Call it destiny the day Tom Hudson paddled through the town of The Pas on the Saskatchewan River, some 8,000 miles from his home in New Zealand. Hudson was two months into his solo canoe trip across Canada and leaving The Pas when he heard a dog bark. Something of about the barking gave Hudson pause. He turned his canoe around to investigate and soon the canoeist would rescue the dog from the river.
Man on solo canoe trip across Canada rescues dog from river
Hudson found the dog, which he later learned was a 14-year-old Great Pyrenees named Ivy, along the river bank. Ivy was half submerged under the water, with her rear stuck beneath a log. Hudson was able to free the dog from beneath the log, but she had no strength in her legs.
“She obviously hadn’t been able to rest or sleep, because obviously if she did, her head would have dropped under the water,” Hudson told the CBC. “She was just there in the water, awake and exhausted.”
Ivy wan’t able to move under her own strength. Seeing this, Hudson picked the dog up and loaded her into his canoe. He then looked for the closest home he could find and brought Ivy to the dock. It happened to be Ivy’s home and they had been looking for her for days. Hudson stuck around for a while and recorded Ivy’s reunion with her home as they cared her back to health.
As for Hudson, he’ll continue documenting his canoe trip across Canada. His goal was to reach Montreal this year, however he now expects with the changing seasons it will take him a second year to complete the trip. While the man from New Zealand has attested he has no prior canoe experience, he’ll likely have a new outpouring of fans after empathetically pausing his journey to rescue the dog named Ivy.
Wojciak typed “toddler life jacket” into the Amazon search window and chose one with more than 6,000 five-star reviews. When the vest arrived the next day, Wojciak discovered it was not a true life jacket at all. It was a “life jacket swim vest,” and the label clearly stated it “will not prevent drowning.” Wojciak, a popular content creator with nearly 18,000 followers on TikTok, shared her experience online.
“If you have a baby, please watch this video. I do not want you to make the same mistake that I almost did,” she says in a video that quickly went viral.
In the United States, life jackets for boating are approved by the Coast Guard, assuring they meet certain specifications and have undergone rigorous testing. The vest Wojciak bought didn’t even pass spell check.
“Here is what the inside of the jacket looked like,” she says in the video, pointing out a label that, at first glance, looks a lot like a Coast Guard approved life jacket. “The first red flag is the word ‘intended’ is spelled wrong. It says, ‘intened use: swim vest for kids.’
“It is not a life jacket,” Wojciak continues. “Right here it says, ‘will not protect against drowning.’”
The Amazon listing described the vest Wojciak ordered as a “kids swim vest life jacket.” Even though the term life jacket was included in the product description, the item was in fact a child’s swim vest. They are not the same thing.
A life jacket will protect your child in an emergency. A swim vest won’t.
Yet in a recent search on Amazon for “toddler life jacket” only three of the first 10 results were for U.S. Coast Guard-approved life jackets. The others were swim vests providing less protection. Searches for “Kid’s Life Jacket” and “Children’s Life Jacket” yielded slightly better results, with six of the top 10 results being U.S. Coast Guard-approved.
Amazon isn’t the only online retailer offering swim vests in response to searches for life jackets. Google, Walmart, Target and others fail to make this critical distinction. That means parents should be especially vigilant when purchasing life jackets for their children.
How to be sure your child is protected
When choosing a life jacket, the first thing you should look for is the U.S. Coast Guard approval label. If you’re shopping online, look to see if the Coast Guard approval is included in the listing. You may also be able to see the Coast Guard label in the product photos. The label will be located on the inside back panel of the life jacket.
As Wojciak discovered, the printed labels on some swim vests can look similar to the Coast Guard label—even if the device is not certified. Look closely to make sure your child’s vest is U.S. Coast Guard approved.
Photo: Roland Chanson
The Coast Guard categorizes life jackets by performance Type and/or performance Level.
Level 50, 70, 100, 150
Type I, II, III, V
The number in performance Level devices indicates the minimum buoyancy of the device in newtons. For example, a Level 70 device provides 70 newtons, or 15.74 pounds of buoyancy. That’s roughly equivalent to the 15 pounds of float in a Type III life jacket.
The Coast Guard is transitioning away from the Type ratings, but you’ll still find plenty of new life jackets classified that way, and they’re perfectly fine. The important thing is that any life jacket you buy be Coast Guard approved.
Most kids in a supervised recreational boating situation will be best served by a Type III life jacket. Featuring the classic ski-vest design, Type III jackets are easy to put on, comfortable and, when properly sized, will keep a conscious child afloat with their head above the water until a parent or other rescuer can quickly swoop in. Inflatable jackets of any type are not approved for kids under the age of 16 and are not recommended for nonswimmers.
Kid’s sizes are based on weight, with typical designations being infant (8 to 30 pounds), child (30 to 50 pounds) and youth (50 to 90 pounds). Avoid the temptation to give a child growing room by purchasing a jacket that is too large. A struggling child may sink out of it when in the water.
Takeaway for boaters and parents
U.S. federal law requires all children under age 13 to wear a life jacket at all times while underway, unless they are below deck or in an enclosed cabin. It goes without saying that a swim vest doesn’t cut it.
Life jacket laws vary by state, so be sure to check the rules in your state. Adults engaged in certain water sports, such as wakeboarding, waterskiing or operating a personal watercraft are also required to wear a life jacket in most states.
Every vessel is required to have a U.S. Coast Guard-approved life jacket for everyone on board. Swim vests don’t count. The life jackets must be the proper size for the intended wearer, in good and serviceable condition, and readily accessible.
The best life jacket is the one you wear, so it’s important to shop for life jackets that are both comfortable and approved by the Coast Guard for their intended use. Check the fit each time you go boating and adjust as necessary. This is especially important for growing kids.
It’s important for boaters and parents to understand that a swim vest is not a life jacket. It’s a swim aid. Swim vests have less buoyancy and are intended for use in calm water, like pools. They aren’t a safe option kids on lakes, rivers, or oceans.
Still, the two types of devices look very similar, and after mixing up her own online order Allie Wojciak wanted to make sure other parents were aware of the difference.
“I should have read that description more carefully, but I searched for ‘life jacket.’ This is one of the first that came up and it had so many five-star reviews,” she says in the video, which received more than 270,000 likes. “Luckily we figured that out, I returned it, and got another one that does say it’s Coast Guard certified—an actual life jacket.”
Wojciak has one piece of advice for parents shopping online for life jackets. “Please make sure that it is actually a life jacket, to make sure your baby is safe this summer.
The harbor of Long Beach, California has seen its share of remarkable vessels, but perhaps none as intriguing as the one Los Angeles artist Sam Shoemaker launched on its waters. Shoemaker recently caught the attention of social media with images of a full-size mushroom kayak grown in his studio and bravely brought to a marina adjacent to the second busiest port in the U.S. for a float test.
More specifically, Shoemaker’s kayak is made of the mycelium of a polypore, a shelf fungus, harvested from near his place in Los Angeles. Mycelium is the vast, interconnected, thread-like root network of a fungus that often stretches well beyond the fruiting bodies we see above ground that make their way to grocery aisles. The mycelium of fungus can grow to thousands of acres. With this kind of potential, Shoemaker saw the opportunity to mix art, science and paddling.
“I think that it’s really meaningful for people in the creative community to explore what is possible with these mushrooms,” Shoemaker shared. “And I feel that maybe our understanding of mycelium and how it can be used in these applied ways are pretty rudimentary.”
Sam Shoemaker and the mycelium kayak grown in his Los Angeles studio. Image: Ian Byers-Gamber
Ever incredible fungi
Fungi has shown promise in experimentation as an alternative in industrial applications such as packaging and building materials, even for textiles in the fashion industry. The draw: it is natural, renewable, benefits environmental impact, and to speak to that point further, fungi are decomposers capable of storing carbon.
As a student more than a decade ago, Shoemaker heard of an artist Phil Ross who was creating art installations with mushrooms grown on agricultural byproducts. The idea was fascinating to Shoemaker and the spore to pursue fungi art sprouted. Shoemaker has used the growing organisms as the medium of his sculpture work—which have regularly featured geometric shapes built with molds, then exploding outwardly with fungi. Now his myco sculptures have evolved to a working art taken to the harbor.
“using a wild mushroom collected off the streets of Los Angeles to build a 15-foot boat is a very impractical thing to do.”
A kayak grows in Los Angeles
For Shoemaker, the first step to growing a boat was finding a kayak design to use as a template. He connected with his muse where many others have, on Craigslist. The design, a Malibu Kayaks CK 4.4, a 14-foot sit-on-top from a now defunct brand. Shoemaker used the Craigslist find to produce a two-part mold inside of which he placed hemp as a substrate for the mycelium to consume and grow on. It took just four weeks for Shoemaker’s kayak to reach size. He then dried it in an oven to a cork-like hydrophobic material and coated it with beeswax to seal it. Once complete, the kayak weighed in at 135 pounds.
Shoemaker acknowledged he’s not the first to have pioneered mushroom paddlecraft. That title likely belongs to fellow mycophile Katy Ayers, who showcased her mushroom canoe at the Nebraska State Fair in 2019 and has since gone on to a Fulbright scholarship in advanced biological sciences.
“Katy put a really good and interesting idea into the ether,” Shoemaker credited. “And there’s always been talk of mushroom surfboards. I’m doing things a little bit differently than the way Katy built that boat. I thought it would be interesting to apply some of these different ideas to that idea and do something that could be used on the ocean.”
With the help of friends, Shoemaker carried the mycelium boat of his own to the water in Long Beach and proved he had something that floats.
Feature Image: Ian Byers-Gamber
Seaworthy mycelium
The artist’s post about the successful launch drew more attention than he ever could have imagined. There were plenty of wowed responses, and along with those, plenty of critiques. Some said it was no kayak but a baguette. Others questioned the hefty weight. Aspects Shoemaker openly agreed are part of the process of bioengineering his vessel.
“People have reached out to me about the boat to say, ‘That seems quite heavy and impractical,’ to which I say, using a wild mushroom collected off the streets of Los Angeles to build a 15-foot boat is a very impractical thing to do. If anything, I’m relieved that it only weighs 135 pounds.”
To Shoemaker’s defense, a kayak’s weight is not completely tied to its buoyancy and capability if the design and materials are sound. Popular fishing kayak models today easily tip the scale well beyond 100 pounds.
Shoemaker considers his mushroom kayak a prototype toward a larger goal—producing a craft capable of making the 22-mile open water crossing from L.A. to Catalina Island. The artist was quick to point out this is something he will spend ample time preparing for and will be accompanied by an experienced support crew. Shoemaker hasn’t gotten ahead of himself, however. For now, he has returned to the studio to tinker with his methods and grow more kayak designs if he’s to make the attempt.
“I’m not interested in making props. I want to go on a journey. I want a boat that can actually be used for something.”
Paddle safe and responsibly, always wear a life jacket.
Idyllic island camping doesn't hint at the Darien Gap's reputation as a notoriously dense and dangerous jungle. It is the only break in the Pan-American Highway, which stretches from Alaska to Argentina. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
The 10-kilometer night crossing began at dusk as we escaped the submerged landscape of the Rio Atrato delta in search of higher ground on the next peninsula. Our hopes of staying in El Roto—a village on stilts a couple of kilometers upriver—had been dashed after the headman refused us.
Mark Sky and I were nearing the end of a 500-kilometer sea kayak trip from Colón, Panama, to Turbo, Colombia. He was almost a year into a fully self-propelled cycling and climbing journey from Squamish, British Columbia, to Argentina’s Mount Aconcagua. His major crux was the Darien Gap—the roadless, swampy, unchecked border region between Panama and Colombia. To help him in his mission, I flew down with two folding kayaks to paddle around the Gap and get Mark to the start of the road in Turbo. From there, he would continue through South America.
It was pitch black by the time we were halfway across the delta. Then, like a switch had been thrown, lightning flashed and thunder clapped, introducing a storm with furious wind whipping the seas around us into a froth.
Idyllic island camping doesn’t hint at the Darien Gap’s reputation as a notoriously dense and dangerous jungle. It is the only break in the Pan-American Highway, which stretches from Alaska to Argentina. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
As we approached land, the surf zone jacked up. Mark is a relatively novice paddler, so he was pretty gripped, and I wasn’t keen on a blind landing either. In front of us was nothing but darkness and crashing seas. The landing could be mangrove, impenetrable forest, rocky reef or a beach—we had no idea.
“Mark! Let’s raft up!” I shouted over the din.
Hanging onto each other’s boats, I decided we’d let the waves decide our fate. In a raft, we’d be stable and together, far less likely to have a yard sale in the sea.
Wave after breaking wave rolled over us as we were inevitably pushed to shore. When we struck ground, we were elated to find we’d washed up on a sandy beach and quickly dragged our boats up.
Any port in a storm
Checking our GPS, we saw our thin strip of sand would be underwater once high tide came around in a couple of hours. As I prepared dinner, Mark walked up the beach to find higher ground for our camp. He was slow in returning and I wondered if he’d had a run-in with a crocodile—until I spotted a bunch of lights approaching me.
In short order, I was surrounded by a dozen military personnel in fatigues armed with M4 machine guns and a very wide-eyed Mark. He’d strolled onto their base, machete in hand, and was quickly detained and questioned. He was first accused of being a thief but explained we were just kayakers. Unbeknownst to us—and not marked on any maps—the peninsula was a Colombian naval base. The men proceeded to pick up our kayaks and gear and marched everything a kilometer away to their compound. They put us in a dank room under guard for the night.
Discussions about what to do with us went up the chain of command. They decided the next day the coast guard would take us to Turbo to be processed. We pleaded to be allowed to paddle the final 20 kilometers to town but they couldn’t be dissuaded. However, once the two coast guard officials arrived and saw the mound of our gear they’d have to transport, they decided it would be more prudent to process us on the spot. Mark was overjoyed—his self-propelled line would remain unbroken.
That afternoon, we paddled into Turbo and raised a toast to our Colombian captors and to rounding the Darien Gap.
Adventurer Frank Wolf is known for his award-winning films documenting wilderness expeditions. His second book, Two Springs, One Summer, will be available in September.
This article was first published in Issue 72 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Idyllic island camping doesn’t hint at the Darien Gap’s reputation as a notoriously dense and dangerous jungle. It is the only break in the Pan-American Highway, which stretches from Alaska to Argentina. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
The first-ever Olympic whitewater kayak cross came to its conclusion Monday at the Vaires-sur-Marne Nautical Stadium east of Paris with the first-ever champions crowned. In the end, it was Australia’s Noemie Fox in the women’s and New Zealand’s Finn Butcher in the men’s who would find themselves atop the podium in the history-making whitewater event.
Olympic kayak cross champions made in historic debut
Maybe it’s our algorithm, but kayak cross appeared to garner notable media interest and fanfare online heading into and through this stage of the Summer Games. Prior to the opening ceremony, the new event found itself on the likes of shows such as Good Morning America and held newswire headlines.
The inaugural event even had its share of sporting drama. Early in the knockout rounds the eventual women’s champion Fox had to defeat her older sister Jessica Fox, who had in the days prior won back-to-back gold medals in canoe and kayak slalom, in order to advance. With kayak cross, the Fox family stunningly swept whitewater gold in the 2024 games for Australia.
“You don’t really dare to dream this big but I really did this time,” Noemie Fox shared in an interview published on Planet Canoe. “I dared to dream to get to the Olympics and then to get to the final. When I saw in the last upstream gate that I was first, it was pure joy.”
On the men’s side, Kiwi Finn Butcher had to best 2016 Olympic slalom champion Joe Clarke who was a solid favorite to win the kayak cross. Butcher had competed in the slalom semi-final days prior, where a costly gate penalty kept him from advancing to the final in the traditional whitewater event. Kayak cross was his redemption, where he brought home the first ever Olympic gold in men’s whitewater for New Zealand.
“When I dropped off the ramp and I had a bit of clear water in front of me, I just went as hard as I could and to finish in front was insane,” Butcher stated in an interview published on Planet Canoe. “Coming out of the last upstream, I honestly couldn’t believe it so it is going to take a while to sink in.”
2024 Olympic Kayak Cross Medalists
Women’s Kayak
Gold: Noémie Fox, Australia Silver: Angele Hug, France Bronze: Kimberley Woods, Great Britain
Men’s Kayak
Gold: Finn Butcher, New Zealand Silver: Joe Clarke, Great Britain Bronze: Noah Hegge, Germany
Park wardens fly out a sleeping bag filled with rotting garbage from Algonquin Park’s backcountry. Rangers encounter garbage and abandoned equipment on almost every maintenance trip. | Feature photo: Ontario Parks
What the heck is going on out there?
On my latest canoe trip to Ontario’s Algonquin Park, my group spotted bags of garbage left at several backcountry campsites, lined up by the shore like you’d put garbage by the curb for early morning pickup. On our campsite, the forest floor behind our tent pads was decorated with white toilet paper mounds and human poop. Countless living trees had been hacked down by Daniel Boone wannabes. And while on day trips on big Lake Opeongo, we went to shore—twice—to put out campfires left burning after the occupants had cleared off their sites.
We finished our trip feeling distraught and majorly concerned for the future of our beloved backcountry.
Is mandatory backcountry education coming to a park near you?
There have always been ignorant, unethical and apathetic campers wandering the woods. But if you’re feeling, like my group did, as though there are a lot more of them lately, you’re right.
The latest stats from public and private parks and campgrounds in Canada and the United States show, on average, a 30 percent increase in campground and backcountry use since 2019 and almost double the usage compared to a decade ago. For example: Camping reservations in Alberta provincial parks skyrocketed 5,000 percent during the pandemic, going from 5,209 to 286,657 reservations in one season, and have remained high. Ontario Parks recorded growth from 4.3 million camper nights to 6.6 million per year. And reservations for fall season camping in the United States are up by 192 percent compared to five years ago. The list goes on.
Park wardens fly out a sleeping bag filled with rotting garbage from Algonquin Park’s backcountry. Rangers encounter garbage and abandoned equipment on almost every maintenance trip. | Feature photo: Ontario Parks
It’s no surprise that with more people comes more litter, toilet paper and abandoned campfires.
To be clear, these stats aren’t a result of existing campers simply deciding to camp more. More than half a million Canadians and 15 million Americans took to the outdoors and camped for the first time in 2023. The average age of campers also shifted. The younger Gen Z went from eight percent of campers to 18 percent, and Millennials from 32 percent to 46 percent. It stands to reason more newbies in the bush equals more folks who are likely to be unfamiliar with the rules.
Now I’m hearing some paddlers talk about the need for a mandatory backcountry etiquette course taken before anyone heads out to sleep in the woods. This isn’t a new idea. Many national parks, including Canada’s Pacific Rim and Gros Morne National Parks and the United States’ Yosemite, Denali and Glacier National Parks, require users to attend orientation sessions before issuing permits on some backcountry routes. Why not do the same for all protected spaces?
I disturbed a wasp nest when I proposed this question on social media. Some paddlers were in favor of the idea—after all, education never hurts. Others cried freedom louder than Mel Gibson while his intestines were being yanked out in Braveheart. The naysayers claimed being forced to watch a film or take a course would be insufferable—whether once per trip, once per year or once in a lifetime.
Some detractors argued education wouldn’t make a difference because those responsible for the kind of abuse I witnessed already knew what they were doing was wrong. That kind of behavior has much more to do with laziness than ignorance, they argued. And you can’t educate that out of people.
Despite the differing opinions, the one thing everyone agreed on was that something should be done. There’s not much we can do to make a difference in camper behavior on public lands—other than ruthlessly shame those unmanaged enough to post about it on social media. But we can take action to protect our parks.
That could mean a mandatory course or video. Or, as some social media commenters suggested, parks could offer a backcountry learn-to-camp program, which teaches participants the basics. How about a skill testing questionnaire taken at checkout for online reservations? True or false: It’s okay to leave unburied poop on a campsite, as long as it’s directly behind the tent pads.
We could create TikTok videos and Instagram Reels on backcountry etiquette to catch the attention of Gen Z and Millennial campers. And to deal with those folks who still haven’t learned—a few more park wardens paddling around and handing out hefty fines might make the lessons stick.
Kevin Callan is the author of 19 books about canoeing. His Butt End column appears in every issue of Paddling Magazine.
This article was first published in the Spring 2024 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Park wardens fly out a sleeping bag filled with rotting garbage from Algonquin Park’s backcountry. Rangers encounter garbage and abandoned equipment on almost every maintenance trip. | Feature photo: Ontario Parks
In theory, sizing a canoe paddle should be simple. Yet doing so is tricky, and the best method often argued. When we spotted Badger Paddles at Canoecopia, we noticed something intriguing about the paddle shafts at the edge of their space and had to know more. That’s when we learned Mike Ramsay, the owner of the 15-year-old paddle-building business, and his team have discovered a fascinating method for sizing a canoe paddle.
A simple and ingenious method to sizing canoe paddles
“We’ve been racking our brains for a long time about a good way to size paddles without being on the water,” Ramsay shared with the Paddling Mag team. “I think we finally came up with a way that we’re really happy with–especially here in the Midwest where we are used to different proportion paddles.”
Paddle Sober And Smart
Never mix alcohol and paddling. Coast Guard and state BUI (boating under the influence) laws apply to all vessels. This includes canoes, kayaks, SUPs and rafts.
According to Ramsay, the traditional long-bladed paddles throw people off when it comes to sizing. People think they will need a shorter shaft because the blade is longer. But Ramsay proclaimed the blade length shouldn’t really be part of the equation. Which is why for sizing, Badger has gone ahead and chopped the paddle blade off, leaving the grip, shaft and throat.
Mike Ramsay holding one of his canoe paddle shafts intended for sizing. Image: Paddling Magazine Staff
Having a bladeless paddle allows the canoer to jump in a boat on dry ground (or in most cases a shop floor) and see how their hand positioning is actually going to be in relation to the canoe.
Once you have your size sorted out, each of the Badger test shafts includes a correlation to the paddle model and overall length it would correspond to. At the show Ramsay held a 31 1/2-inch shaft as a Badger paddle sizer. This shaft was marked to equate to a 60-inch Tripper but a 66-inch Feather long-bladed solo paddle, or a 54-inch shorter-bladed Bonga.
Stay Clear Of All Other Vessels
Know the “Rules of the Road” Navigation Rules that govern all boat traffic and stay out of the way of all other vessels.
Never assume that power boaters can see you. Avoid high-traffic areas whenever possible. Proceed with caution when you can’t avoid paddling near boats. Dress for visibility.
“The biggest thing it’s going to show me is where my top hand is going to be,” Ramsay explained of the sizing method. “If your top hand is too high and you’re too spread out you’re going to be punching up. Which can be painful and just not effective.”
The ability to do so, Ramsay believes, will be the secret to narrowing in on a canoe paddle size with confidence.
Dan Rubinstein took immersive journalism to another level when he paddled for four months to research his next book. | Feature photo: Kath Fudurich
Last summer, anxious about climate change, frightened by runaway technology, uninspired at work and wrestling with my identity as my twin teenage daughters leave the nest, I needed to go for a good, long paddle. To seek some balance and perspective by immersing myself in blue space.
Adhering to the adage, “think global, act local,” I explored the waterways in my backyard, heading east from my home in Ottawa in early June and arriving back home nearly four months and 2,000 kilometers later. For an upcoming book on this subject, I interviewed people throughout my route about their relationships with water and its ability to enhance both human and ecological health. Here’s what I learned along the way about myself, SUP and everything else.
Nine life lessons learned on a 2,000-km SUP journey
1 Inflatables are the perfect travel companions
I used a 14-foot touring inflatable SUP from Colorado’s Badfish, figuring I could deflate the board and hop onto a city bus or carry it on my back through crowded places, such as New York City’s Times Square (done and done). But considering how many rocks and concrete walls I bashed into, the SUP’s durability was just as important. It even fell off a friend’s roof rack while she was driving and escaped with just a small scratch.
2 Marinas are your friends
You can’t always pull over and find a campsite when paddling in populated areas—say, down the Hudson River. Although marinas cater to powerboaters and sailors, they also welcome paddlers, especially if you phone ahead and ask for a small patch of ground for your wee tent. Bonus: most have showers. Even better: some have bars.
Dan Rubinstein took immersive journalism to another level when he paddled for four months to research his next book. | Feature photo: Kath Fudurich
3 Don’t underestimate the Great Lakes
I’ve done a fair bit of paddleboarding on the Pacific and Atlantic, as well as whitewater and SUP surfing. Still, my 50-kilometer transect around the western tip of Lake Ontario was the toughest session I’ve ever experienced. An escalating east wind and 200 miles of fetch produced five-foot swells by mid-afternoon. Eight hours of paddling on one side is not easy. At the other end of the lake, I battled a crosswind for three hours, trying to get around a point to the beach where my wife was camping. I didn’t make it and had to call for a pickup from a different beach.
4 Strangers are just friends you haven’t met
Don’t believe everything you see online. Strangers were incredibly welcoming and supportive throughout my trip, particularly south of the border. People gave me cold drinks, food, places to stay and encouragement to continue. And unlike your average polite Canadian, the dozens upon dozens of Americans I met weren’t shy about asking where I was going and offering to help me get there. Whether because of the slower pace it dictates or because it can be dangerous and the mariner’s code compels strangers to look out for each other, when water is part of the picture, people seem to have time and receptivity. There are opportunities for conversation and interaction. A spark of connection across lines that usually divide us.
5 Canals are fascinating
Wilderness purists might pooh-pooh waterways like the Erie Canal. In part, because of all the poo—although it’s much cleaner than it used to be—but also because it’s not always an escape from the sights, sounds and smells of our urban, industrial world. But there are stunningly beautiful stretches along the canals I paddled, including New York’s Champlain and Ontario’s Rideau, and they’re set up to support water travelers, from lock stations with drinking water to campsites at small-town visitor centers. Canals funnel people of all backgrounds together, from wealthy boaters on luxury yachts to folks fishing for supper and struggling to get by.
In the face of overwhelming odds, small, sustained actions can make a monumental difference.
6 You can paddle farther than you think
Paddleboarding isn’t fast. I can do maybe nine kilometers an hour on a race board in ideal conditions. For an hour. On an inflatable loaded with 60 pounds of gear, five or six kilometers an hour is sustainable, as long there’s no headwind or current going the wrong direction. But multiply that pace by 10 or 12 hours, and you’ll go far. My biggest day was 66 kilometers, albeit with help from the tidal Hudson River.
7 What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?
In the face of overwhelming odds, small, sustained actions can make a monumental difference. The Hudson River was tainted by toxic pollution in the 1960s and declared dead at one point. That sparked an ecological awakening—a key step in the modern North American environmental movement—and the Hudson is now a biodiverse, thriving estuary. Examples like this abound. The formerly industrial and neglected waterfront is being transformed into a lively neighborhood in Buffalo. And in cities up and down the Hudson, trails and parks are being developed so marginalized communities can tap into the therapeutic power of the outdoors.
8 Expect the unexpected
It doesn’t matter how much you plan. Shit happens. I raced north on Lake Champlain one day with a fierce tailwind to catch a southbound train so I could paddle north and make it to my next interview on time. And learned after running to the station, the train was canceled. So I took an Uber, crossed the lake on a ferry and paddled down the sheltered eastern shore. Another day, I planned to camp outside the visitor center in the small city of Albion on the Erie Canal, but it was a sketchy spot and I didn’t feel safe. A woman I met called her brother, who lived on the other side of the canal, and he let me camp in his yard. Every day brings surprises.
A growing body of research is showing how—and why—spending time in, on and around water is good for our physical and mental health. It also encourages ecological stewardship. And according to the University of Vienna’s Mat White, people at the lower end of the socioeconomic spectrum benefit more from blue space than rich people, who are happy and healthy anywhere thanks to their cushion of wealth. Considering the impact of inequality on well-being, improving access to aquatic environments might just be one of the keys to human and planetary health.
Dan Rubinstein has spent much of his career focusing on the importance of blue space and our relationship with water. For more on his project, go to waterborne.ca.
This article was first published in the Spring 2024 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Dan Rubinstein took immersive journalism to another level when he paddled for four months to research his next book. | Feature photo: Kath Fudurich
Wade Harrison was cruising down the swollen Eagle River in Colorado when he spotted a raft being surfed in a sticky hole at the top of Trestle Rapid. The raft wasn’t unoccupied though. A lone paddler was clinging to the boat. Harrison called out to the rafter, then quickly jumped into action to rescue the man from the hydraulic.
The lower Eagle River is generally considered a class II-III run. But Colorado’s summer snowmelt can easily turn up the dial. An increased water level can change the character of a stretch. At any level, Trestle is one of the most challenging rapids on the Lower Eagle, marked by the low railroad bridge. With higher flows, a vicious hydraulic hides just off the center bridge pillar.
You have to give the stranded paddler credit. While going for the rodeo ride of his life, he is able to clearly articulate his status to Harrison. The man in the raft states he is the least experienced in his group and doesn’t know what to do.
Image: Wade Harrison | YouTube
How kayakers rescued rafter from hydraulic
Harrison walks out onto the railroad trestle which does not appear to be in active use. There he joins a kayaker who has thrown a rope down to the raft. They attempt to pull the boat from the hole, but the rafter is unable to hang on to the line. A group congregates on the trestle, including paddlers from the raft.
They throw the rope down to the rafter again. This time, Harrison lowers a carabiner on the line and instructs the rafter to clip the loop at the end of the throw bag to the raft. They walk the line across the bridge, moving the raft laterally toward the corner of the hole.
As the boat comes free, Harrison mentions to the others on the bridge that they will try to use the momentum of the taut line to swing the raft to their side of the river. He also acknowledges they may have to let the raft go to run the rapid. The current begins to pull the raft downstream. Being caught between a rope and an object, or wrapping a rope around your hand or a part of your body is extremely dangerous in a water rescue. Harrison yells to the fellow belayers to let go of the line to avoid anyone being injured. All goes well, and the relieved, and likely exhausted, rafter is soon reunited with hard ground.
It’s worth noting the rafters in the video appear to be wearing just shirts and board shorts on the river, which is not the best way to dress for cold water paddling. Although Colorado summer days can be warm, the water temperature of the Eagle River in June fluctuates between just 40 to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Being submerged in the cold water without a drysuit or wetsuit can easily lead to hypothermia as well as impair your abilities to run a rapid or perform a rescue.
The annual Animas River Days festival brings together a river community spanning four states. | Feature photo: courtesy 4Corners Riversports
Four decades is a long time in any business, let alone paddlesports retail. 4Corners Riversports in Durango, Colorado, hit the milestone this spring and is celebrating 40 years of helping paddlers get on the water. Throughout it all, they’ve learned what’s worked and what hasn’t, all while keeping their focus on making the buying process fun, affordable and informative.
Milt and Nancy Wiley founded the store on the banks of the Animas River in 1983, and sold it to Andy Corra in 1998. Tony Miely came aboard as co-owner in 1999, with Matt Gerhardt joining the ownership team in 2007 and Ashleigh Tucker signing on in 2008.
The foursome has since guided the business through bust, boom and Covid-19. They’re still here and thriving because they’ve been able to roll with the ebb and flow of paddlesports retail, Miely says.
“We’ve seen a lot of changes to the paddlesports market over the years and have tried our best to grow and adapt with them,” he says. “We’ve been pretty good at getting in front of various trends, developing our website early on and growing our online store and presence.”
The annual Animas River Days festival brings together a river community spanning four states. | Feature photo: courtesy 4Corners Riversports
Paddling has changed dramatically over the years, but for 4Corners it all comes back to running rivers. A big key to the company’s enduring success, he adds, is salespeople with real-world experience and a genuine love of rivers. “They’re the ones on the front lines interacting with your customers,” he says.
Outdoor retail is evolving
It’s been fun, but it hasn’t always been easy. Like many in the retail outdoor game, 4Corners has dealt with everything from staffing and supply bottlenecks to poor water years and changing consumer habits. They’ve also chased some trends they’ve since had to curtail.
“We’re seeing a decline in SUP sales as the market has become saturated and the used market has grown,” Miely says. Other segments have held strong. “Fishing craft have been selling well, with manufacturers putting significant effort into new designs, and whitewater has come back a bit with designs that are more approachable to newer paddlers.”
Sun protection is a hot seller in the arid 4Corners region, especially in the rafting market. “We move a lot of our Coyote Raft Biminis since we have so many good desert floats in our area,” Gerhardt says. “Smaller rafts are also popular because they’re more convenient for day trips than big 14- or 16-foot expedition rigs.” His top pick for hottest new product? The Dagger Nova playboat, followed by Alpacka packrafts.
“Packrafts are selling really well for us, and they’re leading to more people taking up paddling and even buying hard-shells,” he says. While some people buying packrafts come from rafting or kayaking backgrounds, a healthy contingent come from sports like climbing and even bikepacking.
All this has allowed 4Corners to maintain steady growth, despite a post-Pandemic slowdown. “It’s become more challenging, but we expanded our store last year and are feeling good about our growth,” says Miely. The expansion included a revitalized paddling school, which has enhanced storefront sales. “We teach hundreds of people every year and try to keep our class prices affordable to bring more people into the sport,” he says. “Sometimes they buy new gear online after their class, but usually they come into the store because we’ve created that relationship with them.”
“In a world full of Backcountry.coms, it makes all the difference to have staff with real-world experience and a passion for the sport.”
– 4Corners Riversports co-owner Matt Gerhardt
The benefits of brick and mortar
Operating a brick-and-mortar storefront isn’t getting any easier, but it remains the core of the business. “Our website drives a good chunk of in-store foot traffic these days,” Miely says. “A lot of people walk through the door who have already pre-shopped our website, but they still want to come and have that tactile retail experience. They want to see, and touch, and try things on, and ask questions. That’s not possible if you’re shopping solely online.”
Online and in-store sales feed off one another, like kayakers in a playboat lineup. “It’s hard to quantify because so many customers use both our website and showroom for a hybrid shopping experience,” Gerhardt says.
Adds Miely: “Our industry is a tough one to be run fully online—people want to sit in a kayak, paddle a SUP and build out their raft frame.”
4Corners Riversports provides that, along with rentals and a kayak school, all staffed by folks who genuinely love rivers. That combination has endeared them to customers spanning their namesake Four Corners region.
The annual Gear Swap weekend brings a flood of business to 4Corners each fall. | Photo: 4Corners Riversports
“They’ve built an amazing paddling community over the past 40 years,” says longtime Durango local and world champion slalom racer Kent Ford. “They embrace every aspect of paddlesport, from helping grow the local whitewater park and creating new access points on the Animas to family rafting, SUP rentals on the local lake and kids’ paddling programs that invest in the future,” he says. “The sign over their door says it all: Attitude-free since 1983.”
4Corners Riversports rang in their 40th season with a gala anniversary celebration during their annual gear swap weekend. The party featured two bands, a cast iron cooking competition, free beer, and hundreds of river runners, old and new. Looking ahead to the next 40 years, Gerhardt says they’ll stick with what got them here: First-rate customer service and an unwavering focus on what they do best. “While we all love other sports, river running is really the core of what we do and know, so focusing solely on paddlesports has helped us thrive for four decades,” he says. “That, and employing people who love and know paddling. In a world full of Backcountry.coms, it makes all the difference to have staff with real-world experience and a passion for the sport.”
This article was first published in the 2024 issue of Paddling Business. Inside you’ll find the year’s hottest gear for canoeing, kayaking, whitewater and paddleboarding. Plus: how to beat the big box, robotic kayak rentals, building the Paddlesports Trade Coalition and more. READ IT NOW »
The annual Animas River Days festival brings together a river community spanning four states. | Feature photo: courtesy 4Corners Riversports
This article was first published in Issue 72 of Paddling Magazine. 
This article was first published in the Spring 2024 issue of Paddling Magazine. 
This article was first published in the 2024 issue of Paddling Business. Inside you’ll find the year’s hottest gear for canoeing, kayaking, whitewater and paddleboarding. Plus: how to beat the big box, robotic kayak rentals, building the Paddlesports Trade Coalition and more. 
