Understanding Oceans at Deception Pass

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All photos this page: Scott MacGregor — Understanding Oceans at Deception Pass

River water flows downhill, around corners and between rocks. I spend most of my time paddling whitewater so I understand rivers. Ocean currents, however, are caused by a gravitational interaction between the Earth and the Moon that’s mysterious to me. So, I booked myself into Body Boat Blade International’s two-day ocean currents course, which promises to take advantage of everything Deception Pass has to offer and build on the skills of intermediate sea kayakers.

I met Leon Sommé in 2004, when we sat together on the board of the Trade Association of Paddlesports. He and Shawna Franklin had just returned from an 81-day circumnavigation of Iceland with fellow adventurer Chris Duff. During breaks from the boardroom table we talked about rivers and oceans. Leon told me about the eight-knot currents, drastic eddy lines, incredible whirlpools and large upwellings at Deception Pass.

Leon met Shawna 21 years ago in a kayak rolling pool session at the University of Minnesota, where they were both studying biology.“The instructor told us to find someone with the same length legs,” remembers Shawna. “ This way we would not have to keep adjusting the foot pegs inside the kayak we were sharing.” This turned out to be fine dating advice.

The two then worked as guides for Shearwater Adventures, a kayak tour company based on Orcas Island, Washington. While there, they developed an instructional program, which they ran for six years before breaking away and, in 2001, found- ing Body Boat Blade International.

“When we first started instructing at Shearwater, we found the BCU and started training in the BCU system,” says Leon. “We like the BCU because its curriculum and assessments help students set and achieve goals. It has an outstanding coaching program that teaches how to most effectively deliver programs and teach current best practice.”

I’d say their teaching style is one of coastal learning. They try everything once. If it works better than what they are currently teaching, they work it in. I felt encouraged to do the same. I asked Leon about this.“Why keep doing the same old thing, if there is a better way?” Why indeed.

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Testing Our Capabilities

We begin the course with what Leon and Shawna introduce as a speed launch. Speed launch, what the hell is that? I wonder.

All of us line up on the beach, our boats floating, pointed towards the open water. I have the stern toggle of my boat in my hand, not sure what’s going to happen next. “GO!” Like sprinters out of the chocks, the group charges into the ocean, sliding their boats ahead of them. They run as fast and as far as they can and then dive clumsily onto their kayaks. With a leg on either side of their cockpits, they drop their butts into the seats, slip their legs inside and reach for their skirts. This was obviously not everyone’s first Body Boat Blade course.

I thought back to my first sea kayak expedition. What contrast. I spent 45 days gingerly entering and exiting in a farmer john wetsuit, booties and wool socks, just as the ice went out on Lake Superior, afraid to so much as get my feet wet. If I did, I’d be cold and miserable the rest of the day.

Every one of us in this Body Boat Blade currents class had on a full dry suit.

“Cold people don’t learn,” says Leon.“Dry suits allow our students to get into the water without getting too cold and wet. It gives them more confidence to try things like rescues, bracing and rolling.” And yes, the speed launch. If I hadn’t brought my own dry suit, I could have borrowed one from the well-stocked Rubbermaid they carry with them in their truck.

“We make a huge effort to ensure our students match the level of our clinics,” Shawna says. Body Boat Blade now offers 26 classes a season—foundation courses, BCU assessment, rolling, safety and rescue, performance paddling and this one, officially billed as Ocean Currents II: Two Days at Deception Pass.

“The speed launch is fun. It helps teach people more about balance and assists them in practicing some of the moves for the cowboy scramble rescue,” says Leon.“It helps them get their 10,000 hours.”

As easy swell rolls against the rocky coastline, we snake our way along, rubbing shoulders and boats with barnacles. “Getting you paddling right along the shoreline shows us something about your technical abilities, your confidence and your willingness to try new things,” says Shawna. “All of this information helps us to decide the best plan for the day and if we actually want to bring you into the Pass.”

I wonder how I’m doing. I decide it best not to ask and wait to see where we end up.

A Class II River, Except Saltier

Deception Pass State Park is a winding 20-minute-drive from our hotel room in downtown Anacortes in north-western Washington State. It’s a 4,000-acre marine and camping park with 77,000 feet of saltwater shoreline.

Deception Pass connects Skagit Bay, part of Puget Sound, with the Strait of Juan de Fuca. From the launch at the Bow- man’s Bay campground, it is a short paddle to Canoe Pass, a more intimate lesser-traveled, 25-yard channel below the Deception Pass Bridge, between Whidbey Island and the tiny Pass Island.

Today, Leon and Shawna have timed our launch with slack tide. We arrive at ebb tide as water begins to spill back toward western Washington State. It’s a 4,000-acre marine and camping park with 77,000 feet of saltwater shoreline.

Deception Pass connects Skagit Bay, part of Puget Sound, with the Strait of Juan de Fuca. From the launch at the Bowman’s Bay campground, it is a short paddle to Canoe Pass, a more intimate lesser-traveled, 25-yard channel below the Deception Pass Bridge, between Whidbey Island and the tiny Pass Island.

Today, Leon and Shawna have timed our launch with slack tide. We arrive at ebb tide as water begins to spill back toward the ocean and we watch small eddy lines slowly form. In the beginning, they are very subtle, just perceptible enough to spot the division between the current and the calm eddies behind the nearby island and point. Then, before our eyes, the Moon’s mystifying force cranks open a big tap and a rush of water magically begins to flow to the ocean. Over the next three hours, the current’s speed builds to the day’s high of 7.4 knots, creating a smooth green tongue between a clean eddy line and a mushy, confused mess of converging currents and whirlpools.

“We use the 50 to 90 percent rule of currents,” Shawna tells me.“The tidal exchange takes approximately six hours. During the first third of this exchange, the current will be 50 percent of its maximum speed. The next third will build to 90 percent. And the final third we consider to be at its maximum.” And then, predictably the cycle reverses until it’s back at slack tide again. I’ve experienced this before on the Upper Yough River in Friendsville, Maryland, though its cycle was far less romantic. A valve was opened in the morning and closed at night by a man in a hardhat up- stream at the Deep Creek hydro control dam.

We huddle up on a beach for an intro to currents chalk talk. Leon sketches the features in the sand with piece of driftwood. Rocks. Eddies. Arrows to show the direction of the current. Eddly lines. I’d drawn the same thing hundreds of times while teaching whitewater canoeing. The morphol- ogy of moving water is the same. How sea kayaks react is completely different.

Back in our boats, I realize just how special Deception Pass really is. We begin breaking into and out of the current. We practice ferry glides back and forth. We’re gaining the tactical knowledge of speed and angle that Leon demonstrated with a toy kayak on the beach. We begin in a slight current and, as our skills and confidence progress, so do the speed and level of challenge, almost imperceptibly.

By 90 percent flow, we feel confident, quite pleased with ourselves, maybe even a little cocky. Shawna and Leon figure it is time to up the challenge.

“Okay, now what I want you to do is pull your skirts and get your butts on your stern decks,” Leon was grinning.

Easy.

“Okay. Good. Now ferry out into the current.”

Low brace. Easy. Steady. I balance in the eddy waiting my turn. David, who’d taken a number of Body Boat Blade classes before, taps me on the shoulder,“How about I stick close?”

I burst across the eddy line and then, as David predicted, I flip. This was, of course, the purpose of the exercise. Had I succeeded, Leon would have upped the ante to standing on my back deck, juggling chainsaws. Anything to get us out of our comfort zones and into the water, practicing rescues in the current.

“It’s one thing to understand how our boat is affected by currents and whirlpools but it is equally important to be comfortable in the water,” says Leon. To me it feels like floating down a deep class II river, except saltier.

Maps and kayakers prepare for Deception Pass Back in my hotel room, I’d watched Body Boat Blade’s first instructional DVD, Sea Kayak Rescues. I learned that my first job as a swimmer is to hold onto my paddle and roll my boat upright, which allows me to hang on to its deck lines, essentially gathering up the yard sale I’d created. I’m still in the current moving toward the Pacific, but at least now I have options.

I can clamber up and straddle my stern deck. Just drop my butt in the seat and stuff my legs in. The cowboy rescue. We learned to do it this morning during our speed launches.

Instead, David is right with me, as he said he’d be. We decide to practice something different. He tells me to grab his deck lines near his cockpit. In seconds, he’s dragged my bow across his lap, rolled my boat upside down, tilted his boat, and effectively emp- tied my cockpit. This took all of 10 seconds. He pulls my boat parallel and waits for me to climb in. He’d seen the video, too.

Deception Pass is not particularly unique. There are tidal currents at many areas in the Pacific Northwest. A few offer faster currents and larger surf. Leon and Shawna have paddled most of them,“In some of our other classes we use the waters in and around the San Juan Islands. These areas are more apt to have standing waves caused by tidal races, or current opposing wind.” The most famous, Skookumchuk Narrows in British Columbia, was featured in Justine Curgenven’s film, This is the Sea 2. “Due to the high numbers of paddlers there on a good tidal exchange, we don’t teach at Skookumchuk as often.” What makes Deception Pass unique is easy access and good clean fun.

Deception Pass’ easy accessibility and Body Boat Blade’s get wet approach to teaching are changing the way people go sea kayaking. By removing some of the variables, we’re allowed to practice technique with little concern for anything else.

We spent two days playing on only 200 yards of water in a state park 30 minutes from where we parked our car, 20 minutes from town.

Leon knows that for some this will become their go-to playground. For others, it is a training ground.“If you can paddle here with success and comfort, you can easily apply this knowledge and experience to your local waters.”

Scott MacGregor is the founder and editor-in-chief of Adventure Kayak. For more information about paddling Deception Pass, visit bodyboatblade.com and parks.wa.gov.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Game Changers: Design Trends

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Photo: Steve Rogers — Game Changers: Design Trends

There’s a moment in time when trends face a tipping point, destined to either collect dust in the garage rafters or become the norm. Successful designs stand the test of time: think suspension forks on mountain bikes, parabolic alpine skis or short surfboards. Sea kayaking has its own list of enduring innovations that have carried expedition paddlers to the ends of the Earth, redefined what can be accomplished with a double blade and evolved to meet the changing demands of today’s paddlers. Here’s our list of the top seven game changers.

Ocean Playboats

Why surf big, breaking waves in long, unwieldy boats? Because it’s fun, says Brian Day, U.S. sales rep for P&H Sea Kayaks. Sea kayak designers are feeding the rough water frenzy that’s be- come popular in the past five years with a new, easier to paddle genre of pint-sized boat that’s sure to grow as long as adventurous paddlers keep playing in surf zones and rock gardens. P&H has met the demand by creating their 15-foot Delphin, a sea kayak with the planing hull of a whitewater boat that keeps the bow loose and maneuverable, and eliminates the joy-killing propensity of most long boats to pitchpole in steep waves.

“Rough water sea kayaks had been the same for about 20 years,” says Day. “The 16-foot-long sea kayak was the norm. We set out to make something different.”

San Francisco-based sea kayaker and former world surf kayaking champion Sean Morley expects the evolution to continue, with ocean playboats following the whitewater kayak trend, get- ting smaller. “I think something around 13–14 feet would be ideal,” he says. “Sometimes you need a bit of speed to catch big, fast waves or to make that crux move.

“The funny thing,” adds Morley, “is that I learned to paddle on the sea in a 13-foot general-purpose kayak over 30 years ago. With these new boats, it’s like being a kid again.”

Sea Kayak Lite

Take a close look at any kayak manufacturer’s website and you’re sure to notice that many of the boats fall into the 12- to 15-foot range. Current Designs’ creative and marketing director, Jake Greseth, says the brand’s bestsellers are its transitional models, the Vision, released in 2008, and Whistler, updated in 2011. That’s because light touring kayaks meet the needs of the majority of paddlers.

“Why paddle a hulking expedition boat when you could cruise effortlessly in a lighter, easier to store and transport, pint-sized model?” asks Greseth. Of course, good design—in particular, proper fit—and a full suite of features like decklines, adjustable seats, skegs and bulkheads have come a long way in distinguishing these miniature sea kayaks from tubby, less responsive recreational boats. The result has been the dominance of a new class of kayak that’s fun, affordable, comfortable and easy to paddle.

The End of the Ocean Cockpit

Purists scoffed when Welsh kayak designer Nigel Dennis devel- oped a large, keyhole-shaped cockpit for his Romany sea kayak in the early 1990s. Since Ken Taylor took the lines off of a West Greenland kayak in 1959 and formed the archetypical “British- style” sea kayak, small, circular ocean cockpits were a defining feature of all U.K.-built boats. But it didn’t take long for Dennis’ keyhole cockpit to catch on.

His design principle was to come up with something user-friendly. Ocean cockpits may have been traditional, but they were often uncomfortable and less than perfect for quick entries and exits in surf. All the while, the large, oval-shaped cockpits of North American boats didn’t offer enough boat control. The keyhole struck a balance between the two and with advances in neoprene sprayskirts, Washington-based Valley Sea Kayaks sales rep Rob Avery says Dennis’ idea became the norm. With the exception of traditionalists’ requests for the Anas Acuta, the fiberglass replica of Taylor’s Greenland kayak, Avery says he only imports a few ocean cockpit-equipped Valley Pintails and Nordkapps each year.

One Size Does Not Fit All

It took designers a while to figure out that small and large paddlers will have vastly different experiences paddling the same boat. “It used to be that if you were in the middle of the curve you got a boat that fit really well,” says Day. “But if you were on either end you got something that wasn’t fun to paddle.”

Day attributes the advent of different-sized whitewater kayaks to a similar, more recent trend in sea kayaks. Rather than simply lifting or low- ering the deck as they’d done in the past, sea kayak designers are now building entirely different boats for small-, medium- and large-sized paddlers. “We change the boat in all dimensions with the idea of preserving the same performance,” says Day. “We do it right from the outset. The kayak might have the same name, but it came from a different mold.”

The British Empire

All segments of the sea kayaking market are now drawing on the original ideas of Frank Goodman, Derek Hutchinson and other visionaries – features like bulkheads, rubber hatch covers, permiter decklines, recessed fittings and toggles, day hatches and gracefully upswept bows. It was a sign that the trend had become pervasive when many manufacturers began dropping the term “British-style” to describe their skeg boats, and an unspoken testament to the acumen of the early sea kayakers on the other side of the pond.

“These are useful features,” says Greseth, “they look good and are functional. Brit boats are just cool.”

More Surf Ski

Fresh after setting a new speed record for circumnavigating Ireland in 25 days last spring with Cornwall, U.K.’s Jeff Allen, London, U.K.-based sea kayaker Harry Whelan couldn’t say enough about his Rockpool Taran. With an elongated keel line, foot-controlled rudder and plumb, high-volume bow the Tarans far more surf ski than typical British sea kayak; Whelan called it “the biggest change in U.K. sea kayaking.”

Surf ski-shaped sea kayaks already received wide-reaching recognition when Freya Hoffmeister paddled an Epic 18X in her record-setting 2010 Race Around Australia, another low-profile, rudder-controlled boat designed by Olympic racer Greg Barton. Whelan and Allen further demonstrated the rough water pedigree of these long, slender sea kayaks by pushing their limits in strong headwinds, monstrous seas and powerful tidal rips. All the while they maintained a pace that was at least 1.5 knots faster than a traditional expedition sea kayak. “It meant we could paddle about 12 more miles per day,” says Whelan. “On an expedition, that’s significant.”

Greenland Kayaking Goes Mainstream

It used to be that if you wanted an authentic Greenland-style kayak, you were forced to sort through cedar at the lumberyard and assemble your own can- vas-covered craft. In recent years, however, that’s changed thanks to a hand- ful of European manufacturers producing ultra-low volume Greenland boats in composite materials. According to Thunder Bay, Ontario-based vendor and Greenland-style paddle-maker Joe O’Blenis, the trend has expanded beyond cult status.

“Greenland-style has gone mainstream,” says O’Blenis. “More and more people want the gear but don’t want to build their own. It might be that they don’t have the time or space for boat-building, or they think they don’t have the skills. That’s why a market has emerged for manufactured Greenland kayaks.” Where once Valley’s Anas Acuta and Wilderness Systems’ Arctic Hawk were the only option for paddlers looking for composite boats for rolling and traditional-style paddling, manufacturers like Estonia’s Tahe and Norway’s SeaBird have been exporting a wide range of traditional-styled fiberglass, carbon and Kevlar kayaks to appease the North American masses since 2009. O’Blenis describes the typical buyer as a 30- to 50-year-old male or female looking to add a “second or third kayak to their fleet.”

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

On Thin Ice: Following the First Ever Circumnavigation of Ellesmere Island

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Photo: Erik Boomer — On Thin Ice: Following the First Ever Circumnavigation of Ellesmere Island

On August 19, 2011, veteran explorer Jon Turk and expert whitewater kayaker Erik Boomer became the first people to circumnavigate Ellesmere Island, a mountainous, ice-smothered landmass in the Canadian High Arctic. Nearly the same area as Great Britain, Ellesmere has just two permanent settlements, 500 miles apart and home to 146 souls between them. Boomer and Turk’s incredible journey spanned 1,500 miles, 104 days, four uniquely demanding environments, and not a few unspoken doubts. At times, the intensity of their undertaking was so great that it seemed superfluous, even counterproductive, to discuss their deepest fears and emotions.

Now, from the safety of home, Turk and Boomer ask each other the questions that they couldn’t voice on the ice.

Lifiting kayak onto ice on Ellesmere Island

Turk: We left the Eureka weather station on day 24 with 50 days of food and 300 miles to our next cache, near Ward Hunt Island. Knowledgeable explor- ers had warned us that the ice on the northwest corner of Ellesmere might be very rough and that we might be slowed to traveling a few miles or even a few hundred yards a day. If the ice turned out to be that rough, we would have starved before reaching our food drums. Why did you continue on with me in the face of such uncertainty and potentially dire consequences?

Boomer: This was my biggest concern of the whole expedition. The environment was so harsh and unpredictable that rescue options were few and far between. Even if we could make it to one of the few viable landing strips, there was no guarantee that the weather would allow a plane to reach us.

So unless we were extraordinarily lucky, we might have had to wait a week or more for an aircraft. If we were starving or injured, that might be too long.

Paradoxically, this risk factor is the main reason I joined you on this expedition. I found myself going through the same mental process that I go through before paddling over a huge un-run waterfall. Identify the dangers and decide if I can hit the line that will lead to a clean drop. The major difference is that kayaking waterfalls lasts only a few seconds. On this expedition the nervous uncertain feeling was a nagging daily emotion.

The unknown, difficult nature of the North Coast kept the expedition exciting and fun. No day was monotonous. We skied to exhaustion every day, knowing that if we met or exceeded our 15-miles-per-day average, we would be saving food, time and energy for the possibility of rough ice and slow travel ahead.

As it turned out, we exceeded our expectations and made great time getting to our food cache near Ward Hunt. Actually, I think the traveling became a lot tougher later.

We could worry all day about the “what ifs.” Adventure is about accepting the challenge to go into the unknown.

Wildlife seen on Ellesmere Island

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Boomer: Just as we were crossing the 80th parallel, passing from the High Arctic into the Polar latitudes, a white wolf spent a considerable amount of time with us in camp. You had a unique way of interpreting this experience. I’d like to know more about this perspective and your take on our intimate relationship with the natural landscape.

Turk: When I was five years old, my family moved from New York City to rural Connecticut. At a very early age, I remember venturing alone into the woods until I was scared that I would not find my way home. So I’ve been wandering around in natural environments for over 60 years. After enough time, the fear melts away and the spiritual connection with nature dominates.

Between 2000 and 2005, I embarked on five expeditions to Vyvenka, a small Koryak village in northeast Siberia. I traveled with indigenous hunters and was guided on hallucinogenic and healing journeys by an old shaman, Moolynaut. The Koryak people see nature as animate, alive and magical. Every animal, every rock, every blade of grass has soul and communicates with humans.

According to a scientific worldview, we would view the white wolf that slept only a few feet from our tent as a purely physical event. But the Koryak people would have interpreted it as a magical communication with the wolf spirit, the guard- ian of a passage into a new realm. There is no right or wrong. We can never ask the wolf what it was thinking or know its intentions. But I have found that life is so much more rewarding and satisfying if we embrace the magic that I believe is flying around us all the time.

Turk: We were essentially trapped for 17 days in the Robeson Channel as winds and currents compressed the North Pole icepack into the narrow Nares Strait between Ellesmere and Greenland. During that time, we occasionally made forays onto moving ice. Several times, we found it necessary to jump across fields of small, tippy, floating ice floes. There was always the danger of falling in or a pan tipping over and being crushed as the ice chunks compressed together. You are 40 years younger than I. During these critical moments, you were both stronger and more agile. How did you feel about the age gap?

Boomer: The age gap was actually one of my favorite parts of this expedition. It amazes me how similar we are and how well we were able to relate to each other.

In the more mellow times we found great companionship. People have asked me, “Being around just one person that long, you must have not talked some days?” On the contrary, we had great conversations every day. I really enjoyed your storytelling and often prodded you with questions to keep the stories coming.

In critical times, like when we were venturing across the broken ice, I think we both agreed that losing each other was the biggest concern. Not only would it have been unthinkably tragic to have an accident, but we also shared group gear that was vital to our survival. For example, I carried the sleeping bags, while you had the tent. We depended on each other so much; it was essential to travel as a single unit.

Because of my youth, I could move faster across the ice, but what we were attempting was not a sprint. We traveled over a half marathon every day for 104 days—keeping a good pace was critical and you set a great pace. I feel like the age gap galvanized our relationship and helped keep us in balance.

“I felt I could continue forever, do another lap around the island if we had to.”

Boomer: We experienced challenges and difficult conditions that pushed our bodies to the limit. At what point did you feel most physically spent?

Turk: It’s tempting to say that it was most challenging where the ice was roughest. On the northeast coast, Cape Hecla comes to mind. Intense north winds had forced the North Pole icepack into formidable pressure ridges. There were no flat surfaces and all day long we were lifting and lowering our boats— heavily laden with 50 days of food—over ice ridges 30 feet high. Sometimes we worked for half an hour to gain only 30 yards horizontally. Yet, truthfully, I was no more tired at the end of a day of travel on rough ice than I was at the end of a day of moving on smooth ice. Every day, I gave the expedition everything I had.

After the first day, I wrote in my journal, “Completed: 15 miles. To Go: 1,485.” Then I took a quick mental survey of all the little aches and pains throughout my body, and concluded that I’m 65 years old and there was no way I could complete the circumnavigation. I thought seriously about saying to you, “Hey, Boomer. This is really dumb. I can’t do this. I’m going to turn back tomorrow morning. Sorry.” But I just couldn’t end my career so ignominiously.

Fourteen hundred miles later, we were losing sun angle and shivering cold every day. I was exhausted, totally spent, but I had pushed so hard for so long, through so many barriers, that I felt invincible. I felt I could continue forever, do another lap around the island if we had to.

The day before we finished, on a 15-mile crossing, I started out paddling strongly. As we neared land, a fog rolled in. You were ahead, so I tried to paddle harder to catch up because I didn’t want to lose you. But my arms wouldn’t work. It wasn’t fatigue; it was something way beyond that. I shouted to you, “Hey, Boomer, you gotta slow down. I’m bumping up against some wall I’ve never witnessed before. It’s eerie, it’s scary; I feel like I’m nearing breakdown.”

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Final Thoughts

We finished the journey in late summer, paddling over a placid sea into Grise Fiord, our starting point three-and-a-half months before. With the nose of my kayak just touching the beach, I sat for a minute, reflecting on the passage.

I had paddled strongly into town, angry with myself for being wimpy the day before. I thought my trials were over—all I needed to do was catch the flight home and eat the garden vegetables that my wife, Nina, had been growing all summer. Expeditions had become part of my soul, and now I was ready for the long, treacherous and demanding journey into geezerhood.

Then, 39 hours later, my body sunk suddenly and inexplicably into metabolic breakdown. My kidneys stopped working, my blood pressure went through the roof and my blood chemistry was all wrong. I was dying. We called Global Rescue to send an air ambulance.

Boomer was beside me during the emergency flight south. I looked into his eyes; he had experienced a long distance expedition for the first time and I could see that he was excited about the op- portunities and adventures awaiting him. I realized that I was content, at last, to pass the baton, man the satellite phone and be the expedition dispatch for young men and women who continue to push the frontiers.

Turk and Boomer can be reached at: jonturk.net and wayofthenorth.com. They wish to thank expedition sponsors Eddie Bauer/First Ascent, Polartec, Confluence Watersports and Kokatat.

All photos this page: Erik Boomer.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Rock the Boat: Understanding Risk

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Illustration: Lorenzo Del Bianco — Rock the Boat: Understanding Risk

In 1994, cab drivers in Munich were given cars with new safety equipment: anti-lock brakes. Surprisingly, their crash rate stayed the same. Nothing was wrong with the new brakes. The cabbies simply drove more aggressively, knowing that they had better brakes.

This phenomenon is called risk homeostasis. It also applies to skiers, skydivers, cyclists and, yes, kayakers.

Risk homeostasis states that people have a target level of risk they’re willing to tolerate. Above that risk level, things are scary; below it, they are boring. Give a cabbie better brakes and he’ll drive faster. Give a kayaker a drysuit and she’ll paddle in bigger seas.

This might not seem like a problem, since that kayaker gets more challenging paddling for the same level of risk. However, paddlers often assume that safety equipment provides more safety—or different kinds of safety— than it does.

The U.S. Coast Guard and American Whitewater Association recently published 2010 statistics on boating accidents. The single greatest cause of sea kayak accidents was, for the eleventh year running, “Unexpected changes in weather conditions.” A New Zealand study of near-misses agreed. Of course, “unexpected” is a loaded word.

Most weather changes can be anticipated through forecasts, weather knowledge and seamanship. But relatively few kayakers have honed these skills. It’s quicker and easier, if more expensive, to buy a drysuit.

The best approach is to make risk more apparent

In Sea Kayaking Safety and Rescue, John Lull describes a four-level safety hierarchy. The first is judgment and decision-making. Second, paddling skills and boat control keep kayakers upright and away from hazards. It’s not until the third level—rescues—when that $800 drysuit actually helps. At level four— outside assistance—we’re reliant on a VHF radio, SPOT messenger or cell phone to call in the cavalry. If we’re really worried about safety, we should focus on the top two levels.

Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Risk homeostasis applies to skill as well as equipment. Kayakers who feel safe in big waves will simply head for bigger waves. Therefore safety education shouldn’t try to make kayaking less risky, since paddlers will just compensate. Nor should it try to lower the appetite for risk, since there’s evidence of a genetic con- nection. Headed into Okisollo Rapid? You probably have an elongated DRD4 gene.

The best approach is to make risk more apparent. In sea kayaking, unlike whitewater paddling, the dangers are mostly invisible. The weather systems, tides and currents that lead to those “unexpected” weather and sea changes are usually hours or miles away when critical decisions are made. Sea kayaker safety relies more on judgment, risk assessment, weather interpretation and the ability to accurately assess skills, rather than boat handling.

Karl Andersson, a BCU coach, assessor and 5-star paddler, notes that removing equipment often increases diligence and safety.

“When students show me their trip plan, I also inspect their kit,” Anderson says. “I then take away some of their kit and ask them if their plan stays the same. The students become nervous. They compensate for the missing kit with an improved launch list, formal assessment of group skills and crux points for plan reassessment. In other words, what the plan should have been all along.”

And there’s the built-in paradox. Tom Vanderbilt, who studies risk behavior at New York University, says,“When a situation feels dangerous to you, it’s probably more safe than you know; when a situation feels safe, that is precisely when you should be on guard.”

Neil Schulman writes, photographs and paddles from Portland, Oregon, where running out of coffee is considered an unacceptable level of risk.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Live and Unplugged: Bringing Along Your Guitar

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Photo: Mike Monaghan — Live and Unplugged: Bringing Along Your Guitar

Several years ago, the desire to paddle big water found me giving my canoe a rest in favor of a kayak. With the new boat and the related equipment ready for Lake Superior, the search was on to find a way to bring my other passion—the guitar—along on my adventure.

For over 30 years I’ve been pickin’ the old six-string. I’ve played in basements and backyards, in cafés and on couches, but there is something about the accompanying hiss and pop of the campfire and the silent glow of the moon that sweetens the hum of wood and steel.

Campfires themselves, quiet and contemplative, seem to blend into one another in the memories of trips past. But a campfire graced with music becomes a milestone, an event that sets that night apart from any other. On some nights the guitar elicits the lending of voices, of harmonies and laughter, while on others it sings alone as faces entranced gently sway in time.

“I can barely fit my usual gear into my kayak, where am I going to put a guitar?”

While a kayak can’t accommodate a full-sized guitar, there are many options out there for those who feel that playing some music of their own is the perfect ending to a day of paddling.

Though guitars come in all shapes and sizes, a true travel guitar measures about 33 by 13 inches or smaller, with a depth of no more than three inches. At the more affordable end of the spectrum are the Baby Taylor and the similar sized Little Martin. Both are compact, fun to play and will only set you back about $300. They’ll also double as great starter guitars for young kids. For those in search of an even smaller option, the Martin Backpacker guitar, while low on tone, is high on portability.

On the higher end are the carbon fiber offerings. Unaffected by humidity, heat or cold, guitars like the Rider by Blackbird or the Cargo by Composite Acoustics are suited to the most demanding pickers and paddlers alike. With one of these sleek little axes in your gear locker, there’s no excuse to go tripping without a guitar again.

I know what you’re thinking: “I can barely fit my usual gear into my kayak, where am I going to put a guitar?”

My solution was to place my guitar in a tall SealLine 35L Kodiak drybag and slip it under the bungees on my stern deck. The setup is waterproof and keeps a low enough profile that it is virtually unaffected by wind or waves. I also had a nylon handle sewn onto the side of the bag to make it convenient to carry around camp or down the beach.

My two-week solo trip through Pukaskwa Park on Lake Superior was a success. I brought my carbon fiber travel guitar. It was great to have on wind- and fog-bound days, not to mention relaxing around the fire at Cascade Falls. Making the transition from canoeing to kayaking has been exciting, and knowing that I can bring my music with me, I have no regrets.

Mike Monaghan is a professional photographer, lifelong paddler and fingerstyle guitarist living in Waterloo, Ontario. You can check out some of his photographic work at mikemonaghan.ca.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Editorial: Lessons From Dorothy Gale

Stories

Photo: Virginia Marshall — Editorial: Lessons From Dorothy Gale

There are adventurers who roam to all the far-flung ends of the earth seeking adventure, and there are those who find a lifetime of the stuff right on their doorsteps.

I confess I’ve spent much of my paddling career looking over the rainbow and beyond the horizon for bluer waters. With a paddle and a pair of trusty red clogs rather than sequined ruby slippers, I’ve hunted for Oz on the East Coast and out West, in the South Pacific and on the North Shore.

Much of my time now is spent absorbing other peoples’ adventure stories—emails, blog posts and photo CDs recounting exotic expeditions in Baja, Australia, Fiji, Chile, Italy, Alaska and the like. Some drift through my consciousness like clouds, while others snag on the yellow brick road of imagination, lingering and becoming tangible, almost personal, through their storytelling. Jon Turk and Erik Boomer’s Ellesmere Island expedition (found in our Spring 2012 issue) is one such example. Don Starkell’s storied career is another.

Dreaming is important – but so is paddling

When the stories accumulate in such numbers that I have to struggle against the compulsion to do something wickedly ad- venturous, some would say (they’re probably right) wickedly foolish, of my own—book a flight, sublet my apartment, quit my job, buy a Feathercraft, and turn my back on land—I know it’s time to get out. Not on a summer-long expedition or a record-setting circumnavigation. Just somewhere I can leave log prints in the sand and let the waves wash away the funk of self-pity.

Most recently, I tied my boat to the roof and drove two hours for a hastily planned, packed-on-my-lunch-break overnight. On a forgotten coast less than a day’s drive from two of the country’s most populous cities, I watched the sun set and rise over open water. After just 24 hours with my kayak and the coast, I felt infinitely satisfied. Like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, I had been transported to a secret, magical kingdom.

I’m learning that even a brief trip is more rewarding than throwing a tantrum at what might be if not for the constraints of time, money, career obligations and family responsibilities. With a pair of lucky red shoes, a paddle and a fresh perspective on my own backyard, I can transcend these realities.

So be inspired by the achievements of Turk, Boomer, Starkell and others—I know I am. But don’t discount the adventures close to home, the ones you can do on the weekend, after work, or even on a loosely enforced lunch hour. Dreaming is important, but so is paddling.

Virginia Marshall is Adventure Kayak’s senior editor and a fan of old movies.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2012 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Whitewater Rescue: Learn How To Set Up A Z-Drag System In 60 Seconds

Skills
Safety & Rescue

Rope and pulley system — A skill worth mastering. | Photo by: Dan Caldwell

Just like any other rescue skill, it’s essential that you’ve practiced it before you get into a high-pressure situation. You can watch as many videos and read as many articles as you want—but there’s no better teacher than working through it with your own two hands.

Of equal importance is staying in practice. It’s a good idea to refresh your (muscle) memory every so often, especially when it involves setting up gear you don’t often use. All this advice applies to using a Z-drag setup to haul a boat that has been pinned or wrapped.

In this article we’ll go over how to set up and use a Z-drag system, but don’t leave it there. Gather the gear and get practicing.

[ Paddling Buyer’s Guide: View all safety and rescue gear ]

How the Z-drag works

The Z-drag is a 3:1 mechanical advantage system, which will enable you to move a heavy boat through the water with less exertion. Let me explain it like this: imagine you have a 100-pound bucket of cement. When you grab the handle you will struggle to lift it, as your arm is lifting all 100 pounds. But if a friend grabs onto the handle too, you will each be lifting 50 pounds. Add another arm and you each lift a third, or 33 pounds. Three arms split the work in three, or create a 3:1 system. Flip this logic around: three arms can do three times the work of one; more arms multiply the force.

The physics are the same for the Z-drag. Even though there is only one handle on the boat, the three parallel lines are like three arms pulling, splitting the load and multiplying the force.

The Z-shape is what matters, as it gets three lines working together. The other parts of the system—the sliding prusik and pulleys—just keep the arms equalized so they can all do their third of the job.

[ Further reading: Spring Whitewater Rescue Tune-Up ]

How to set up a Z-drag in 60 seconds

You will need a 50- to 75-foot throw rope, a prusik, two carabiners, two pulleys and a sling.

Step 1: Build an anchor by wrapping the sling around a sturdy tree or rock. Clip a carabiner and pulley through the sling.

Step 2: Secure the bag end of your rope to the load. Run the tail end through the anchor pulley.

Step 3: Wrap the prusik loop as far back down the rope toward the load as possible. Clip the second carabiner and pulley through the prusik.

Step 4: Run the tail end of the rope through the prusik pulley and back toward the anchor. Pull on the tail end of the rope in the same direction as the main line is pulling on the boat. You now have a Z-drag.

Chaco Ponsul Bulloo Review

Gear

This gear review was originally published in Rapid magazine.

Sport sandals hit the mainstream in the early ’90s. Twenty years on, workplace fashion police still shudder when they make it into the office—another reason why paddlers can’t hack it in the nine-to-five world. The Ponsul offers Chaco’s renowned arch support, Vibram outsole and familiar strap adjustment system. The capable hybrid also has a Lycra upper that allows water to flow but keeps river debris out, and closed toes so you’re protected against unwanted exposure on the river or at the office.

High Sign: Water-ready, slip-resistant soles. No more sand and pebbles wearing through dry suit booties.

Low Sign: Doesn’t score any more points for off-river fashion.

www.chacos.com

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

H20 Sharpshooter Gear Review

Gear

This gear review was originally published in Rapid magazine.

Stuffed with 75 feet of 1,600-pound tensile strength, 5/16-inch WaterLine, the Sharpshooter had us feeling confident on the river. A great choice for guides and rescue professionals, H2O’s double-stitched heavy-duty Cordura throw bag also comes with a quick-release belt for waist-wearing, reflective taping and a luminary pouch for glow sticks. No second- guessing needed—all of H2O’s kit is designed by whitewater rescue pros and stitched and stuffed in America.

High Sign: Built for real life rescues, not just to satisfy legal boating requirements.

Low Sign: The blue bag we demoed isn’t super high visibility—the orange option is the better bet.

www.h2orescuegear.com | $80

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

NRS Captain Rescue Knife Review

Gear
Accessories
Safety & Rescue

This gear review was originally published in Rapid magazine.

The hooked tip is what really sets the Captain apart—no sweat slicing snagged line in a panic. The folding serrated blade opens singlehandedly and you’ll never have to worry about acciden-
tal stabs or loose screws again—its blunt tip doubles as a slot screwdriver. The butt also houses a built-in glass-breaker. And, because NRS knows every captain deserves a beer after a hard day’s paddle, there’s an integrated bottle-opener in this Captain’s softgrip handle.

High Sign: Enough functionality to satisfy MacGyver (too bad he didn’t care for alcohol). The glass-breaking tool makes us want to buy one for the glove compartment too.

Low Sign: The folding blade is not as robust as a fixed blade and requires one more step in a rescue.
www.nrsweb.com | $40

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

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