“Do you currently have, have you ever had, been told you have or received treatment or advice for: abnormal blood pressure, coronary artery disease, elevated cholesterol, heart murmur, transient ischemic attack, stroke or any other disorder or disease of the heart, blood vessels or cardiovascular systems?”

“No.”

“In the past three years have you engaged in a hazardous sport or activity, or do you intend to do so within the next 12 months?”

Hazardous sport or activity, I thought to myself. Hmm, what is the correct answer?

So far I’d been able to confidently answer no to almost everything. Now I could feel my face going flush and the hairs on the back of neck standing on end. I was being backed into a corner.

“Do you mean something like hockey or driving on the freeway?”


“No, we mean things like skydiving, rock climbing and whitewater kayaking.”

“Maybe…yes…three days a week, sometimes four.”


“What?”


I’d been down this road before, twice as a matter of fact. Now, with a mortgage and two children, I had promised my wife Tanya that I wouldn’t hang up on the insurance agent. His job, of course, is to assess the insurance company’s level of risk—they want to know how likely I am to die. And they bet against it, stacking the deck in their favor.

Thinking about it this way, I should have felt reassured—they don’t want me to die. Except there’s the bit about checking boxes beside things they don’t understand—things that rack up my annual premium.

They don’t want to know how many miles a year I drive. They don’t ask about my eating habits, or if I do hot yoga (I don’t). Instead, I ended up explaining to the agent the difference between class III and class V. Affirming that I’m a certified instructor, that after 20 years I haven’t had a serious or life-threatening injury on the river. That, no, that wasn’t me you saw on television.

In some ways I can’t blame insurance companies. If their actuaries watched ESPN, Tyler Bradt’s 186-foot drop over Palouse Falls would be a juicy red flag. Still, I doubt the recent tragic death of freeskiing sweetheart Sarah Burke generated an inter-office memo adding skiing to the insurance company’s hazardous activities list.

Why not? Because everyone in the insurance office probably skis. Burke was a professional athlete; she competed at the Winter X Games. They understand the difference between this and their own recreational skiing—or mine. They’re waging their bets that I’m not at my local hill working on Shaun White’s Double McTwist 1260.

In whitewater, I’m not sure even paddlers understand this difference. Lately, there hasn’t really been much of a gap between extreme athlete and recreational boater. Let’s face it; paddling into a monster hole or off a 90-footer is easy. We’re just now beginning to realize that paddling away is not.

I argued passionately with the broker. I may even have convinced him that whitewater was not all that hazardous. In doing so, I realized the best life insurance isn’t a lump sum payment to my designated beneficiaries. Real life insurance is stacking the deck in my favor by making smart decisions on the river. I’ve spent 20 years investing my time and money gaining both knowledge and experience. I’m the beneficiary of this life insurance policy and I’m happy to keep paying the premiums.

 

Scott MacGregor is the founder and publisher of Rapid.

This article originally appeared in Rapid, Spring 2012. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Driving home from Chicago after a funeral for an old voyageur who whiled away his long life enabling others in all things canoe, the asphalt rhythm brings heroes to mind. Mile by mile, like stroke on stroke, the shadowed landscape ticks by. The moon slides west. Stars turn.

Thoughts cascade. Canoe heroes come in all shapes and sizes. There’s Marquette and Joliette, Lewis and Clarke, David Thompson and the pantheon of paddling explorers who have inspired so many others. Steve Landick, Verlen Kruger, Victoria Jason, Jon Turk, Don Starkell, among many. And then there’s Mr. Canoehead, the superhero for whom life changed when a bolt of lightning welded a Grumman to his head while portaging.

In a class by themselves are the so-called “Cockleshell Heroes” or “Canoe Commandos” who, in December 1942, left their World War II allied submarines in the Bay of Biscay, under cover of night on open ocean, and paddled toward the coast of France to sabotage shipping in Bordeaux Harbor. Anyone who has dipped a paddle, read the book or seen the film, can imagine the courage it took to willingly engage those suicidal odds. 

There are the collectors like Kirk Wipper and the Dean family. There are the gatherers like Deb Williams at Hulbert Outdoor Center in Vermont and George Luste, founder of the Wilderness Canoe Symposium in Toronto, who make it their business to share stories and provide context for our adventuring lives. There are the conservationists like Sigurd Olson, Martin Litton and Bill Mason who inspire us to care and to act for the good of the land, the community, the planet. There are the poets, the writers, the teachers, the storytellers. And then there are the rest of us who paddle on, hungry for inspiration and exemplars of right living.

What makes a hero? I think of my paddling chum Bill Buxton who, idling through mid-Saskatchewan in a bark canoe a couple of summers back, told me of an article he’d written about what those in the tech world call “the long nose of innovation.” It takes 20 years, or longer, he said, for the next big thing to evolve. This means, he said, that any technology that is going to have significant impact over the next 10 years is already at least 10 years old. 

Inventions can be created by instant alchemy of ideas and circumstances but more likely, it’s a much longer and slower process involving persistence, dedication, augmentation and refinement. I think heroism is a bit like that, driven by passion but gilded by time. 

Back on I-69, heading east for the border, grooving to the meter of tires on wet pavement in the quiet of the long night home, I think of everyday heroes, like the Chipewyan elder on Great Slave Lake who quietly told me that the only thing we truly own is time. Time. That’s it, he said. Our sole possession. The old voyageur who paddled on just before Christmas was Ralph Frese, son of a son of a blacksmith, who loved canoes like no other. At his packed goodbye service, between voyageur songs and an emotional reading of William Henry Drummond’s The Last Portage, several friends mentioned a sign that hung in Ralph’s shop at the Chicagoland Canoe Base. It read: “If you’re in a hurry, you’re in the wrong place.” Ralph had passion. But more importantly, he gave us time. Heroism, at its essence, is no more complicated than that.

Don’t recognize some of the names in this who’s who of canoe heroes? Learn each of their stories at the Canadian Canoe Museum, where Tumblehome columnist James Raffan is the executive director.

Lightening your load is just one step toward doing more paddling, more often. You will be more organized, load up faster, be able to make quicker getaways and squeeze in more and better weekend trips. Once you’ve got your gear dialed, follow these time-management tips to streamline your prep time.

1. Make a where-to-go list

Spend less time dithering about where to go. You’ve made a list of what to bring, now make a list of places to go.

2. Keep it local

Put aside the epic two-week journeys. Have a list of local camping spots you can paddle to for a one- or two-night weekend.

3. Plan Wednesday

Wednesday’s the day to lay plans and arm-twist your friends, so you can…

4. Pack Thursday

Thursday night after work is packing time, so you can…

5. Paddle Friday

Take advantage of long summer nights to paddle for your first camp. Leave from work, hit the water, and treat yourself to a sunset paddle. Your weekend trip will feel twice as long if you spend that extra night out.

6. Organize the garage

Easier said than done, but spend as little time as possible finding and sorting your gear. Get a system.

7. Keep the pantry full

Food planning and shopping is the thing that will slow you down the most, especially if you’re rushing to the grocery store on your way out of town. Keep a stash of pre-packed non-perishables (pasta, oatmeal, coffee, tea, etc.) with your camping gear. If you dehydrate your own food, dry and bag extra for future trips. Then you just add the fresh ingredients and you’re on your way.

8. Take less stuff

Remember, go light! Camp chairs, charcoal, and three sets of clothes will just slow you down. Pack like a backpacker: take only what you really need, plus the bottle of whisky and a good book. Then there’s less stuff to futz with in camp and more time to admire the view.

9. Go solo

Got flakey or busy friends? Bob really wants to go, but he has tuba practice on Saturday morning? Paddling solo can free you from the search for the perfectly coordinated schedule. It takes some self reliance, but the rewards are many and deep.

10. Butter up your boss

Haven’t you been working late a lot? Hey, don’t you have a meeting with someone out of the office Friday afternoon? 

This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak Magazine, Early Summer 2008. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.