather forecast and your willingness to rough it with minimal gear.

The ideal kayak for a two- or three-day trip is a creek boat designed for someone 30 pounds heavier than you. I paddle a small creek boat (63 gallons) on daytrips, but with the additional weight of my food and camping gear, a larger kayak (72 gallons) performs better.

Experiment with a fully loaded boat on your local river—kayaks paddle quite differently with extra weight on board. You may find that your boat’s usually forgiving stern starts to grab on eddylines, and quick directional changes become more difficult.

Gearing Up

A mid-sized river runner or creek boat has about 40 to 55 litres (10-15 gallons) of usable storage space—that’s less than a typical trekking backpack. Accordingly, volume is the critical factor when selecting gear.

Most tents are too large to fit in a single kayak. Try sharing the load with another paddler—one packs the tent body, the other packs the fly and poles. If that doesn’t work, you’ll have to settle for a lower-volume shelter: a lightweight tarp or bivy sac—or, if heavy rain, mosquitoes or black flies are anticipated, a combination of both.

When the climate doesn’t demand a winter or three-season sleeping bag, you’re safer packing a synthetic summer bag. Down bags pack much smaller if you’re expecting cold temperatures, but they are a disaster if they get wet.

To save space on clothing, try to combine paddling and camp clothes if possible. In colder water, a full Gore-Tex drysuit with camp clothes underneath eliminates the need to pack anything but a toque. Merino wool provides the most warmth for the least volume, but polypro and fleece layers work fine and are less expensive.

Don’t bother with rain gear— keep your river gear on if it’s raining and use a versatile tarp for shelter at camp. Wear sturdy shoes on the river, but pack clogs or flip-flops to give your feet a chance to dry out in camp.

When it comes to menu planning, don’t skimp on hot meals. On frosty mornings, you’ll need a hot cuppa to get you fired up about climbing into your frozen-stiff farmer john. A small stove is handy—and a must where firewood is scarce or fires prohibited—but in most places you can do all your cooking and boiling of drinking water on an open fire with a single pot. Stick to a compact, backpacking-style menu of quick-cook pasta (ramen noodles or easy Mac are good bets), rice, salami, cheese, peanut butter, instant oatmeal, dried fruit and trail mix.

In your efforts to be efficient, it’s important not to cut back on rescue gear. In addition to personal throw bags, whistles and river knives, someone should carry a group wrap kit (webbing sling, prussiks and carabiners) and a decent first aid kit—and know how to use them. On longer, more remote trips, pack a topographic map and breakdown paddle as well. Figure out communication options in case you run into trouble. Will you have cell phone service in the river valley?

Finally, for simple equipment repairs, duct tape wrapped around a water bottle or the shaft of your paddle can be used to patch boats and sleeping mats, reattach seats or hip pads, mend a broken paddle, and perform a thousand other useful tasks.

Packing Your Boat

The kayak’s stern is the easiest to pack, so the challenge is to get enough weight forward to balance the trim of your kayak. You may want to start by moving your seat forward. Pack the heaviest items in front of your bow bulkhead or right behind your seat. You can also carve custom-sized holes into the foam of the bulkhead or support pillars to create storage space for awkward or heavy items like camera boxes.

Also consider the order in which you pack gear and food 1 items. Tapered dry bags are great for sleeping and camping gear because they take full advantage of the hard-to-reach packing space in the ends of your kayak. Breakfast and dinner food items that you won’t need during the paddling day can be squeezed past your bulkhead in individual double-Ziploc packages.

Pack your lunch, snacks, camera, headlamp, fire-starter, first aid kit and rescue gear last, so these items are easily accessible throughout the day. You don’t want to pull your boat apart every time you’re hungry. And you definitely don’t want to dig through Therm-a-Rests and tuna couscous to find your pin kit in an emergency.

Finally, do a dry run of your packing strategy before leaving home—the put-in is a poor place to realize that your dry bags don’t fit in your boat.

Steve Whittall has been organizing and running multi-day kayak expeditions from his home base in Whistler for over 15 years and works as a heli-ski guide during the off-season.

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

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