Boat Review: The Island by Hobie

By

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August 1, 2007

Photo Victoria Bowman — Boat Review: The Island by Hobie

BEFORE YOU ASK what business this crazy contraption has in a kayak review, let me explain that the core of the Hobie Island sailing trimaran is a standard Hobie Mirage Adventure sit-on-top kayak (this boat’s full name is the Hobie Mirage Adventure Island). The Mirage Adventure is the fastest kayak in the Hobie lineup, designed for maximum speed, tracking and carrying capacity. So if you strip off the Island’s pedal drive, plug-in wheelie cart, twin outriggers, 15-foot mast and 54.5-square-foot sail, you’re left with this nice all-purpose kayak to paddle around or fish from. It even has three hatches and built-in fishing rod holders.

A cautious kayaker, I first climbed aboard the Island with my paddle firmly in hand, ready to resort to paddling if things went sideways. Pedaling with my feet, controlling the rudder with my left hand and working the two lines for the sail with my right felt a bit like learning to fly a helicopter at first. But within half an hour playing in moderate winds I went from complete sailing beginner to flying along at up to seven knots. When the wind died or I stalled trying to come about to tack, I simply threw in a few pedal strokes to get moving again. I had a blast chasing waves and surfing downwind, jacking up the speed with the pedals if I needed a little oomph to get over a wave crest. I soon stowed the paddle for good.

The sail system is the real deal with the same high-quality rigging as Hobie’s famous sail cats: Harken hardware, Delrin plastic bearings at the base of the mast, Spectra cord rudder lines. With the roller-furling mast, you can go from full sail to zero in about five seconds, and instantly adjust the amount of sail for varying wind speeds. Kicking back and enjoying the view while averaging four or five knots, I had dreams of loading up for a long coastal tour and effortlessly cruising 50 to 100 kilometres a day with a cappuccino in the cup holder and some Jack John- son on the—okay, so there’s no stereo.

The Island is nearly impossible to flip due to a self-limiting design: when the boat catches a lot of wind, it leans over and buries the downwind outrigger, automatically slowing down (soaking the paddler in the process) and turning safely upwind. As my confidence grew, I started fantasizing about having more floatation in the outriggers, more clearance for the outrigger arms, and a larger rudder with a more powerful control so I could suck more speed from a strong wind. But I’ll bet that would get me into trouble. And I doubt you could still call it kayaking.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Boat Review: The T-1600 by TRAK

By

Tim Shuff

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August 1, 2007

Have you seen The Kayak Transformers? This summer blockbuster begins not long ago in a galaxy not far away (Alberta), where a group of entrepreneurs quietly hatch a plan to create the most successful kayak company in the world.

By the end of 2005 our heroes have raised more than $2.4 million in startup capital and are angling for another $2 million from investors. In 2007 their top-secret invention, the TRAK T-1600, finally hits the water with a big splash. They boldly hype it as “the world’s only performance kayak that goes in a pack” and the media eats it up.

The action begins when the T-1600 rolls onto the scene in an attractive duffel bag with a plastic external frame and built-in wheels. Then it stuns its human owners by transforming into a medium-sized touring kayak in less than 20 minutes—faster than any other folding kayak in the universe. The one-piece hull and deck and aircraft-aluminum frame appear outstandingly engineered and constructed. A battle ensues for the hearts and minds of kayakers everywhere.

There is a dramatic climax when we discover that there are three hand-powered jacks built into the frame—one on each side of the cockpit and one along the keel between the paddler’s legs. These allow the T-1600 to change shape on the water. In an instant it switches from the flat profile of a rowing shell to the rocker of a whitewater canoe. Egads! Do you realize the implications? Here is a kayak that is immune to the classic tradeoff between speed and maneuverability! It can outrun play kayaks and outplay touring kayaks! Global market domination is virtually assured.

There’s a moment of doubt when we see that the side jacks are designed to hook the hull left or right to overcome turning in crosswinds (because the T-1600, in a gesture of elegant simplicity, has no skeg or rudder). The hard-chine, deep-V hull is not strongly affected by wind, so we wonder if this kinky feature is a strength or a weakness.  As the saga continues, however, the TRAK T-1600 proves itself to be an awesome transformer. It holds its own against any other folding kayak for its construction quality and ease of assembly alone. Dueling with quality hardshell kayaks in their element is another matter. These old standbys do what they do really well, at a price that’s easier for the masses to swallow. So the battle rages and it will take more time to know if the T-1600 can fulfill its creators’ dream of revolutionizing kayaking the way parabolic skis swept downhill skiing. Things look rosy for now, but just like in Hollywood, you can pretty much bank on a sequel.

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This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Drag-and-Drop

Skills

By

Paul Mason

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June 1, 2007

I set up for shallow slides much the same as I set up for any creek line. I start opposite the side I want to end up on and carry momentum into the rapid to cross the grain of the falling water. On shallow slides in an open boat carrying momewntum is even more important than in a kayak, since an onside forward stroke wants to spin the boat and any strokes in one inch of water don’t work very well.

On the Independence River in New York State I started down a narrow shallow slide that fanned out as it steepened, before dropping into a very tiny cauldron surrounded by sloping granite banks. With some surprise I found myself grinding down angled left as planned to cross the grain, but definitely not moving left. Matter of fact, as I was approaching the landmark rooster tail at the lip of the steeper bit, I was sliding even further to my right toward the cauldron—not at all where anyone would intend to go. Finishing the drop backwards seemed like the best of the worst, and even though there was so little water cascading over the rocks you could hardly call it a rapid, it was enough to drown out the laughter of everyone on shore.

It was several months before I came up with a plausible explanation of why I’d gotten so far off line.

On the Doncaster, a classic Quebec spring run, I watched the same thing happen. In this photo, the boater is trying to drive river left but the water pushes him out towards the middle of the rapid. He either didn’t come into the rapid with enough forward momentum to begin with, or the drag on the bottom of the boat in the shallow water caused the boat to slow down and move slower than the water. Either way, if you’re not moving faster than the water, crossing the grain turns into a scary back ferry.

Think back to the old days when we all used the back ferry to descend rapids slowly. A back ferry works because the canoe is moving slower downstream than the current, due in this case to your backpaddling. The water pushes on the exposed side of the canoe moving the craft laterally across the river.

On a shallow slide you get the same effect when your creek boat is slowed by the friction of the river bottom.

As soon as you lose forward momentum the current begins to take your boat with it. Aligned perfectly with the current, you’re going where the water is going. Any angle in either direction and presto, you are in back ferry mode, whether you like it or not!

So far, I’m not setting up to back ferry down slides. I still much prefer maintaining forward speed and driving toward the direction I want to go.

However, understanding how the friction in shallow-water slides slows my boat, I can always try to claim I was back ferrying when I end up beached on shore.

Who knows, maybe it won’t be too long before we’re all back ferrying off waterfalls… you go first.

This article on back ferries was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.

The Macho Move

Skills

By

Bryan Kirk

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June 1, 2007

The macho move is one of the most impressive downstream freestyle moves known to mankind. Invented by Brad Ludden and named by Jay Kincaid, it became mainstream after Ludden and other pros displayed the new move at the 2002 IR Triple crown on the Nolichucky River in Tennessee.

The macho move is simply an air loop, which pops off the peak of a wave while moving downstream. Only two waves are required to get a nice aerial macho move. It is ideal to learn the move on high-volume rivers with medium-sized waves where you don’t have to worry about hitting bottom. The New and Gauley rivers in West Virginia are my favourites for doing macho moves since the potential spots to do this move are endless. Also endless are the potential variations of the macho move. One slight variation of the macho move was done for this particular photo sequence, with the boat popping off the peak with a twist to get more of a space Godzilla macho move. New ways are still being discovered.

The feeling of doing a massive air flip while travelling downriver at high speed is truly exhilarating. once you nail your first macho move the addiction will begin. You’ll never just float down a wave train again.

How to macho move:

Step 1: Paddle at medium speed into a wave train with fairly consistent standing waves. The greater the spacing between the waves, the more downstream speed you’ll require. Proper timing is crucial for the macho move.

Step 2: The initiation is the classic double-pump technique, started at the peak of the first wave. The key is to lift your bow into the air while moving over the first wave peak, and to drive your bow as deep as possible into the trough between the two waves. This loading of your bow’s volume deep in the trough is where the pop of the macho move comes from.

Step 3: As you begin to travel up the face of the second wave, stand up on your foot blocks just as you would for an air loop. You should time this jumping action so that you are completely standing up just before the peak of the second wave.

Step 4: Snap your torso forwards as if you were flatwater looping off the peak of the wave. You will encounter much less resistance than a normal flatwater loop since the water is dropping away from you as you travel downstream off the peak of the wave. You know you’ve nailed your timing perfectly when you completely clear your stern of the water and you land flat on your hull in the next trough.

Pro tips:

1. Practice both the flatwater loop and loops in holes, and concentrate on the timing of the jump to increase your pop into the air.

2. The higher you pull yourself into the air off the initiation wave peak, the deeper your bow will go into the next trough. The deeper your bow goes in the trough, the higher you will be thrown into the air off the second wave peak.

3. Approach the first wave at a slight angle from the side. This will help you face downstream while vertical on your bow, which will make your macho move loop finish straighter.

This article on the macho move was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.

River Alchemy: Random Beauty

Stories

By

Jeff Jackson

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June 1, 2007

Photo: garyandjoaniemcguffin.com — River Alchemy: Random Beauty

I stumbled on it some years ago on a rambling hike down a dry streambed in Driggs, Idaho. I found a perfect bend in a river. A 180-degree change in direction, carved from the alluvial plain. The gravel bank was perhaps eight feet high; it was plumb vertical, and had a perfectly walled arc, perhaps 100 feet in diameter. From every angle it was astoundingly geometrically perfect. It grabbed my eye and carried it around its curve. I had never seen such mathematical perfection in nature before.

Luna Leopold felt that same sense of awe in nature. As the son of Aldo Leopold, the famous pioneer of wilderness ethics and land protection in the United States, Luna Leopold was the first to set out to study rivers in a manner unheard of—he measured them… in great detail. In fact he spent a lifetime creating formulas to explain just how rivers work, and how it was possible for them to carve the perfect bend.

By and large, he was successful.

He was the creator of what is now called quantitative hydrology, and in doing so re-established much of the fundamental assumptions of modern engineering.

Starting in 1953 with his obscure (to most readers) text, The Hydraulic Geometry of Stream Channels and Some Physiographic Implications, Leopold pulled rivers apart, feature by feature, and scratched out the formulas that explain their behaviours. Some of his findings are uncanny. Consider these, if you haven’t before: the wavelength a river meanders is, on average, 12 times its width; the Sine coefficient for those meanders is the same coefficient for the compression waves that form on a stream’s surface; and the riffle-pool interval is one half the wavelength of the meanders.

Fascinating.

He created formulas to explain helical flow, wave creation, hydraulics, sediment load and watershed flood rates. The list goes on and on. In my search to explain the perfect bend all roads lead to Leopold’s work. He was incredibly prolific and clearly a genius. While mathematically dazzling, his formula for the perfect bend left me spiritually unfulfilled.

A year later I was handed Barry Lopez in a used bookstore in Smithers, B.C., Lopez lives on the other end of the Sine curve from Leopold; if Leopold is pure science, Lopez is pure poetry. River Notes is Lopez’s river dissection, via a series of short stories so descriptive the book drips with water. His swirling eddies suck you in, carry you into the current, then delicately and surprisingly drop you in the literary ocean of deep thought with his famous single-sentence endings.

Lopez explores the idea of how a river can so seamlessly and completely change direction, while looking for instruction that may be useful to his own life.

Mired in depression, he laboured to examine every aspect of the bend in the river behind his home. If he could figure out this bend, then maybe he could figure out how to turn his own life around. Bed-ridden and feeling no hope at all, he hauls himself down to the stream and dips his hand in the water. The essence of the turn, he realizes, is not in the details (nor in any of Leopold’s formulas), but in some bigger connection between himself and the river.

Lopez’s exploration of the fine details of rivers is in a way an exploration of the human soul, but his life-changing river bend metaphor did not speak to me any more than Leopold’s algebra.

I’ve since returned to the sharp and blocky Canadian Shield rivers, rivers with turns seemingly unaffected by water and time pushing against them. In my lifetime I’m unlikely to find another bend so geometrically perfect.

With every new river I paddle I realize it was not the bend that was so intriguing, it was how the perfectly bending arc grabbed my eye, smoothly railing it around the corner in a new direction. It was not the bend in the river, it was what lay beyond that was so intriguing and so important. The perfect bend is not a complex equation. For me now, the perfect bend is the one just downstream, the one luring me to explore what is just beyond.

This article on science and poerty was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid magazin

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Editorial: A Drop in the Bucket

Stories

By

Scott MacGregor

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June 1, 2007

Photo: Scott MacGregor — Editorial: A Drop in the Bucket

Driving home from a kayak fishing trip last week I realized I had done what most whitewater paddlers do every weekend—I filled my gas tank and cooler before I left home.

The week before, back at the Rapid office, I had been preparing an economic impact survey to measure the amount of money spent in Palmer Rapids during our Canadian Whitewater Instructor Conference and sixth annual Palmer Rapids River Festival. I’ll use the data from this to present a case to my local municipality, county economic development office and tourism association arguing that whitewater paddling is good for the area.

Meanwhile, the only things I left behind after my weekend in the abandoned-mining-town-turned-tourism-based fishing community were a couple of snagged lures and a case of empties.

For my fishing trip, I easily dropped $250 on gas, groceries and bits of tackle. Buying it all locally would have only cost me $18 more than it did at the highway gas bar and box store supermarket. With eight of us in our group and eight other cabins at the place we stayed, for an extra six dollars a day each, these guys at this one fishing camp could have injected $10,000 into the local economy simply by buying supplies at the Gowganda general store. And that doesn’t take into account the beer!

We need to stop thinking about our rivers as being free.

With increasing pressure on rivers for hydro development, river protection groups have to slap a sticker price on whitewater. These groups are standing up in public meetings across the country convincing local politicians and governments that paddlers will generate more business and more revenue than turbines.

I respect the efforts of groups like Les Amis who are committed to protecting the Kipawa River from hydro development. Unfortunately, this year Les Amis is officially cancelling the 21st annual Kipawa River Rally due to what vice President Peter Karwacki calls the “unsafe, unpredictable situation created by the punitive actions of [the federal government].” Karwacki recommends paddlers send letters of apology to local businesses in the host town of Laniel. Maybe the loss of revenue will spur local businesses to stand up and take notice. Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.

We know that economic impact studies sway government decisions when it comes to whitewater paddling.

Whitewater parks are being built all across North America on the basis of their economic returns. Cities like Reno, Nevada and Wausau, Wisconsin have invested millions to create whitewater tourism and are reaping rewards. More complacent communities are letting developers shut off their natural rivers.

We simply have to stop thinking of rivers as being free and be conscious and proactive with our spending. We can pay for a shuttle instead of driving two cars from the city. Stay the night at a local campground, motel or bed and breakfast. Rent our boats locally. Shop at the local grocery store. Fill our gas tanks for the ride home. Plan to meet your friends at the restaurant for breakfast. Buy an ice cream cone. And if there’s a box at the take-out or campground, dude, put your money in the box.

We need to pay where we play. And if it costs us more to do so, it’s not an added expense, it’s an investment.

This article on shopping local was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid magazine

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Butt End: Danger Zone

Stories

By

Kevin Callan

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June 1, 2007

Photo: istockphoto.com/Suzann Julien — Butt End: Danger Zone

I stood my ground when the moose started to charge, not believing it was a real threat. When it changed its gait from a gallop to a sprint, I reassessed the situation and ran my ass off toward the truck.

What was I thinking? If I had come across the same animal while out on a trip instead of by the side of the highway I would have admired it from a distance, not blindly walked up to it snapping photos as if it were a supermodel.

A few seconds into the chase I realized that being part of the high school running club was far behind me, but the moose wasn’t. He was closing in and the only thing to do was to start zig-zagging in hopes of confusing him.

It was the blast of a passing truck’s horn that saved me in the end. Not my buddy Andy. He was too busy trying to turn on his video camera. The moose jolted at the sound of the horn, zigged when I zagged and gave up the chase.

You don’t have to tell me I’m an idiot. I’m well aware. But it’s not all the time. I’m a safety fanatic while out on a trip. It’s an approach that has saved my hide many times out there. The moment the trip is over, however, I forget all those over-the-top safety measures, as if being reconnected with civilization means I can turn my brain off.

Prior to the moose attack I had spent two full weeks paddling the Kopka. It’s a remote river in northern Ontario that’s challenging enough in normal conditions but was in high flood during our trip. It was the most testing route I’ve ever done—and at no time did I let my safety slip into question. We scouted every rapid prior to running it. We hunkered down during a wind storm rather than take a chance surfing breaking waves. We encountered 10 bears and gave them all a respectful berth. We even used safety harnesses while portaging an incredibly steep portage around Kopka Falls. We were the poster paddlers for safe canoe tripping.

It wasn’t long after starting our drive home that we passed the moose feeding along the roadside. We hadn’t seen a moose on the trip, so I pulled over to take a picture. I took the lens cap off and transformed from safety boy to idiot tourist. You know the rest.

And what happened to the moose? He went back into the woods where it was safe, perhaps questioning how humans survive in the civilized realm we call the real world. If I were an evolutionary biologist I’d be worried about us.

Kevin Callan has never been to Pamplona, Spain, but hears it is an exciting place.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

Weighing the Risks

Stories

By

Scott MacGregor

-

June 1, 2007

Photo: Scott and Dougie MacGregor — Weighing the Risks

As parents we walk the tightrope, balancing potential risks and benefits all the time. If I let my daughter stick a screwdriver in the electrical socket, the benefit of improving fine motor control would be zapped by the risk of being electrocuted. Whereas falling off a bicycle on a soft lawn is worth the risk of a stained knee for the benefits of learning to balance and enjoying childhood freedom. As parents we make these kinds of decisions all the time. Learning to cut paper versus losing a finger. Having fun fishing versus getting hooked in the scalp. Exercise and adventure from hiking versus getting lost or poison ivy.

In the world of outdoor recreation and education this is called risk management. My friend Matt Cruchet runs Direct Bearing Risk Management Consulting, a very successful business helping organizations manage risk in their adventure programs. Unfortunately, our society is quick to point fingers at the risks involved with outdoor activities, making educators and some parents scared to take kids outside—especially with the ever-looming threat of legal action. Matt works with schools, camps and organizations like the Girl Guides of Canada to help quantify the benefits, identify the hazards and minimize the risks involved in their outdoor programs.

As camping parents we know that summertime is perfect for being outside and being active with our kids. This Canada Day long weekend I took my two-year-old son Dougie on our first father-son whitewater canoe trip. The reaction of other canoeists fell into two camps: one group, “I wish I’d started paddling that young”; and the other group, “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing with a baby in the rapids?” One couple actually paddled over and asked me this…it turns out they are teachers.

My friend Matt uses a diagram to help his clients think about risk. One axis is the likelihood of something bad happening, and the other axis is the severity of the consequences. Mosquito bites, for example, are very likely but result in only minor bumps or itching; the chance of getting struck by lightning is quite low but the consequences are severe. The worst kinds of risk are the ones that are very likely to happen and have severe consequences. And in the first quadrant is where Dougie and I paddle the Madawaska River—the chances of us flipping are quite low, as are the consequences with warm, low water, helmets and PFDs.

In March, a Commons health committee report concluded that 26 per cent of Canadians between the ages of two and 17 are overweight or obese. Overfeeding and lack of exercise increase the risks of preventable life-threatening diseases such as diabetes and heart disease. Watching Dougie playing in the sand, scrambling over rocks, swimming in the shallow eddies and climbing into his sleeping bag at 7:30, I’m sure I’ve found the cure. For my family, the benefits of being outside and canoeing, hiking (see this issue’s hiking feature) and camping far outweigh the risks—so long, of course, that those risks are well managed.

By noon on our second day Dougie and I had caught up to the teachers. They were scouting Raquette Rapids, a 100-metre-long class II that flows over some shallow ledges and between two rock islands. I’ve run this rapid a hundred times. Dougie and I drifted into the current chatting about sitting still and pointing out rocks to avoid. I could feel glares of disapproval burning through the foam of my lifejacket as we floated past the teachers and down the last little chute into the lakewater pool. A perfect run.

A few minutes later, whistle blasts chirped to get our attention. Guess who was in the water? Their canoe was upside down and their gear was strewn around the rapid like a yard sale hit by a tornado. I’d normally have jumped up from our lunch spot on the rocks and helped them, but I couldn’t leave poor little Dougie on these dangerous rocks by himself. What kind of irresponsible parent would that make me? So I sat there spreading cream cheese on my “baby’s” bagel, wondering if they now think they should have started paddling when they were two.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

Betcha Didn’t Know About Beavers

Stories

By

Conor Mihell

-

June 1, 2007

Photo: iStock.com — Betcha Didn't Know About Beavers

Beavers are the second largest rodent.
The beaver was the main currency of the fur trade. Pelts were trapped in the hinterland by natives, exchanged for goods at trading posts and shipped to Europe to be treated with mercury to make felt for hats.
Beaver tails are sweet hunks of deep-fried dough that are popular on Ottawa’s Rideau Canal. They set back sugar-craving ice skaters $3.50.
Newborn beavers are able to swim within hours of being born.
Beavers were practically wiped out in Europe by demand for castor oil, a bitter excretion that was used to treat pains and is still used to scent perfumes.
The buckteeth of a beaver never stop growing.
Jerry Mathers gnashed some impressive buckteeth himself as star of Leave it to Beaver, a sit-com that debuted in 1957.
Beavers dam waterways with a mass of mud, rocks and sticks to create a pond that provides access to vegetation and protection from predators. The largest known beaver dam stretched nearly 1,500 metres across a river in Saskatchewan.
Female beavers tend to grow larger than males.
The mating practices of beaver—of interest to a large number of humans—involve mid-winter romantic dalliances under the ice.
Beavers can hold their breath for 15 minutes.
The legendary DeHavilland Beaver bush plane has taken more canoeists to more remote put-ins than any other airplane.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Canoeroots Magazine.

In Parting: How Kayaking Makes You Smarter

Stories

By

Tim Shuff

-

June 1, 2007

Photo: Tarmo Poldmaa — In Parting: How Kayaking Makes You Smarter

There’s a highly successful and well-paid management consultant who, whenever he gets in a stressful pickle at work, solves his problems by sitting down to do needlepoint.

This is according to a book I am reading to better myself. It’s called The Breakout Principle: How to Activate the Natural Trigger That Maximizes Creativity, Athletic Performance, Productivity and Personal Well-Being. Wouldn’t you like to know the secret to all that?

According to the authors, Herbert Benson and William Proctor, when you get stuck with a problem at work or in life and grapple with it for a while until you aren’t getting anywhere, you can break out of that rut by doing something physically or mentally repetitive. They suggest meditation, walking, scrubbing the toilet—it can be just about anything. The needlepointing business guru supposedly solved a big problem by engrossing himself in a particularly intricate form of embroidery called petit point. Focusing on a repetitive activity pushes the brain’s reset button, allowing you to find new thought patterns for old problems. Your mind evolves and you get smarter through successive cycles of struggle and breakout. The harder the struggle, the greater the enlightenment is likely to be. It’s a “work hard, play hard” philosophy, coming to you from a pair of authors that includes a professor of medicine at Harvard—so it must be true.

Before you rush out to the craft store for needlepoint sup- plies, take it from me that kayaking has all the same breakout benefits while being a lot more fun. I find there’s no better way to get over writer’s block than to go out for a long paddle. The best escape comes in a following sea that’s big enough to make me pay attention but not so big it really scares me—the golden mean between too-easy and too-hard that produces the mental state psychologists call “flow.”

After a few good hours paddling downwind in a moderate swell, the first two things I need to do when I get to shore are 1) pee, and 2) pull out my notebook to write down all the brilliant ideas I just had on the water. Often the two are emergencies of equal urgency. If I start carrying a pee bottle in my cockpit, I will also have to rig a dictaphone to my Pfd. sitting at a computer, though our careers often demand it, is not a great way to be inspired.

I have come to think of my kayak cockpit as “the Oval Office” because it’s where I do my best work. Indoor work can nourish the mind, but it takes water to digest.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.