Nick Scoville catches some puppy love in between waves. Location: Cascade Head, Oregon Coast. Photographer: Richard Davis, photo courtesy Saltwood Paddles.
Rapid’s Most Influential Boaters of All Time
This list was tough to compile—countless people have contributed to the white- water boating scene over the years. We asked ourselves how paddling would look if each individual had never paddled. The explorers changed perceptions of what rivers are runnable. The innovators developed new styles, techniques and boats that changed the way we paddle these rivers.
You’ve probably heard of some of the people on the list. And for those you haven’t heard of, read on and be thankful, because you may have never stern squirted, been creekboating or pushed rubber without their influence.
Here’s our first list of the 13 most influential whitewater boaters of all time.
THE EXPLORERS
DOUG AMMONS
Doug Ammons continues to be both a prolific boater and writer. The Montana native is perhaps most well-known for his love of solo expeditions. Most notably, he boasts the only successful solo descent of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine.
Ammons is also known for valuing sense of place and power of nature over sponsorship, TV deals and the attitude of conquering rivers that permeates the paddling scene today.
River comrades with ‘70s paddling pioneers like Walt Blackadar and Rob Lesser, Ammons remains relevant today as a mentor and role model for many seeking a grounded perspective on paddling.
RICHARD BANGS
In the early ‘70s, Bangs initiated his whitewater career as a Grand Canyon river guide. Now in his sixties, he’s still paddling strong, completing runs like the Colorado River’s Cataract Canyon at 65,000 cfs in recent years.
His first descent of southern Africa’s Zambezi River resulted in the birth of the whitewater rafting industry in the area, now known for being some of the best runnable whitewater in the world.
As if his first D’s of the Zambezi, China’s Yangtze and 35 other rivers weren’t enough to secure a spot on this list, Bangs has chronicled his stories of river travel and exploration in more than a thousand magazine articles, 19 books, over 20 documentaries and a full library of digital media.
WALT BLACKADAR
Remember when common wisdom dictated that you couldn’t paddle anything bigger than class III? Neither do we. Paddling pioneer Walt Blackadar blew off the conservative river running and slalom mentality of the ‘70s with a go-big- or-go-home attitude. Home was never an option.
Not only did he develop a new style and technique for big whitewater—big even by today’s standards—he created the hype and popularity that’s the basis for today’s whitewater stars. In 1971, Blackadar soloed the raging, class V+ Turnback Canyon on the Alsek River. His solo descent was at the extreme of exploration and made him an overnight hero.
In 1978, never having stopped pushing his limits, Blackadar died on the South Fork of the Payette, pinned on a submerged log. His spirit of exploration lives on.
TYLER BRADT
The youngest boater on our list, Bradt was paddling class V at only 12 years old. Now 26, he’s best known for his 2009 world-record- breaking run of Washington’s 189- foot Palouse Falls.
Along with his impressive resume of waterfall hucking, Bradt continues to push boundaries with multiple runs down the Murchison section of the White Nile and the Grand Canyon of the Stikine under his belt. He was also a part of the 2012 expedition that logged a first descent down the Congo River’s Inga Rapids.
Upping the ante yet again, Bradt is currently on a five-year, global circumnavigation aboard his 44-foot sailboat, The Wizard’s Eye. The expedition will take him to some of the most remote and beautiful whitewater around the world, potentially Bradt’s most influential adventure yet.
STEVE FISHER
Steve Fisher is an expedition leader, athlete and first-descent mad man. He began paddling at the age of six in South Africa and has paddled in more than 50 countries since, notching over a hundred first descents.
Fisher left competition more than a decade ago to focus on exploration, and has inspired the whitewater community to go bigger. His most recent conquest saw him battling the Inga Rapids on the Congo River, a self-professed lifelong dream. Having successfully pulled off the Inga Project, Fisher is now looking to focus on filmmaking.
MICK HOPKINSON
Originally from Britain, Mick Hopkinson began his whitewater career with 10 years of kayak slalom competition before embarking on a career of exploration. His first descents took him to Switzerland and Austria before the Himalayas. It’s there he made a name for himself— among Hopkinson’s most famous first descents are Nepal’s Karnali and Dudh Kosi rivers and the Blue Nile in Ethiopia.
Hopkinson now owns and operates New Zealand Kayak School, which provides instruction and guides trips on the South Island’s whitewater rivers. When not behind a desk, he’s still paddling on heli trips on the west coast of New Zealand and in Wyoming’s Wind River mountain range.
SCOTT LINDGREN
Professional athlete, expedition leader and Emmy-award-winning cinematographer, Scott Lindgren is known for his first descents on the most daunting rivers in the Himalayas.
Professional envelope-pusher, Lindgren and six other world-class kayaking pioneers were the first to descend the Tsangpo River in Tibet, dropping more than 9,000 feet in 150 miles through one of the world’s deepest gorges. Lindgren headed the 2002 expedition, directing almost 100 support staff on a journey watched by the world. Other first descents include the Royal Gorge of the American and Upper Cherry Creek.
In 2000, Lindgren began releasing films documenting big-water kayaking and the paddlers and culture that surround it.
ROB LESSER
Not only was Rob Lesser the first professional kayak sales rep, he helped start the first whitewater rodeos. The mild-mannered Idaho native also completed the first full descent and first self-supported descent of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine. With this, he became the first to complete what would become known as the Triple Crown of expedition whitewater—Devil’s Canyon of the Susitna, the Grand Canyon of the Stikine and the Alsek’s Turnback Canyon.
His exploits were filmed and shared in mainstream media around the world, exposing the public to what was at the time an obscure sport.
Closer to home, paddlers have Lesser to thank for his first descent of the North Fork of the Payette, one of the most challenging and celebrated runs in the continental U.S.
THE INNOVATORS
CORAN ADDISON
Innovator and entrepreneur, this Olympic kayaker and three-time world freestyle kayak champion has a lengthy history in kayak design. Originally from South Africa, Addison now calls Montreal home.
He has made a name for himself pioneering innovative designs. Addison was arguably the first to apply the planing hull to whitewater when, in 1995, he developed the Fury for Riot Kayaks, his own startup.
Addison is an innovator on the water as well—in 1987 he successfully ran the then highest waterfall attempted in a kayak, a 101-foot vertical drop into Lake Tignes, France. Addison now designs surf and standup paddleboards for his own company, Corran Addison Surfboards, and dedicates his time to competitive standup paddle surfing.
TAO BERMAN
Thank Tao Berman that you’re a paddler today. Perhaps the most famous kayaker ever, Berman brought kayaking into the spotlight. He made a name for himself by paddling more than 50 first descents in his lengthy career and pushing river running to the extreme.
At age 19, Berman ran 98-foot Johnston Falls in Alberta, igniting the chase for waterfall world records. Berman’s stunts have made headlines in mainstream media around the world. He has been featured in over 30 television programs and he never failed to convert camera time into cash, garnering him some harsh critics.
Last year, at 33, he accomplished his dream of big ocean wave surfing in a kayak on a 40-footer at Nelscott Reef, Oregon, then promptly announced his retirement.
ERIC JACKSON
There will always be debate over who is the best kayaker in the world, but Eric Jackson’s name is always among the contenders. Eric “EJ” Jackson has dabbled in slalom, free- style, river running and instruction and dominated in every sphere.
Before starting Jackson Kayak in 2003, EJ designed boats for Wave Sport. He has won the World Freestyle Championships four times as well as a myriad of World Cup, National K1 and C1 championships and other competitions.
Jackson’s primary goal continues to be getting butts in whitewater boats. With a large emphasis on beginner boating, he maintains one of the most recognized brands in paddlesports and the most renowned family in whitewater.
RISA SHIMODA
Paddled the Niagara Gorge, Russell Fork or Green River Narrows? You can thank Risa Shimoda. River steward and an unsung paddling hero, Shimoda’s grassroots advocacy and whitewater park promotion helped secure flows and increase access to rivers for paddlers across the U.S.
A freestyle paddler herself, Shimoda is distinguished by being the first female to descend the Green River Narrows and the second female to run the North Fork Payette and Niagara Gorge. She also represented the U.S. in six Freestyle World Championships.
Her greatest contributions to the whitewater paddling scene came as a board member and twice President of American Whitewater where she was able to effect change. Shimoda also contributed to the whitewater community through founding and coordinating the National Organization of Whitewater Rodeos from 1989 to 2002.
JIM AND JEFF SNYDER
Squirt boat visionaries, the Snyder brothers revolutionized both boats and tricks on the river. Older brother and father of playboating, Jim, began lopping off the ends of kayaks to design his own breed of boats starting with “The Slice” in 1980.
To date, he’s designed more than 70 kayaks. He and younger brother Jeff are credited with inventing squirt boating, the forefather of freestyle, changing the way people paddled by encouraging them to play with the water instead of race down it.
Jim also invented groundbreaking tricks, including the mystery move. After an injury that made sitting in a kayak all but unbearable, younger brother Jeff pioneered striding—river running while standing in a kayak.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2013 issue of Rapid Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Rapid’s print and digital editions here.
One Man’s Epic: Crossing Egypt
I’m somewhere above the top of the world, the place where trees are a distant memory and you become convinced there are a thousand shades of white. Snow and ice and wind and a couple of hundred Canadian Forces members, scattered in and around Alert, the most northern military base in Canada. It’s the spring of 2010, and Arctic sovereignty has been the buzzword of the decade. As a freelance photographer and writer, I’ve been assigned to showcase Canada’s efforts in a land where people don’t normally live.
A couple of days into this story, there’s a second story brewing. Word spreads quickly through the outpost: an Australian adventurer has put out a distress signal 50 days into his attempt to trek solo and unsupported to the geographic North Pole. A rescue team from the Canadian Forces is dispatched. It’s coincidence, and extremely good fortune for the troubled Australian, that the team is currently here at Alert for the operations that I’ve been assigned to cover—normally they are stationed thousands of kilometers to the south. The rescue is pulled off without a hitch and the Australian is brought back to the base.
This is how I meet Tom Smitheringale, a six-foot-seven-inch, 260-pound giant with a broad smile, month-long beard, slight limp and the appetite of a bear having awoken from hibernation. An hour later I’m photographing him, stripped to his skivvies in a base washroom, documenting a moderate-to-severe case of frostbite that has blackened the ends of his fingers and toes. All I can think is, “Shit, did he really just fall into the Arctic Ocean, halfway to the North Pole…and survive? And he’s got the strength to smile?”
Fast-forward 18 months. I’m bombing down a deserted highway in post-Revolution Egypt with three locals that I’ve just met earlier that day: our destination is the shores of Lake Nasser near the Sudanese border to the south. Our tiny car has almost sunk to its axles from the weight of the gear we carry, and every bump feels like someone taking steel-toed boots to my ass.
We stop to stretch our legs at an ancient temple that looks long abandoned—a splendor rising from the sand. It’s the sort of thing that would be a major tourist draw anywhere else in the world. Here, a lazy dog is the only visitor. He raises an eye as we get out of our car.
Down a nearby dusty track through the rock and sand, the shores of Lake Nasser finally come into sight. As does the silhouette against the sun of a giant, standing on the deck of a decrepit barge, waving to us as we approach.
WHY EGYPT?
In the year and a half since we first met, I’ve learned that while Tom Smitheringale, 43, may be a relative newcomer to the arena of self-propelled adventure travel—the North Pole attempt was his first major expedition—he is no stranger to hairy situations. A five-year veteran of the British Army, he served in Northern Ireland during The Troubles of the early ‘90s and in Africa with the elite infantry regiment, The Grenadier Guards, before turning his attention to the world of adventure outside military life. To prepare for this new expedition, he spent the previous year living in Egypt, learning Arabic and navigating a miasma of red tape.
Eventually titled by his support team as One Man Epic: Mission Sahara, Smitheringale’s sophomore expedition was no small feat on paper: cross the bulk of Egypt under human power, starting with a five-day paddle down 550-kilometer-long Lake Nasser, one of the world’s largest man-made lakes (created with the construction of the Aswan Dam across the Nile about 40 years prior), in some of the hottest conditions imaginable. From Aswan he would continue a further 20-or-so days and an additional 1,250 kilometers down the historic Nile to the Great Pyramids near the capital city of Cairo.
After becoming the first person to kayak the entire length of the Egyptian Nile, Smitheringale planned to meet up with a Bed- ouin guide and a small team of camels in the historic city of Luxor. From there, he would set out into the Sahara’s Western Desert to cross some 1,300 kilometers to the tiny, ancient Siwa Oasis near the Libyan border.
Why Egypt? I wondered when Smitheringale confided in me his plans.
“It doesn’t take a great leap of logic to understand when you’re freezing your bits off in the Arctic, you want to go thaw out some- where hot,” he explained. Still he admitted, “Of all the insane ideas in the world, I acknowledge that crossing the Sahara alone with four camels, in a world beyond guidebooks, with no support sys- tem, no hope of rescue, armed with $20,000 in cash and a small pack of essentials has to qualify as instantly certifiable.“
INTRIGUE, ADVENTURE, AND DANGER
It all started smoothly enough. When I arrived, Smitheringale was just one day into his kayaking stage, and after the endless months of preparation, he was elated to finally be on the water. On Lake Nasser’s still surface, his Epic 18X Expedition—a highly efficient, race-inspired sea kayak that was manufactured in China and then shipped to Egypt—“cut through the water like the singing blade of a sharp knife.”
I followed this first leg of the Australian’s journey from the relative safety and comfort of a barge that the ever-fickle Egyptian government demanded tail Smitheringale as his official escort. According to the au- thorities, threats from crocodiles and bandits were too great to travel alone.
While accounts of Lake Nasser’s crocodile-infested waters proved greatly exaggerated—we saw just two small crocs all week—the danger of lawlessness was frightfully real.
Passing through some wild country on the Nile, traveling ahead of his escort, Smitheringale spotted “a crew of tough customers holding their AK-47s like cricket bats.” Waving hello,“I got a couple of ounces of lead in response,” he remembers. “Fearing the scene could go sour mighty quick, I made evasive maneuvers and put the kayak into cover.” Hoping his armed police escort would arrest the thugs, Smitheringale instead watched as his protectors fled downriver. Despite the government decree that he only kayak with his escort,“for more than half the trip, they never turned up or I succeeded in giving them the slip.”
Undeterred, he carried onwards. The three-and-a-half weeks Smitheringale spent on the Nile had its challenges but the rewards were many, too. The famous river was an object of constantly shifting beauty and intrigue, with something different to observe around every bend. Adventure travel is almost unheard of in Egypt, and it drew the curiosity of many along the route. “Some ran away screaming, but most people I met were downright chatty, hospitable, gracious and tons of fun,” he says.
After 31 days in “murder hot” conditions, Smitheringale completed the 1,800 kilometers from Lake Nasser to Cairo. Another 75 days and he had finished the 1,300-kilometer crossing of the Egyptian Sahara—a brutal slog with unpredictable beasts in a landscape favoring migraines and mirages.
That should be the end of this story. But simply doing what he set out to do was not enough for Smitheringale; he made a decision that would take his trip into a world of intrigue, adventure and danger seemingly scripted for Hollywood.
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT IN LIBYA
By the time Smitheringale finished his Egypt crossing, I had long since returned home. I followed his progress across the Sahara through Facebook, his blog and through emails with his support team. Tom had become a friend, and his story was enthralling.
Perhaps it was one too many days in the sun; perhaps it was just the notion of doing something even grander. Smitheringale decided he wasn’t done in Siwa. He wanted more. And more, in this case, meant crossing into Libya with the intent of traversing all of the Sahara in North Africa right through to Morocco. This, shortly after Libya made headlines the world over with the hunt for deposed despot, Muammar Gaddafi. It was, Smitheringale would later admit,“The single most stupid move of my life.”
Eight days after crossing into Libya, he arrived in the border town of Al-Jaghbub, fell out of communication with his support team, and was accused of having a false passport and being a spy by trigger-happy militia. Arrested “at the business end of an AK-47” he was thrown into solitary confinement at a Libyan militia prison for 28 days.
As days stretched into weeks, his supporters held their breath. Finally, word came in the form of a Facebook post from Smitheringale on March 7, 2012, stating that he had been released, but with few other details. The post read, “It would be inappropriate of me to elaborate on the details of my capture and extraction as I’m still in country.”
What the world didn’t know—and it has never been published until now—was that a British Special Operations Team extracted Smitheringale and relocated him to a safe house where he spent the next four days being debriefed by a number of different agencies working in the country. Liberated in the most dramatic of manners, he was to return home on the “advice of British authorities.” The expedition was over.
SETTLING DOWN
Smitheringale is now back in Australia working, perhaps appropriately, as a consultant for an operational risk company. For now, he is taking a break from the world of swashbuckling adventurer. “Time will decide [what’s next]. I’d like to fall in love, get married and have kids,” he confided in a recent conversation. Never one to seek the spotlight, he seems content to slip back into anonymity. I believe Smitheringale is genuine about settling down. But then again, as he says, “ The true test is not in the talking but in the doing.” Time, after all, may reveal something grander.
Dave Brosha is a photographer, author and filmmaker based in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, where he lives with his wife and three young children.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2013 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
Seven Places to Invest in Kayak Karma
PERFORM RESEARCH IN BAJA, MEXICO
Why settle for a conventional resort getaway when so many alternative adventures await intrepid travellers? Combine your love of kayaking, tropical beaches and good deeds by signing up for a service and research adventure with RED Sustainable Travel. Paddle the warm waters of Baja California, camp on tropical islands and help marine biologists with their research on adorable green sea turtles. www.seethewild.org
MAKE KAYAKING ACCESSIBLE ON VANCOUVER ISLAND, BRITISH COLUMBIA
Share the empowering experience of paddling and wilderness expeditions by volunteering with Power to Be Adventure Therapy in Vancouver and Victoria, B.C. You’ll be joining a passionate team of volunteers with the mission of making the benefits of nature accessible to everyone regardless of barriers or disabilities. www.powertobe.ca
KEEP OTHERS SAFE IN PANAMA CITY BEACH, FLORIDA
Want to experience the thrill of an Ironman triathlon from the comfort of your kayak? Volunteer as a safety kayaker and support world- class athletes as they race in the swimming leg of the Ironman Florida. Enjoy the pristine beaches and balmy climate, an incomparable van- tage of the race and a lively after-party. Plus, get inspired to try your own race—or perhaps be reminded why you prefer kayaking instead of triathlons! www.ironman.com
GIVE BACK TO THE KIDS IN MUSKOKA, ONTARIO
Camp Oochigeas gives kids affected by cancer the opportunity to escape into a world of outdoor adventure. With an overnight camp in Muskoka, a city-based day camp, year-round leadership program and hospital events—all run primarily by dedicated volunteers—Camp Ooch has plenty of opportunities to get involved. www.ooch.org
TRAVEL ON THE CHEAP IN MILFORD AND MARLBOROUGH SOUNDS, NEW ZEALAND
Looking for a cheap way to travel, connect with locals and paddle some of the most spectacular scenery in the world? Sign up as a volunteer with WWOOF (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) in New Zealand, and get access to an incredible network of farms, outdoor centers and more. Pick your hosts wisely, and you’ll not only learn new skills but also have boats to borrow—peruse the listings and choose between riverside hostels, oceanside yoga retreats and surf camps or remote home- steads accessible only by weekly mail boat. www.wwoof.co.nz
SUPPORT LOCAL ORGANIZATIONS IN OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
Bring your kayak, SUP or canoe and sign up for the annual Support Strokes Fundraising Paddle to support local breast cancer organizations. Take your pick of three courses, including a 15-mile circumnavigation of Alameda Island. If the San Francisco Bay Area is too far afield, find a similar event in your own community or check out national organizations such as Kayak for a Cure. www.calkayak.com
CLEAN UP YOUR LOCAL LAKE, RIVER OR COAST
Join a shoreline cleanup—kayakers have unique access to hard-to- reach spots and can make a direct impact on the quality of our aquatic environments. And for those who like a challenge—ever tried towing an abandoned shopping cart? Pittsburgh’s Paddle Without Pollution engages hundreds of volunteers in cleanups and habitat restoration in watersheds across the Northeast. In Canada, the Great Canadian Shoreline Cleanup celebrates its 20th anniversary this year. Volunteer at spring and fall cleanups from coast to coast, or take on a leadership role as site coordinator of your local waterway. www.paddlewithout- pollution.com, www.shorelinecleanup.ca
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2013 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
Guide to the Stars
The dark skies of the wilderness are perfect for stargazing. Use the photo below to help you identify the lights in the night sky.
Little Dipper
This photo was taken by Flickr user theilr and licensed under the Creative Commons.
The North Star is the tip of the handle of the Little Dipper. The Ursa Minor constellation lies in the northern sky, its name means “the smaller bear.”
Big Dipper
This photo was taken by jkbrooks85 and licensed under the Creative Commons.
Look for the Big Dipper in the northern sky. It looks like a big spoon, with four stars making up the bowl and three more making up the handle.
Venus
This photo was taken by Flickr user inajeep and licensed under the Creative Commons.
Even though it’s not a star at all, Venus is often called the wishing star because it’s the first starlight to appear in the sky at dusk.
Milky Way
This photo was taken by Flickr user Robert Hensley and licensed under the Creative Commons.
Best seen from very dark areas, look up and find a cloud-like band across the sky—it’s made up of about 300 billion stars.
North Star
This photo was taken by Flickr user davedehetre and licensed under the Creative Commons.
Once you find the Big Dipper, draw a straight line through the two stars at the end of the bowl. Follow that line until you hit a very bright star, which is the North Star, or Polaris.
More Resources
All the Sky – A Photographic Field Guide
The Night Sky App for Apple or Android
Constellation Guide: A Guide to the Night Sky
This digital extra accompanies an article that originally appeared in Canoeroots & Family Camping, Summer / Fall 2013. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
Canoes: Royalex Revolution
This article originally appeared in Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine.
Aluminum was the material of choice for most canoe trippers until the late 1970s when a memorable Old Town Canoe Company advertisement changed the face of canoeing forever.
In 1978, Old Town touted the supreme durability of its 17-foot Tripper canoe by tossing one from the roof of its Maine factory. The canoe escaped unscathed. Since then, Royalex has been the go-to material for Arctic river trippers, summer camps and whitewater boaters alike.
Uniroyal Tire Company chemists designed the vulcanized plastic known as Royalex in the mid-20th century. The material consists of a single inner layer of heat- expandable acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (ABS) foam sandwiched between mid-layers of tough and stiff ABS plastic and exterior surfaces of ultraviolet-resistant vinyl. The material is designed to be heat-molded into complex shapes that withstand impact and retain their original form.
According to Old Town Canoe historian and author Susan Audette, the first canoe constructed of Uniroyal’s patented Royalex material was built by Maine’s Thompson Boat Company in 1964. Old Town became the first to popularize the material when it produced its 16-foot Chipewyan in Oltonar—its proprietary name for the material—in 1972. Vermont’s Mad River Canoe followed quickly with its explorer.
Today, canoe manufacturers order sheets of Royalex with customized thickness pro- files and colors from Indiana-based plastics manufacturer Spartech, who acquired the Royalex formula from Uniroyal in 2000.
The building process involves heating canoe-sized sheets of the material in a “humongous pizza oven” set at about 320 degrees Fahrenheit, explains Roch Prévost, sales manager for Nova Craft Canoe of Lon- don, Ontario. After about 20 minutes in the oven, the material is vacuum formed over a mold in a process that takes a team of builders only 10 minutes. The most time consuming part of building a Royalex canoe is out- fitting it with gunwales and trim. Prévost says Nova Craft can turn out 20 Royalex canoes on a good day and produces about 1,500 per year. Because of its petroleum-based origins, the price of a raw Royalex sheet is dependent on the price of oil—not to mention Spartech’s monopoly on production.
Prévost says the recent spike in oil prices has translated into about a 10 percent in- crease in material cost for manufacturers. These costs will eventually trickle down to consumers. In 1975, for instance, a 17-foot Old Town Penobscot in Oltonar sold for $775; today, the same canoe sells for nearly $1,600.
But due to its near-indestructibility, Prévost maintains that a Royalex canoe will al- ways be a good investment. “It’s something that can be passed down from generation to generation,” he says. “We see 20-year-old Royalex canoes all the time. The trim is broken and worn, but the hulls are fine.” —Conor Mihell
This article appeared in Canoeroots & Family Camping, Late Summer 2011.
Daily Photo: Rock it Retro
We found this so-un-hip-it-hurts image in a favorite back issue of Adventure Kayak. Discover hundreds more fascinating and funny photos in the Adventure Kayak archives here. Photo: Conor Mihell, AKv9i1
Want to see your photo here? Send to [email protected] with subject line Daily Photo.
Five Top Weekend Kayak Trips
These kayak trip destinations are excerpted from “Make Your Escape: Weekend Adventure Guide” in Adventure Kayak magazine.
Alouette Lake, BC.
Fringed by the towering peaks of the Coast Range, 20-kilometer-long Alouette Lake has a distinctly alpine feel. Golden Ears Provincial Park features three lakeside backcountry campsites for overnight trips. env.gov.bc.ca/bcparks/explore/parkpgs/golden_ears/
Door County, WI.
The chain of islands that shelters Green Bay on Lake Michigan’s western shore offers a number of options for sea kayaking. Newport and Rock Island state parks are solid choices for weekend trips. Guide to Sea Kayaking on Lakes Superior and Michigan (Globe Pequot, 1999) is your best bet for route descriptions.
Thousand Islands, ON.
In First Nations lore, the islands of Lake Ontario’s eastern end were the petals of heavenly flowers. Today, the Thousand Islands Water Trail highlights nine paddling routes from Kingston to Brockville. explorethearch.ca
Maine Island Trail, ME.
A weekend trip barely ripples the surface of options for sea kayaking along this vast 350-mile-long swath of the Eastern Seaboard. Weigh the countless options at mita.org.
Gulf Islands, BC.
Every day feels like a weekend in British Columbia’s Gulf Islands National Park. Route options are endless depending on your skill and objectives, with Parks Canada boat-only campsites located on Cabbage, D’Arcy, Portland, Prevost and Rum islands. pc.gc.ca/pn-np/bc/gulf/index_e.asp
This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak, Early Summer 2009. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
Slow Adventuring
Within two hours of paddling out from the sheltered waters of Castlehaven, the coastline of Cork was a distant scribble three miles to the north and I was further out at sea, alone, in a kayak than I’d ever been before. Everything around me was Atlantic or sky, or—where the spray was blowing off the wave tops—some combination of both.
Until setting off earlier that day to circumnavigate the thousand-mile coastline of Ireland, I hadn’t paddled a kayak for over a year.
Sure, I’m from the southwest of Ireland, and had sea kayaked a bit along this coast, but that only underlined how little I knew—really knew—of tidal streams and currents, of prevailing winds and headland races and the correct procedure for sending an SOS. I was using a landlubber’s units of furniture to measure the heights of the waves. Coffee- and dining table- height were okay, breakfast counter not so much, and wardrobe-height was a horrifying specter.
Reading to this point, serious paddlers may be tempted to throw their flares, VHF radios and certifications of competence at me in frustration. I’m going to have to make a spirited defense of my position. It’s this: I was on a slow adventure.
Slow adventure is like slow food, slow travel, slow sex and all the other unhurried pleasures of the slow movement. It’s about taking as long as it takes to do something, rather than racing clocks and calendars. It’s about enjoying the actual doing, instead of worrying about achieving a goal. Time—rather than training or equipment—is my safety net.
Roald Amundsen, the pre-eminent Norwegian explorer who beat Scott to the South Pole in 1911, famously claimed, “Adventure is just bad planning.” I agree with him. But slow adventure is the result of just enough planning. In other words, it’s the opposite of an Amundsen-style, micro-managed expedition.
Heading round Ireland, I didn’t do much planning because I didn’t know what I was planning for. I had too little essential gear packed into my 16-foot, plastic Necky Narpa, but I was richly freighted with time.
Time enough to spend a fortnight in Dingle, playing guitar in Dick Mack’s pub whilst I waited for two weeks of high winds to blow through. Time to dawdle amongst pods of basking sharks, or spend three days camped between thousand-year-old stone huts on Inishmurray Island. And, this is especially important, time to postpone indefinitely if the trip proved really stupid.
Three decades of poorly planned, low-tech, comically inept but ultimately successful travel have kept things in perspective. Walking a thousand miles through North Africa’s Atlas Mountains, riding horses across Kyrgyzstan, or on saddle-’n’-paddle trips in Patagonia, I’ve only had to raise my eyes to see that whilst I was at play other people were at work. Pretty much everywhere I’ve looked, someone—a cowboy, a fisherman, a reindeer herder or, quite often, a child in poor shoes and inadequate clothing—is doing a tough job in extreme weather. Life, too, is a slow adventure.
The joy of the slow adventure is its random nature. Unexpected twists will make the trip different from—but just as good as—whatever you had intended. There’s no pressure to achieve something, so no failure if you don’t. A trip takes as long as it takes. Or you go as far as you can comfortably and safely go in a given time.
Anyone can have a slow adventure. It’s as easy as launching your boat on a whim. Adventure will follow. Just don’t plan on it.
Jasper Winn wrote about circumnavigating his home isle in Paddle: A Long Way Around Ireland, his first book, and is currently working on a new book about living and traveling for 10 months with a nomadic Berber clan in North Africa.
This article originally appeared in Adventure Kayak, Spring 2013. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
River Alchemy: Swimming Rivers
When Alison Howard front-crawled into Port Edward, B.C., last August, she was completing not just her 28-day source-to-sea swim of northern British Columbia’s Skeena River, but the circle in a longstanding river tradition. In raising awareness of threats surrounding this beautiful and pristine watershed, Howard enthusiastically volunteered for what so many of us enthusiastically avoid—swimming.
Twenty years on, I still have a mark on my jaw from when it hit the bedrock ground beside the Ottawa River. After briefing us on our ultimately futile, high water Coliseum rookie attempt, our raft training guide simply jumped in. To us, the rapid was a mess of roaring white and certain death. He disappeared in the first wave and surfaced somewhere below, indignantly waving for us to get in the boat and get on with it. Later on in my rookie guide years, I would commonly come upon a senior guide, on a day off, swimming the river for fun.
For many paddlers, those who swim rivers— whether for a cause or for pleasure—defy reason. Kayakers view swimming with contempt (if they are good) or humiliation (if they are not), and canoeists are typically terrified of the very idea. Raft guides, always the realists, take swimming for what it is—insignificance while immersed in a tremendously powerful, uncaring force of water and gravity.
The swimming ethos can trace its roots back to 1955, when footloose former servicemen Bill Beer and John Daggett swam the Colorado’s Grand Canyon on a whim, more or less, and became daredevil media darlings. Dragging two 80-pound army surplus dry bags each, they swam the 200-plus miles in 26 days—with no plan, no backup, and no idea what they were doing.
Amazingly, they hauled a film camera with them, and for a time Beer made a living touring with his movie and telling his story. His memoirs are subtitled The True Story of a Cheap Vacation That Got a Little Out of Hand (We Swam the Grand Canyon, 1988, Mountaineers Books). These two single handedly shattered the certain death mentality that early river runners carried with them, and they likely also opened the door to public acceptance of whitewater rafting as a carefree means of having some fun on the river.
This river swimming subculture persisted for many years, and in many places, but came to an abrupt end in 1993 when Stan Hollister—the same guide who willingly swam Coliseum, scarring my jaw—died while swimming Colorado’s Cataract Canyon.
Among guides, Cataract is considered significantly more difficult than the Grand Canyon, and above 60,000 cubic feet per second (cfs) is the hardest commercially run big water in the world.
Hollister swam it at 110,000 cfs in 1983, covering the standard two-day whitewater section in one hour. In 1993, the flow was 65,000 cfs and Hollister was 52 years old. He saw some friends above the Big Drops—notorious for their massive pourovers, chaotic and churning flow and grip- ping speed—and was later found drowned below them. No one knows what happened.
Swimming fell out of favor, even though canoes still swamped and rafts still flipped. For a time, raft guides were even trained without intentional swimming.
Then in the early 2000s, during the heart of the kayaking boom, river rescue training—with its strong focus on swimming—finally gained acceptance among the rapidly expanding ranks of mainstream paddlers, knocking back the certain death mentality once more.
Today, it is not uncommon to again see rookies bobbing down the main lines of commercial rafting rivers. Sometimes just for fun.
Jeff Jackson is a professor of Outdoor Adventure at Algonquin College in Pembroke, Ontario.
This article originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2010. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.
