Field Repair: Bring ’em Back Alive

Skills

May 1, 2009

Photo: Peter Mather — Field Repair: Bring 'em Back Alive

Nothing causes panic on a remote river trip like serious damage to your canoe. However, with a black bag of just five items and the skill of a drunken surgeon you can repair even large, gaping gashes in whitewater hulls.

Even though Royalex boats have a toughness approaching elephant hide, they can rip if a loaded or water-filled boat meets just the right knife-edged rock.

To patch a small tear you need heavy-duty duct tape, which means at least 13-mils-thick with a tensile strength of 45 pounds (look for Polyken by Covalence Adhesives). Normal duct tape is weak, barely adhesive and readily delaminates.

Clean the torn area inside the hull and flip the canoe over so you can slide your camp stove under the canoe below the tear. Apply the duct tape to the inside once the damaged area is clean, dry and very warm. Applying the tape to the outside of the hull or to the inside if the hull isn’t warm is just a waste of great tape.

If your ABS canoe wraps on a rock in fast current your hull will likely only become hideously creased, but it is possible that the hull will rip in an even more dramatic way.

WHAT YOU NEED IN YOUR TEAR KIT

Assuming you can drag the carcass off the rock, the repair requires a spool of 19-gauge stainless steel wire (from most hardware stores) and a four-inch nail. Kick out the hull to its normal shape the best you can. Heat the nail and melt holes on either side of the tear, then stitch the boat together with the wire. Cover the fine stitching with proper duct tape on the inside after first warming the hull. With this unbraided stainless wire you can fix any number of things: seats, broken hanger bolts, thwarts, paddle shafts. Don’t leave it at home.

For chemists, there is a way to actually plug the hole left by a tear or puncture. Black ABS plumbing pipe will initially dissolve in acetone before setting to become hardened plastic once again. Before the trip, reduce a section of pipe to shavings with a rasp and pack a small amount of acetone in a can or padded glass jar. If you need to plug a hole on the trip, mix acetone and ABS shavings until they reach the consistency of gravy. Fill deep gashes with a few consecutive layers, allowing the acetone to evaporate and the ABS to harden between coats.

This gunk is about the only material you can use on the outside of ABS boats. Make your job easier by first backing it up with a warm application of duct tape on the inside.

With this tear kit you can float your way out of situations that would otherwise end your trip.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Skills: One-Person Canoe Lift

Skills

Andrew Westwood

May 1, 2009

Skills: Get a Leg Up / Photo: Paul Villecourt/Helipress.com

The thought of tossing a 16-foot canoe over your head and down onto the base of your neck can be intimidating—until you’ve been schooled in the finer technical points of the one-person canoe lift. As impressive as it looks, the weight of the canoe is easily managed by most canoeists. The secret is to position yourself properly, let your legs do the heavy lifting and be sure to keep good time when you rock and roll the canoe onto your shoulders.

Skills: Get a Leg Up / Photo: Paul Villecourt/Helipress.com — Photo: Paul Villecourt/Helipress.com

Step 1

Find an area with no obstructions, stand at the centre of the canoe and grasp the closest gunwale with your hands about shoulder-width apart.

Step2

Bend your knees and slide the canoe up your legs so it is resting on your thighs.

Step 3

Begin a gentle rocking motion to build momentum and establish your timing. When ready, use the leg closest to the bow to heave the canoe up so you can grab the far gunwale with your hand closest to the bow. You are now holding the canoe with your bow-side hand on the far gunwale and the stern-side hand on the near gunwale. The canoe’s weight is supported by your bow-side leg.

Step 4

Initiate another rocking motion using the strong muscles of your bow-side leg. Pick your moment and with a lift from your leg flip the canoe above your head so it follows an arc guided by your bow-side arm.

Step 5

Duck your head forward slightly as the gunwale and yoke finish the roll. Settle the yoke down on your shoulders.

Step 6

As you are swinging the canoe over your head you should be rotating your stance so you finish with your body facing the bow.

With a quick hop to help lift the canoe off your head you can reverse these steps to unload the canoe. And though you will be tempted to let other paddlers continue in the belief that this is a strenuous manoeuvre, pass on the tip of using the bow-side leg to propel the canoe upward and you’ll find you soon have other people offering to share the portaging load.

Andrew Westwood is an open canoe instructor at the Madawaska Kanu Centre, a member of Team Esquif and the author of The Essential Guide to Canoeing, from which this article was excerpted.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

Betcha Didn’t Know About Inukshuk

Stories

Virginia Marshall

May 1, 2009

Photo: iStockphoto.com/Shaun lowe — Betcha Didn't Know About Inukshuk

To pluralize the word inukshuk is a literary faux pas. Several of these stone figures are called inuksuit.
There are two forms of inuksuit. A figure with arms is called an inunnguaq and translates to “likeness of a person” in the Inuit language. A figure without arms is called an inukshuk, meaning “function of a person”.
An inunnguaq is pictured on the cover of Rush’s 1996 album Test for Echo. We’re not sure why.
Inuksuit are used across the Arctic from Alaska to Greenland for communication and navigation. In this featureless landscape, they are akin to tree blazes.
An inunnguaq’s arms may point in the direction of a navigable channel, a mountain pass or a migration route. An inukshuk can mark a food cache, a site with good fishing or a place where white children were bored.
Inuit tradition forbids the destruction of inuksuit in their homeland. This tradition does not hold true for the hundreds of imposters along the Trans-Canada Highway and wilderness park trails. Killarney Provincial Park issued a notice in 2007 urging visitors to “stop the invasion” of inuksuit.
In 1999, an inukshuk was chosen to grace the flag of Canada’s newest territory, Nunavut. The stone figure is also the 2010 Winter Olympics logo, in recognition of the inukshuk that watches over Vancouver’s English Bay.
The world’s largest inukshuk is located in Schomberg, ontario. Nicknamed Little Joe, it stands over 11 metres high and is formed of 11 granite slabs totalling 82,000 kilograms.
Inuksuit have come to symbolize cooperation and friendship. Each stone is chosen for how well it fits together with the other stones and the assembly is secured entirely through balance.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Butt End: Losing my Shadow

Stories

Kevin Callan

May 1, 2009

An hour after my canoeing companion of 12 years had been euthanized, I put my feelings about her life on paper. I wrote up a list of Bailey’s faults and strengths, her crazier character traits and the stunts she pulled during a life that included more than 600 nights out on canoe trips.

I posted my thoughts on my blog that evening and by the end of the next day I had received more than 500 emails of condolences from people who either knew of Bailey or were trippers who also rejoiced in canine company.

I wouldn’t have guessed that so many people knew my dog (or read my blog, for that matter) but I suppose it makes sense, since she has appeared in a dozen books and countless magazine articles.

More surprising was the number of people who wrote about willingly subjecting themselves to the maddening appeal of canoeing with a dog.

A CONSTANT COMPANION

Bringing Bailey along on trips was a challenge. I carried her specially designed pack full of kibble and chew toys more then she. She was the first to have breakfast, lunch and dinner. Her sun umbrella strapped to the gunwale and foam cushion glued to the belly of the canoe made portaging difficult. She insisted the bug shelter be put up for her immediately once we reached camp. I lifted her in or out of the canoe at every single put-in and take-out.

Bailey was chased by skunks, porcupines, a lynx, raccoons, hawks, snakes, swarms of hornets, one nasty chipmunk, and a couple of black bears (some of which followed her right back toward me). She loved rolling in crap. When she was in the canoe she whined to be lifted out and once out she whined to be put in. Every time I hooked into a fish the ever-helpful dog would try to retrieve it for me.

So, why did I, and all those other dog owners, put up with dog paddling? It wasn’t just because by attracting all the bugs she made a good shoofly-pie, or that she could sense a thunderstorm better than any polyester-clad weatherman or that if it weren’t for her ability to sniff out a trail I’d still be on one particularly confusing portage on the Steel River.

I loved tripping with Bailey because she never once left my side. She was a constant companion, no questions asked. My daughter, Kyla, even nicknamed her my shadow. How I miss my shadow. I doubt that canoe tripping will ever be the same without her.

Rest in peace my dear friend.

Kevin Callan won’t comment on rumours that Bailey was named for his favourite drink.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Rock the Boat: A Line in the Sand

Columns
Rock the Boat
Stories

David Barnes

February 1, 2009

From a perch on a rocky breakwater, I once watched a transient orca pod driving in a lone minke, the violent attack sending whitewater spray over a gathering crowd. The orcas ate only a portion of the small unfortunate whale, then moved on.

Kayakers are just as transient and yet we defend our turf with much the same vigour as the orca might if some other pod came along for a nibble. We travel in small family pods much like our orca buddies, seeking not minke, but a reconnect with the natural world—some minute patch, a scrap untouched, wilds to call our own. The question is: Can we truly expect to find solitude in a marine park setting? Claiming small islands and beachfront properties, and then acquiring expectations of unwritten exclusivity in such a setting: is this realistic?

I landed on an unseasonably warm April day at the penthouse of all the islands located in a West Coast marine park. I got out of my kayak, the water translucent emerald green, and alas, some people had beaten my group to this gem. Oh well. We didn’t really expect to get this particular island to ourselves. With most of the beach covered in logs, a bigger group had laid claim to the meadow above. A single tent appeared tucked in the far corner of the beach.

We settled into unloading gear, and who should happen by but the owner of the lone tent—someone we knew from home. I approached him with my usual open hand and good nature. “What a great surprise!” An evening of comfortable chatting by our campfire waits, I thought. But this was not to be. He watched, he waited and when we had set up our camp in its entirety, the barrage ensued.

For setting up camp beside him, he called me a bully and insensitive, and insinuated that my friends and I had paddled all the way there with the purpose to ruin his time on “his” island. He had been there over a week and said we should move away. I found out that the group in the meadow was leaving in the morning. There was our answer! I would relocate after a day paddle, and that would get our group out of his hair the next morning.

The negotiations were not going well. None of our apologetic solutions were good enough. He wanted us gone! He was insistent that we go someplace else, but where, as now it was well and truly dark? He returned to his tent, dissatisfied. The mood in our camp dropped like a stone. We were astonished at the behaviour. How could he be so unfriendly? What was the big deal? Weren’t we all friends, and why had he taken up three campsites for one person? He had spread out his gear as if to say,“There is not room at the inn.”

The next morning brought a new angle on his tirade. Now we had ruined his layin. I left my buddy to play diplomat as I walked up the beach to get some fresh air. We left for our paddle with our plans intact to move to the meadow. Returning, we found the island vacant. The meadow dwellers had jumped on water taxis and zoomed away. Our grumpy neighbour was also gone and could be seen paddling across the channel, leaving a final list of grievances scribbled on a bit of paper pinned to one of our tents.

The episode left me feeling downhearted. We had encroached on this guy’s minke, I accept that. However, it is a marine park, a public park after all. To expect it to be absent of public is ridiculous!

In my years of travelling by kayak, I have been in similar situations. Every time I have been greeted warmly and enjoyed memorable experiences due to my courteous approach to nibbling the other pod’s minke.

Be open to your new neighbours paddling into “your” islands. Remember we are all in it for the same reasons, and that commonality should bring us together, pod to pod. Share and share alike in the great “public” outdoors. There is enough minke whale to go around!

David Barnes is an artist on Saltspring Island, British Columbia, whose latest kayaking memoir is titled Dreaming in NuchatLitz.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Family Planning: Kayaking for All Ages

Stories
Family

Dave Quinn

February 1, 2009

AGES 0–2: There is no such thing as too young. However, the safety considerations you would use on your own trips are magnified when a baby is involved. Small people are far more susceptible to hypo- and hyperthermia. All decisions revolve around keeping the baby warm (but not too warm) and dry. Put the baby in a sling to keep it close, or in your lap or on a foam pad on the cockpit floor. Use a large towel or umbrella for sun or drizzle protection.

Capsizing is not an option. Plan routes to minimize risk: no large crossings, close to shore, lots of spots to land and camp.

AGES 3–9: Michael Pardy, owner/operator of SKILS kayak and leadership school, saw the birth of his son Rowan not as the end of his paddling career, but as the addition of a new paddling partner.

“I never wanted rowan to remember his first time in a kayak. I wanted paddling to just simply be a part of his life,” explains Pardy.“So we have been paddling with Rowan since he could sit in our laps.”

Today, Rowan Jones-Pardy has spent more time in a kayak than just about any 11-year-old. The centre hatch of a tandem is where rowan spent much of his time on the water.

Pardy tries to include other families and friends in his and Rowan’s kayaking experiences, both for company for rowan and to help share the workload. The right boat helps, too. “The Current Designs Libra has a huge center hatch that allows kids room to move around, entertain themselves and be more comfortable.”

Pardy stresses the need to choose trips appropriate to this setup, keeping in mind that there is no spray skirt on the center hatch. “Obviously you can’t go out into conditions with large waves or exposed waters, but at this age the point is simply to get out on the water with your kids.”

AGES 9 AND UP: Once they’ve developed basic paddling skills, as well as some strength and confidence, it’s time to get them into their own cockpit: the bow of a tandem or a small, properly fitted solo boat. Plan routes with many options to keep beach playtime long and paddling time short—an hour max on the water before and after lunch.

Consider a water taxi. If they don’t want to paddle, head  for camp, hook up a tow, or take over in the stern. You may cover less ground than when they were just a toddler along for the ride. Have patience, and you may hear the words every paddling parent dreams of: “Where are we going next year?”

10 LITTLE THINGS THAT MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE WITH LITTLE ONES

Tea towel: For shade or to cool toddlers, or clean up unexpected eruptions.

Camp crafts: A small canoe paddle is ideal. Decorate it on a weather-bound day. Or tie a plastic fish to it so they can “fish” en route.

Cloth diapers: Simply rinse and air out on deck for reuse on long trips.

Hammock time: Critical for naptime—for both parents and kids.

Baby sling: great for toddlers and small children to keep close to mom or dad in the boat, or to free hands around camp (nurturedcub.ca).

Tarp: A good tarp is a fort, a mudroom, a shaded sanctuary, and a dry haven all in one. It keeps dirt out of the tent and provides a sheltered all-weather play area.

Friends: Yours and theirs. Other families help share the load and share the fun. If your kids are having fun, so are you.

Beach camps: Choose a nice flat, mellow, kid-friendly beach camp.

Backpack: Give your child their own daypack with their toys, sunhat, warm clothes and other gear. This helps build independence.

Umbrella: Great for sun and rain.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Baja Bound: Planning the Perfect Baja Getaway

Trips

Ginni Callahan

February 1, 2009

All photos this page: Gary Luhm — Baja Bound: Planning the Perfect Baja Getaway

The Baja Peninsula is a 1,000-mile-long invitation to adventure. In places you can stand on mountaintops and see both the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez. The Pacific coast is where expedition paddler Dan Kennedy broke his nose over the deck of his Nordkapp while landing through surf. The Sea of Cortez is where most sea kayak companies run trips.

The Sea of Cortez is the world’s youngest and richest ocean at about 100 miles wide. The Guaymas trench, in roughly the middle, plunges nearly a mile deep and contains belching volcanic and hydrothermal vents which support life based on hydrogen sulfide instead of sunlight. That discovery was a major shift in our understanding of what makes life possible.

Baja seems to be a place of new perspectives, a place of opening. Something moves people. Is it the incredible scale of the landscape? The inspiring tenacity of the plants and intertidal life? The hugeness and mystery of the whales? Is it what a vacation does to people?

Those who are tuned into energy fields say that between the coastal Sierra de la Giganta mountains and the islands near Loreto is a basin for catching energy. No matter how you look at it, the view from Carmen Island stirs the soul as the evening sun works its way over the peaks and long rays pick out Los Tres Reyes and other spires in turn.

There are four ways to trip in Baja with something for every type of paddler: destination trips, mini expeditions, road trips and full-on expeditions. Here’s a sampler with a taste of each so you can dream and plan your own perfect Baja trip.

1. DESTINATION TRIPS

Screen_Shot_2015-07-24_at_11.33.22_AM.png Destination trips are the most straightforward, where you launch and land in roughly the same place and paddle around for a week or so in between. popular destinations include three national marine parks with islands: Bahia de Los angeles—or Bay of L.A. — (1,013 km or 630 road miles from Tijuana), Bahia de Loreto (1,700 km or 1,100 miles) and Espiritu Santo (near La Paz, 2,414 km or 1,500 miles). Recently protected for their uniqueness, fragility and abundance of life, these parks also manage kayakers. Permits can be bought in the park office in the respective towns.

Sample trip: Circumnavigate Carmen Island, Loreto
Access: Loreto International Airport. Recommended launch: Puerto Escondido, 24 km (15 miles) south of town via taxi.
Kayaks: local rentals to appropriately skilled individuals; custom guided trips; scheduled outfitter trips.
Length: 120 km (65 nautical miles), 8–10 paddling days.
Permits: Parque Nacional Bahia de Loreto.
Highlights: White limestone fossil formations on the south end of the island and in Marquer Bay, historic salt village, spectacular geology on the rugged northeast end, excellent wildlife viewing opportunities.
Experience Sez: the steep north end is exposed to wind and swell. Choose your weather window wisely for this crux move—it’s 37 km (20 nautical miles) between protected landings. On calm days, access can be had at four or five beaches along the way. Carry water, organize a resupply boat, desalinate, or take your chances at the salt village or from yachts.

2. MINI EXPEDITIONS

Mini expeditions go a short distance, so the shuttle constitutes less than 50 per cent of the travel budget and adventure quota. The most popular and accessible mini expedition is Loreto to La paz, or variations thereof.

Sample trip: Loreto to la Paz
Access: international airports in Loreto and La Paz; regular buses between. Recommended launch: Puerto Escondido (24 km or 15 miles south of town) or Agua Verde (80 km or 50 miles south), via taxi which can carry kayaks.
Recommended pick-up: Punta Coyote, almost 97 km (60 miles) north of La Paz.
Kayaks: Custom guided trips; scheduled outfitter trips; rentals in Loreto or La Paz to appropriately skilled individuals.
Length: Agua Verde to Punta Coyote: 130 km (70 nautical miles). Puerto Escondido to Punta Coyote: 180 km (100 nautical miles). Loreto to La Paz: 300 km (160 nautical miles), 8–14 days.
Permits: Parque Nacional Bahia de Loreto, perhaps Parque Nacional Espiritu Santo
Highlights: Solitude, mountains and sea. Agua Verde to Punta Coyote is uninhabited coast except for a few fishing villages.
Experience Sez: it’s remote! Play conservatively. Filter the water you get at Timbabichi, Los Dolores or Los Burros. San Evaristo has a desalinization plant, a very basic grocery store, and cold beer.

3. ROAD TRIPS

Road trips have the fun of exploring Baja by land as well as sea and target paddling destinations along the way. This has been my favorite method of exploring.

Sea of Cortez road tripping destinations include Bahia de Los Angeles and Bahia de Concepcion. Pacific destinations: La Bufadora and Asuncion.

Sample trip: Coast to coast
Access: Drive from the border
Kayaks: BYOB or rent from San Diego–based Aqua Adventures
Length: 10+ days
Permits: Bay of L.A. Buy permits at park office.
Highlights: it’s the journey! Driving attractions include the Valle de los Cirios (strangest plants on the planet) and the Viscaino Biosphere reserve. Bay of L.A.: Coronado island volcano hike, island hopping, and floating rocks. Bahia Concepcion: protected waters, sandy beaches, nighttime bioluminescence, hot springs. La Bufadora and Asuncion: world class pacific surf and rock gardening. La Bufadora is featured in the video This is the Sea 4.
Experience Sez: prepare your vehicle; carry tools and spare parts. Be thoroughly versed in pacific surf before tackling La Bufadora or Asuncion. Lock your vehicle or leave it with someone you trust.

4. EXPEDITIONS

Screen_Shot_2015-07-24_at_11.33.52_AM.png Expeditions commit serious time to travelling by sea. Paddling the length of the sea of Cortez often begins in unremarkable san Filipe. “The only reason people start at san Filipe is to say they did the whole thing,” declared expedition paddler Dan Kennedy after starting there three times.

Expeditions come with a bonus shuttle adventure. For example, according to Jen Kleck of aqua adventures, “a couple recently paddled the length of Baja and found transport back to San Diego for them and their kayaks in a semi heading north empty. They made this connection at the Costco loading dock in Cabo. A couple of guys heading to Mulege have arranged transport back north with a gringo who owns a hotel in Mulege.”

Sample trip: San Felipe to Cabo San Lucas
Access: get creative on this one. Have a friend drop you off in San Filipe and figure it out in Cabo. Or just stay.
Kayaks: BYOB. length: about 1,300 km (700 nautical miles), 3 months.
Permits: Check in at park offices as you pass by. To fish, you need licenses for both your kayak and yourself. Ask at the park offices about where to buy.
Highlights: living with the rhythms of the sea and its animals, remote sections nobody else bothers to do the logistics for.
Experience Sez: a basic command of Spanish would be really helpful.

Ginni Callahan is the founder of Columbia river Kayaking and Sea Kayak Baja Mexico. She teaches and guides during summer on the Lower Columbia River and during winter in Baja, Mexico.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Editorial: I Hope I Never Learn

Stories

Scott MacGregor

February 1, 2009

Days before, local reports on the Marmora Area Canoe and Kayak Festival website said Beaver Creek was still frozen. At 3 p.m. when we finally arrive, however, the water beneath the take-out bridge is running high and fast.

We head to the put-in eight kilometres upstream—no shuttle arranged, agreeing that we’ll walk back to the truck if we have to.

The Beaver is considered an intermediate to advanced class III-IV run, one you could run in four hours but typically stretch to a full day. Now 3:30 on a cold, sleeting early spring afternoon, we need to hustle to get down before dark.

At the bottom of Triple Drop, the first significant rapid, the Beaver slips away from us beneath a layer of spongy ice. The half-frozen crust is thick enough to support the surface area of our boats, but not enough that we can walk on top without falling through. After a kilometre of poling with paddles and swinging our boats beneath our arms as if on parallel bars, we face an icy crossroads.

Straight ahead as far as we can see is another 500 metres of ice. To the right a flooded but open channel dekes into the woods. We figure with the 50-year record high water and the constriction of ice below, this temporary channel will link back to the Beaver’s main flow.

After the first couple kilometres of fast-moving class I and II we know we’ve left the Beaver for good. We also know that we are well past the point of no return. Joking of a new first descent, we continue threading our way down through flooded hardwood forest.

Finally, at the intersection of an old train bridge and hydro line corridor, we climb up to take a look. Beyond the bridge the swollen creek feeds through dense bush, thick and constrictive as a kitchen strainer.

We guess we have an hour of daylight left, tops. Eating the last of our lunches and weighing our options, we thank God that our wives and girlfriends aren’t here. Infrequent faint rumbling of heavy equipment off to the right urges us to begin dragging our boats in this direction, away from the river.

By the time we reach a log landing, the skidder crews have long gone home. We continue hiking, boats now scraping along a muddy bush road, until we reach the end of a country road and the home of Dianne MacDonald. Dianne is feeding her birds when her flashlight bounces off the reflective strips on my drysuit.

“Are you guys kayakers?”

“Yes.”

“What in Lord’s name are you doing in my yard?”

Too difficult to explain.

Dianne feeds us cookies and hot tea, loads us in the back of her deceased husband’s Dodge Dakota and drives us 22 kilometres back to where we had set off to almost run the Beaver.

Hunkered down out of the wind and sleet we’re giddy with our good fortune. It turns out that continuing past the bridge would have meant two kilometres of bush-crashing leading into a 100-acre swampy meadow. Dragging our boats in the other direction would have taken us down 16 kilometres of snowmobile trails before reaching Beaver Creek.

Even with a river full of ice, missing the run entirely, hiking out in the dark and hitching a ride with a kindly widow, we agree this is river running at its best—exploration, camaraderie and adventure. You just don’t find this in a man-made whitewater park.

“I certainly hope you boys have learned your lesson,” Dianne warns, waving and driving away.

“Oh yes, ma’am,” we shout. Knowing full well we haven’t.

Scott MacGregor is the publisher of Rapid, Adventure Kayak, Canoeroots and Kayak Angler magazine. This year on the Beaver he’ll be carrying a compass and wearing shoes.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Rapid Magazine.

San Joaquin’s South Fork Descent

Stories

Darin McQuoid

February 1, 2009

Carving a descent through 6,200 feet of unyielding granite, water from the South Fork San Joaquin has earned a reputation for being the hardest working water in the world. On its turbulent journey, the water is reused nine times as the river runs a gauntlet of lakes, tunnels and powerhouses all part of the Big Creek Hydroelectric Project. Construction of Big Creek began in 1912 and the last powerhouse at Balsam Meadow, built in 1987, is 1,000 feet underground and carved from solid granite. Big Creek, California’s largest hydro project, swallows all but a trickle of the South Fork’s aquamarine waters.

Information regarding the project is held as tightly as the hold on water flows. In late August, American Whitewater volunteer Paul Martzen heard rumours of a release.

“The hydro project had to move more water than they could get through the generators,” explained Martzen. Thirsty farmers down the valley meant water in the South Fork, and a shot at a first descent. The flow window would be brief and uncertain—the release starting on the Friday of Labour Day weekend. “My contact was fairly sure that the release would last through Sunday.”

With a three-day window, a group of four California and Oregon kayakers decided to go for it. Ben Stookesberry, Darin McQuoid and Matt Thomas drove through the night to meet with Kevin Smith for a once-in-a-lifetime assault on the river.

“It was no surprise that we had to portage large sections of Mono Creek, a small tributary inundated by 500 cubic feet per second,” says Smith. “The Middle Fork San Joaquin is known as the hardest run in California, but the South Fork takes everything about it to the next level.”

The run is filled with inescapable granite gorges, mandatory class V+ rapids, complex portages and pure wilderness scenery. For the first three days the group was surprised at how much they paddled, but late into day three it was painfully obvious they wouldn’t get out in the alloted time.

“Large sieves made us leave river level and portage over gorges,” says Thomas. Increasingly numerous and treacherous portages made for slow progress. As three days stretched to four, Big Creek’s gates closed and the South Fork eased back underground into restless hiding.

“The South Fork San Joaquin is the hardest of the High Sierras,” says Stookesberry. “It’s an absolute classic multi-day.”

Too bad it’s gone.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Skills: Sweet Momentum

Skills

Andrew Westwood

February 1, 2009

Photo: Marilyn Scriver — Skills: Sweet Momentum

Traditional canoe instruction says that the most effective steering strokes are done in the stern; typically stern draws, rudders and pries. But try watching experienced solo boaters and more often than not you will see them steering at the bow. In whitewater, momentum means the difference between catching must-make eddies and falling short. Bow control strokes maintain precious momentum, while steering from the stern essentially slams on the brakes. Choosing to steer from the bow or stern is determined by where you are going on the river and the momentum needed to make your move.

Power Steering

Steering from the bow, called power steering (Rapid Open Canoe Technique V10, I2), relies on adapting your forward and cross-forward strokes to control your boat angle. The advantage of power steering is that these strokes add to your momentum. The efficiency of using forward strokes means that you eliminate the drag caused by momentum-killing strokes like stern pries and rudders.

Picture yourself planning an S-turn across some fast moving water. In executing the move your canoe will begin facing upstream and travelling against, and then progressively across, the current. The swiftly flowing downstream water dragging on a stern draw or pry will kill your momentum and possibly blow the move. Power steering, with propulsion and control coming from forward strokes at the bow, is a much better method of maintaining momentum and controlling angle to pull off the move.

Stern Control

Stern strokes such as pries, rudders and draws are the traditional steering strokes used by all canoeists. They work incredibly well for steering. Anytime you need to turn your canoe in a hurry, the leverage created by these strokes is practically guaranteed to do the trick. The downside of these friction strokes is that they all slow you down—some more than others.

So, when is the best time to use stern control? Anytime you have enough momentum to counter the drag of the stroke—like when you are charging downstream and want to eddy out. You are carrying loads of downstream momentum and facing a rapidly approaching 180-degree turn. A sure way to make that eddy turn happen is a stern control stroke. Friction here is not an issue—you are going downhill, building momentum as you approach the turn—heck, you may even want to slow down.

Making the Move

Making your move every time will depend on matching your paddling technique to how you plan on using the current. Your strategy has to account for the momentum gained or lost from both strokes and the river current. Think of bow control as having less friction and higher efficiency, while stern control gives you leverage and security. In the end, choosing to steer from the bow or stern comes down to one simple rule: Use the type of control strokes that provide you with the momentum you need to make your move.

Andrew Westwood is an open canoe instructor at the Madawaska Kanu Centre, member of Team Esquif and author of The Essential Guide to Canoeing. www.westwoodoutdoors.ca.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2009 issue of Rapid Magazine.

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