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Our Favorite Paddling Trips You Can Do

a woman paddleboards in an idyllic tropical location in Indonesia
This could be you in Raja Ampat, Indonesia. | Feature photo: Cory Leis

In a world with endless options, how do you choose your next adventure? We trust the word-of-mouth recommendations from fellow paddlers. Our community of adventurous canoeists, kayakers, whitewater boaters and standup paddleboarders have explored countless waterways around the globe. On the following pages, we’ve delved into our 26-year history making magazines and asked 24 longtime editors, writers, photographers, contributors and collaborators to share their favorite trips, offering a glimpse into the journeys closest to their hearts. From serene lakes to roaring rapids, day trips to multi-week journeys, and backyard jaunts to international waters, these routes will inspire your next unforgettable adventure.


Bruce Kirkby

Hot spot
British Columbia

Checleset Bay Ecological Reserve, British Columbia

two sea kayaks sit on logs on a remote British Columbia beach while people wade in the shallow water
Photo: Bruce Kirkby

Duration: 1–2 weeks, 37 miles

A one-hour water taxi ride from Fair Harbour brings paddlers to the biologically rich waters of Checleset Bay Ecological Reserve. Paddle north to take it all in.

Why you should go: This off-the-beaten-path area offers the best of Canada’s wild west coast—untracked beaches, towering old growth, windswept headlands, even rafts of curious sea otters—all within a relatively sheltered environment in the lee of the towering Brooks Peninsula. I’ve traveled these magical waters more than 10 times and am still drawn back. Together with my wife and young boys, we spent 17 idyllic days paddling and beachcombing. 

Bruce Kirkby has been a regular contributor to Rapid Media since he nabbed an Adventure Kayak cover shot in 2004.


Tim Shuff

Hot spot
British Columbia

West Coast Vancouver Island, British Columbia

surf crashes over rocks with grey clouds in background and a sea kayaker in foreground
Photo: Dave Aharonian

Duration: 2 weeks, 180 miles

Winter Harbour in Quatsino Sound to Tofino in Clayoquot Sound. This route would ideally be paddled during a calm, sunny stretch of August.

Why you should go: Many years ago, I kayaked the whole west coast of Canada, from Prince Rupert to Victoria. This section was by far the highlight. This point-to-point route takes in all the greatest hits of Vancouver Island paddling—the north and south Brooks Peninsula, Kyuquot Sound, Nootka Sound and Clayoquot.

Tim Shuff joined the team as assistant editor of Canoeroots for the second-ever issue of the magazine in 2003. From 2006 to 2010, he was editor of Adventure Kayak. His Waterlines column appears in every issue of Paddling Magazine (page 27).


Brendan Kowtecky

Hot spot
British Columbia

Nuchatlitz, British Columbia

bald eagle sits on an upraised stump
Photo: Brendan Kowtecky

Duration: 1 week

I began this trip at the northeastern tip of Little Espinosa Inlet, but boat shuttles from the nearby town of Zeballos and a handful of operators run trips here during the summer months.

Why you should go: Nuchatlitz is special because you have paddling options in almost all conditions. On a calm day, you can explore the exposed outer islets. If you’re feeling adventurous, you can cross over to Catala Island and spend a night camping—be sure to keep an eye out for sea wolves. When the weather acts up, you can explore the protected bays of Nuchatlitz Provincial Park or even paddle east toward Brodick Creek.

Brendan Kowtecky’s first photo for a Rapid Media publication was published in the Spring 2015 issue of Adventure Kayak.


Cristin Plaice

Grey Lake, Torres Del Paine National Park, Chile

turquoise waters in front of jagged Patagonian mountain peaks
Photo: Adobe Stock

Duration: 1 day, 18 miles

Starting on the shores of Grey Lake in Torres del Paine National Park, this one-day trip takes you past spectacular views of Paine Grande and Grey Glacier. It then begins its descent down the Grey River, merges into the Serrano River and ends in the Serrano Village.

Why you should go: There’s a reason Torres del Paine National Park is considered the eighth Natural Wonder of the World and has been named a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. This world-class adventure destination is known for its famous hiking and climbing routes, but I think it’s best experienced by kayak. Think otherworldly mountains, glaciers, icebergs, canyons, wildlife and turquoise water. I don’t think there’s a place I’ve ever wanted to go back to paddle more.

Cristin Plaice joined Rapid Media in 2016. She is the publisher of Paddling Magazine.


Jeff Jackson

Canyon of Lodore, Green River, Utah

a dramatic rock wall beside river with tiny paddlers
Photo: Scott MacGregor

Duration: 4–5 days, 45 miles

Brilliant red sandstone walls rise over 2,600 feet from the river, shading modest technical class III whitewater. In the midst of the desert, lush green camps and intimate side streams form oases. Permit required, which is challenging to get.

Why you should go: Easy continuous flow runs through a sublime canyon. From the first day’s imposing canyon entry, past box elder shaded camps and alongside layers and layers of geologic history, it is a place like no other. Passing under the sheer face of the iconic Steamboat Rock, passengers are silenced by its awe. The approach to Split Mountain is as unlikely a sight as you can find in nature. I was fortunate to spend several seasons guiding this stretch; all told, more than 40 five-day trips. Every single current line and thread-the-needle move has significance to me, as do the numerous side hikes to amazing views. If I were to make a canyon river from scratch, this is what I would build.

Jeff Jackson’s Alchemy column (page 70) has appeared in every issue of Rapid since 2000.


Cory Leis

Raja Ampat, Indonesia

two people paddleboard past small rocky islands in turquoise waters in Indonesia
Photo: Cory Leis

Duration: 5–14 days

Situated where the Indian and Pacific oceans collide, Raja Ampat represents one of the planet’s richest and most biodiverse marine ecosystems. Paddleboarders can center themselves around land-based accommodations, ranging from budget homestays to luxurious waterside bungalows, and day-trip to beautiful beaches, live colorful reefs teeming with sea life and mind-boggling karst formations. Or meander throughout the archipelago via a liveaboard boat. For the more adventurous, hire a local guide and use a touring iSUP for a self-supported, multi-week ocean mission.

Why you should go: Scribbled into any serious diver’s bucket list, the area hides various wonders above and below the surface. It’s a paddleboarder’s dream adventure trip, full of diving, snorkeling and hiking opportunities. Paddle to beaches void of footprints and into impossibly turquoise lagoons, hike up hillsides in search of the Bird of Paradise, dive and snorkel the many world-renowned reefs and coral gardens, and visit tiny, vibrant villages tucked along the coastlines rich in history and culture.

Cory Leis has been a regular contributor to Paddling Magazine since 2018.


Courtney Sinclair

Flåm, Norway

woman paddleboards in a Norway fjord with thin waterfall in background
Photo: Courtney Sinclair

Duration: 3 days, 21–42 miles

Beginning in Gudvangen, start on an awe-inspiring paddle through Nærøyfjord, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, for 11 miles. Joining up with Aurlandsfjord, the route takes you another 10 miles farther to end in the village of Flåm. This route could be completed in the reverse direction, as an out-and-back trip or paired with a return on the electric ferry.

Why you should go: Paddling at a leisurely pace, soak in the views, swim in the fjords, stop in Undredal for brown goat cheese and set up camp along the way. The fjords tower over a half-mile high and feature powerful waterfalls with rivers for a cold dip. Watch for porpoises swimming nearby and farms high up on the mountains. This route is special to me as I guide many international guests here. Every time I paddle these fjords, it’s a completely different experience.

SUP instructor Courtney Sinclair has regularly contributed to Paddling Magazine since 2018.


Cliff Jacobson

Hot spot
Texas

Rio Grande River, Texas

canoeist paddles on glassy water in a rocky canyon
Photo: Cliff Jacobson

Duration: 2–19 days, 30–170 miles

There are a number of options as to where to start and end a trip on the Rio Grande. The upper section, starting at Big Bend Ranch State Park down to Rio Grande Village, is easily done in nine days. Most parties take out there or continue downriver through Boquillas Canyon and get out at Heath Canyon Ranch. The lower canyon section from Heath Canyon Ranch down to Dryden is big water with many technical rapids and at least one portage. This part is very remote, and you’d better be a very good paddler because if you mess up, it’s a long way out. Go from Rio Grande Village to Heath Canyon Ranch for an overnight trip.

Why you should go: The Rio Grande River is not at all like the pictures you’ve seen in Western movies. The river flows through the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park. Huge hills and deep canyons abound. It is essentially a mountain river with a fast flow. Camping and open fires (a firepan is required) are permitted everywhere. The upper section can be done in an uncovered solo canoe. It’s really fun—class I–II, maybe II+ in very high water—which is why I love it so.

Cliff Jacobson has contributed to Rapid Media publications since the Fall 2006 issue of Canoeroots.

Dale Sanders

Hot spot
Texas

Pecos River, Texas

paddlers in two canoes make their way through light rapids with grass and hills in background
Photo: Dale Sanders

Duration: 5–7 days, 60 miles

Running through southwest Texas, the Pecos is a clear river you can see to the bottom of. The surrounding landscape has a desert mountain look to it, with a lot of beautiful sandstone landmarks and not a lot of trees. We put in at Pandale River Crossing and took out at the Pecos River Access just south of US Hwy 90. For that last 10 miles before the take-out, it’s best to have a powerboat standing by to give you a tow in case of wind. Little cell coverage and shuttling vehicles needs to be planned in advance.

Why you should go: I’ve paddled a lot of rivers around the United States, and the Pecos is the best-kept secret. Everything you could want is on this trip. You’ve got some class I and II rapids, some class III, and even one class IV that most people portage. There’s one place you can hike near the river and see pictographs. You won’t see anybody else on this trip—you’re in the wilderness. It’s an ideal early spring trip because there isn’t a lot of water the rest of the year.

Dale “Greybeard” Sanders was first featured in the Early Summer 2016 issue of Canoeroots. A film about Dale’s record-breaking journey down the Mississippi River, entitled Grey Beard: The Man, The Myth, The Mississippi, won Best Canoeing Film at the 2023 Paddling Film Festival.


Joe Potoczak

Lehigh River Gorge, Pennsylvania

people kayaking on a river with fall foliage
Photo: Regina Nicolardi

Duration: 1 day, 9–22 miles

Within a commuter’s throw of the largest metropolitan population in the U.S. is one of the most magnificent river gorges accessible to every level of whitewater paddler. Most run the nine-mile upper section, but the Lehigh finds true class II–III boulder garden form on the lower 13 miles beginning at Rockport.

Why you should go: Hemlock and rhododendron ravines, sandstone faces and waterfalls steal the show within the 1,000-foot gorge. To say I’ve paddled the Lehigh a thousand times is likely an understatement, and still, the view never disappoints.

Joe Potoczak is an editor at Paddling Magazine and Kayak Angler.


Nouria Newman

Verdon Canyon, France

a person whitewater kayaks through a dramatically lit cavern
Photo: Nouria Newman

Duration: Day trip, 20 miles

The Verdon Canyon from Pont de Carajuan to the Lac de Sainte-Croix (class IV+) is one of Europe’s most beautiful sections to paddle. The area is famous for multi-pitch climbing and paddling through massive vertical walls. The whitewater isn’t the hardest, but it should not be underestimated because there are quite a few siphons.

Why you should go: The Verdon is one of the most majestic places to paddle and probably the most scenic river in France, so it’s hard not to recommend it. That said, getting a local guide for your first time is better, so just hit Max from Raoul Rafting if you plan a trip there.

Nouria Newman has been a regular contributor since the Summer 2013 issue of Rapid.


Dave Freeman

Moose River North to Mudro Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, Minnesota

two people prepare to launch a canoe on calm lake at dawn
Photo: Dave Freeman

Duration: 5–7 days, 45 miles

Follow Moose River North through Nina Moose Lake and Agnes Lake to Lac La Croix on the Minnesota/Ontario border. From Lac La Croix, you will paddle and portage along the border over the Bottle Portage in the footsteps of the voyageurs, across Bottle Lake and Iron Lake. Then portage around Curtain Falls. Crooked Lake is filled with islands and bays that you could easily spend a week exploring. From Crooked Lake, portage south into Papoose Lake and farther south through small lakes and streams to Fourtown Lake and Mudro Lake.

Why you should go: This classic Boundary Waters route has it all. One of the best pictograph sites in the region and some of the most beautiful campsites in the wilderness are found on the east end of Lac La Croix. Curtain Falls is one of the most dramatic waterfalls in the BWCA. These lakes offer great fishing for walleye, northern pike and smallmouth bass. Plus, the small lakes between Crooked and Wagosh provide solitude and are connected by tiny creeks lined with floating bogs dotted with carnivorous plants.

Dave Freeman has been a contributor since the Fall 2008 issue of Adventure Kayak.


John Webster

South Fork Payette, Canyon Section, Idaho

a group of whitewater paddlers kayaking down a river with rocky ridges all around
Photo: John Webster

Duration: Day trip, 9 miles

With class III–IV rapids, solid boofs, clear water and even a stout class V—runnable at lower flows and easily portagable—it’s got everything to entertain. If this is beyond your skill level, go guided with a rafting outfit.

Why you should go: Aside from the fun rapids, I appreciate how this section gives a sense of what Idaho scenery can be. You’re sometimes below the road, deep in the canyon, making it almost feel like the famous Middle Fork of the Salmon. It doesn’t get much better for a section that’s a 90-minute drive from downtown Boise, Idaho. If you know where to look, you’ll see elk herds around the area—be careful, though, as they flirt with the road often. Eventually, the Canyon section fades into the Swirley Canyon and the Staircase sections downstream. If you’re feeling ambitious, you can paddle down to Banks, Idaho, the confluence of the North and South Forks of the Payette.

John Webster has been a regular contributor since the Spring 2015 issue of Rapid.


Neil Schulman

Lower Columbia River Water Trail, Washington

sea kayaker paddling shot from within a cave or overhang
Photo: Neil Schulman

Duration: 6–7 days, 144 miles

Start at the Bonneville Dam and paddle past the basalt cliffs of the Columbia River Gorge, then through Portland and mazes of islands. The mileage looks intimidating, but the current is your friend. When you reach the lower river, the Columbia widens and resembles the sea it will soon join, full of pelicans and wide-open views. You’ll share the river with big ships but few people. Bask in sunsets on dispersed island camps. Best paddled in spring when the current whisks you along and headwinds haven’t come up yet.

Why you should go: The Lower Columbia is my home water. I’ve paddled the Water Trail countless times, both as continuous journeys and day or weekend trips. There’s nothing quite like following one of North America’s premier rivers all the way to saltwater. You’ll experience waterfall-laced cliffs, the Northwest’s second-largest city, and two enormous wildlife refuges and feel the beginnings of ocean swell. For history buffs, you’re also retracing the route of the Lewis and Clark Expedition back in 1803.

Neil Schulman’s first article for Rapid Media was published in the Spring 2008 issue of Adventure Kayak. His Reflections column appears in every issue of Paddling Magazine (page 21).


Kaydi Pyette

Yukon River, Yukon

overhead view of a tripping canoe passing beetween rocky piers on a river
Photo: Joel Krahn

Duration: Two weeks, 460 miles

The iconic, fast and (mostly) flat river journey from Whitehorse to Dawson City has a rich cultural heritage, with a strong presence of First Nations communities and the history of the Klondike Gold Rush.

Why you should go: For paddlers with solid backcountry skills, this is an otherwise beginner-friendly river route weaving beautiful and vast wilderness with the easiest logistics of any northern river trip. Camp on gravel bars, visit historic ghost towns and marvel at the midnight sun, all while watching for bears, moose and eagles. Short on vacation time? Race to Dawson City in less than 72 hours as part of the annual Yukon River Quest.

Kaydi Pyette is the editor-in-chief at Paddling Magazine and has managed Rapid Media’s publications since 2012.


Becky Mason

Hot spot
Quebec

Gatineau River, Paugan Falls, Québec

woman is silhouetted paddling a canoe at dusk
Photo: Reid McLachlan

Duration: Day trip or overnight

This small reservoir above the Paugan Dam is my happy place for a quick shoulder season escape at ice-out or when the autumn colors are peaking.

Why you should go: For more than a decade, I’ve been drawn to our local watersheds. Especially the river that flows past our house—the Gatineau or, in Algonquin, Te-nagàdino-zìbi. Over many years, she has become part of me. I have paddled many of her tributaries and some of her 224-mile length. I have felt all her moods, traveled on her in every season and seen many of her charms. And this spot, only 20 minutes from our house, always revitalizes me completely.

Becky Mason’s first article for Rapid Media was published in the 2003 Buyer’s Guide issue of Canoeroots.


Dan Rubinstein

Hot spot
Quebec

Ottawa to Montreal via the Rideau, Ottawa and St. Lawrence rivers and Lachine Canal

man standup paddleboarding past a leafy riverbank
Photo: Ty Burke

Duration: 5 days, 125 miles

Start on the Rideau River in Ottawa, below Hog’s Back Falls. Run a couple of sets of rapids and then portage to the Ottawa River at the end of the Rideau. Walk around the dam at Carillon, cross Lake of Two Mountains to get onto the St. Lawrence, and then make an industrial transect on the historic Lachine Canal into downtown Montreal.

Why you should go: This route offers a mix of urban and natural backdrops, plenty of places to resupply, and accessible transportation options to and from your put-in and take-out. I’ve done the first stretch, from my house to the eastern outskirts of Ottawa, many times, and went all the way to Montreal once as part of a much longer journey.

Dan Rubinstein has been contributing to Paddling Magazine since 2019.

Marissa Evans

Hot spot
Quebec

Dumoine River, Quebec

canoeists paddle along a river in daytime while the moon is up in the sky
Photo: Marissa Evans

Duration: 5 days, 40 miles

Put in at KM 64 and spend five days paddling class I–III rapids. Finish the trip with a short paddle across the Ottawa River to the Stonecliffe public boat launch or Driftwood Provincial Park. This is a leisurely pace, allowing for plenty of time to relax at camp.

Why you should go: The Dumoine is a classic Canadian whitewater canoe trip that’s highly accessible thanks to many road access points, while feeling remote when you’re on the river. Beginners can join a guided trip, and more experienced paddlers can feel comfortable honing their skills.

Marissa Evans has been an editor at Rapid Media since 2019.


Alex Traynor

Hot spot
Ontario

Kattawagami River, Ontario

yellow canoe overturned at a rocky campsite in a northern forest
Photo: Alex Traynor

Duration: Two weeks, 125 miles

Put in 90 miles north of Cochrane at Kattawagami Lake. The Kattawagami joins the Kesagami River, then the Harricana River, and flows into James Bay.

Why you should go: The Kattawagami is an experienced paddler’s paradise in Ontario’s Arctic watershed. The river descends off the Canadian Shield, offering whitewater and picturesque campsites next to beautiful rapids and waterfalls. Farther along, the river gets bigger, and eventually, tides come into play. What makes this river so special is how varied it is. Watch a short film about the trip.

Alex Traynor joined the Rapid Media team as social media manager from 2018 to 2020.


Lorenzo Del Bianco

Hot spot
Ontario

Big Creek, Ontario

painting of trees and bushes in natural landscape
Illustration: Lorenzo del Bianco

Duration: An afternoon, 5–9 miles

Put in at Rowan Mills Conservation Area and take out at Port Royal. If the wind is calm, paddle farther south into the labyrinth wetlands of Long Point.

Why you should go: A thick Carolinian canopy overhead, lush undergrowth, and the call of a northern flicker or belted kingfisher illustrate why this route has been nicknamed the Canadian Amazon. Keep an eye open for turtles, deer, blue herons, bluebirds and bald eagles. It’s an easy paddle lending itself to all levels.

Lorenzo del Bianco has been creating illustrations for Rapid Media publications since the Spring 2004 issue of Adventure Kayak.


Virginia Marshall

Hot spot
Ontario

Lake Superior Provincial Park, Ontario

three sea kayakers paddle past the base of a dramatic rocky cliff
Photo: Virginia Marshall

Duration: 2–3 days, 16 miles

Easily accessible from Sault Ste. Marie, Lake Superior Provincial Park offers varied shoreline geology, ranging from fine sandy beaches to Technicolor cobbles and soaring pink granite cliffs. Start from the Michipicoten River, overnight at inviting backcountry campsites, and end at the 200-meter rock face at Old Woman Bay.

Why you should go: It’s in the name. Lake Superior. The greatest of the Great Lakes is a kayak touring destination unlike any other—a sprawling sweetwater sea containing 10 percent of the planet’s surface freshwater. Every time I slip my sea kayak into these waters, it feels like coming home.

Virginia Marshall’s first article appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak. She was the editor of Adventure Kayak from 2011 to 2017.


Mario Rigby

Hot spot
Ontario

Toronto to Ajax, Lake Ontario

a kayak sits on a deck surrounded by gear
Photo: Courtesy Mario Rigby

Duration: 2 days, 25 miles

Start in the metropolis of Toronto and end in the neighboring town, Ajax.

Why you should go: Paddlers enjoy scenic views of the Toronto skyline and natural landscapes as they head east. This route is perfect for those who want to experience a mix of urban and natural settings and is ideal for those looking to get a taste of lake kayaking with manageable challenges. The proximity to urban centers allows kayakers to blend convenience, beauty, adventure and epic sunrises.

Mario Rigby was first featured in the 2021 Paddling Buyer’s Guide.


Conor Mihell

Hot spot
Ontario

Elliot LakeFlack Lake Loop, Ontario

person canoeing at dawn
Photo: Conor Mihell

Duration: 3–5 days, 25–40 miles

Just north of Elliot Lake in Northern Ontario, this canoe route is reminiscent of Algonquin Provincial Park or Temagami but without the crowds. Backcountry camping permits (Mississagi Provincial Park) are required for Flack Lake; the rest of the route is in a nonoperating provincial park or Crown land.

Why you should go: I’ve paddled this route at least eight times, with family, friends and guiding small groups. It’s truly a lost gem with easy access, convenient logistics and diverse scenery. The rugged portages are a great way to test your body and feel like you’ve earned the right to visit secluded, clear-water lakes.

Conor Mihell has been writing for Rapid Media publications since the 2005 Buyer’s Guide issue of Canoeroots.


Justine Curgenven

Round the Stacks, Anglesey, North Wales

overhead view of a tiny person kayaking among swirling water off the coast of Wales
Photo: Leon Levasier

Duration: 1 day, 7.5 miles one way

For experienced sea kayakers, start on the smooth grey cobbles at Soldiers Point, a steep beach nestled on the outside of the proboscis-like breakwater of Holyhead Harbour. After a few surfs, make a wide arc away from shore, riding the current train to the next attraction, South Stack. Lunch is at a cozy rocky beach as the tide changes, before making your way to the final tidal race at Penrhyn Mawr (“big headland” in Welsh). Surf here before finishing the paddle on the sandy crescent beach of Porthdafarch.

Why you should go: My favorite Welsh paddle takes in three iconic tidal races, an imposing lighthouse perched on a craggy island, and towering ancient cliffs pulsating with nesting birds. It’s a beautiful location and an exciting paddle that’s always different. I’ve done it dozens of times, in different ways, and it’s the paddle I most look forward to when I return to Wales every year.

Justine Curgenven has been a regular contributor since the Spring 2005 issue of Adventure Kayak.


Jessica Wynne Lockhart

Hot spot
New Zealand

Whanganui National Park, North Island, New Zealand

dramatic bridge surrounded by lush foliage in New Zealand
Photo: Jessica Wynne Lockhart

Duration: Day trip, 6 miles

The 145-kilometer Whanganui Journey is one of New Zealand’s 10 Great Walks—a collection of routes through some of the country’s most iconic landscapes. However, the Whanganui Journey is unusual in that it’s not a walk at all, but a canoe trip. The full 90-mile paddle takes five days, but it’s possible to experience the river’s most spectacular section on a beginner-friendly day trip.

From the riverside village of Pipiriki, catch a jet boat to the Bridge to Nowhere with local tour operator Whanganui River Adventures. After a tour of the historic site, the jet boat will drop you six miles upstream from Pipiriki, where canoes await. You’ll spend the next two hours paddling back to where you started, with towering cliffs coated in lush green vegetation and waterfalls on either side of you.

Why you should go: A site of spiritual significance to the local iwi (Māori tribes), the Whanganui River was the first river in the world to be granted legal personhood status in 2017. It’s serene, family-friendly paddling, capped with a small dose of adrenaline as you navigate the Autapu rapids, which are never larger than class II.

Jessica Wynne Lockhart has been a regular contributor to Paddling Magazine since 2015.


Brenna Kelly

Hot spot
New Zealand

Okere Falls, Kaituna River, New Zealand

a rafting group heads down a dramatically lit river
Photo: istockphoto.com/Rod Hill

Duration: 1+ hours

This river is the epitome of New Zealand whitewater in a bite-sized dose. The Kaituna River is a narrow canyon trickling with vines and greenery from top to bottom. Look for glowworms if you lose track of time playing in the last rapid until dusk. The rapids are pool-drop though pretty sporty at most flows, including a 15-foot stout waterfall. To paddle this section, be a confident class IV boater or hire a guide who will test your skills before descending the river together. The latter option is a sure way to get introduced to the community of legends while you’re there, too.

Why you should go: The two main reasons to paddle here are the warm, wild water that makes you feel like an instant pro, and the fun, vibrant community of people surrounding it. There are thousands of other river runs within a couple hours’ drive.

Brenna Kelly is the media sales lead at Paddling Magazine. She was first featured in Rapid in 2009, hucking a waterfall in the gallery section of the magazine.

Cover of Issue 72 of Paddling MagazineThis article was first published in Issue 72 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

This could be you in Raja Ampat, Indonesia. | Feature photo: Cory Leis

 

12-Word Paddling Horror Stories (Written By You!)

Halloween costume dress up in a canoe on a frozen river
A spooky October snowstorm when the river froze. | Feature Image: reader submission from @burchillcharles

It’s spooky season, and we asked paddlers for their 12-word paddling horror stories. From creepy crawlies to downright unnerving, here’s what you sent in:

1. “Find abandoned building by river. No wait… Abandoned prison! Those are cells.” —@paddlecentric

2. “Shots fired, I threw down my kayak and ran for the river!” —@kaycee.maas

Halloween Costumes while whitewater rafting
Whitewater & halloween costumes. | Image: reader submission from @campoutsidephotos

3. “Franklin Island, two in the morning, black bear scratching at my tent.” —@miss_t_bliss

4. “The drop of water running down my leg was actually a spider!” —@tropic_anna_24

5. “In the thick Mississippi fog, his paddle stirred the water over her.”— Lucas Schwalle

6. “Lip of stout. Drain plug out. Upside down and swimming.” —@justjeffv

A person with a pumpkin on their head on a Stand Up Paddle Board
Pumpkin-headed paddling. | Image: reader submission from @suphikeexplore.co.uk

7. “This walk was nice, but where’s the fourth part of my paddle?” —@grizzlyoutdoorpackrafting

8. “Giant leech and six babies draining blood from my foot.” —@camperchristina

9. “The storm-ravaged shore retreated no matter how frantically I paddled.” —@bascamper

10. “Anytime I get up in the middle of the night to pee is a terrifying experience.” —@em.outdoors_

Halloween costume dress up in a canoe on a frozen river
A spooky October snowstorm when the river froze. | Feature Image: reader submission from @burchillcharles

11. “Huge splashes after dark. Otter in the island bay in the morning.” — Joe Johnston

12. “My family and l were at Silent Lake camping. We stayed up late one evening watching the fire. A slow cool breeze drifted up to the campfire. My son went, ‘Mom?’ I said it’s okay, we have a visitor. Welcome l said. The firelight flickered strangely, and it sounded like someone actually sat down. It stayed for a time and then moved on.” —Patti Johnson

13. “The skulling draw of his paddle failed as the shoreline wolves inched closer.” —@nash_david_

Going Pro At 35

The author Boyd Ruppelt below Victoria Falls.
The author below Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River. | Feature Image: Boyd Ruppelt

The cam strap dug into my shoulder through my t-shirt while I trudged through the airport, along with the rustling sound of the cheap tarp I had strapped around my “surf ski.” I was on my way to the Zambezi River, a proving ground for top paddlers, attempting to cloak my short whitewater kayak many airlines refuse to take.

Curious stares, side-eyes, and random glances of amusement were directed toward me as I awkwardly positioned myself closer to the check-in counter. I was still well-kept and clean-shaven, not yet the image of a man on an indefinite paddling trip. My pale skin hinted at months, years, working inside—a weekend warrior at best. But the goal was a correction.

Kayaker running rapid on the Zambezi River.
Bracing for impact on the Zambezi. | Image: Boyd Ruppelt

Confessions of a school science teacher turned pro kayaker

At the age of 35, and with nothing else to lose, I was finally pursuing my dream to kayak the world full-time as a sponsored athlete. With a taste of professional kayaking in college, I had shelved the dream when I married at 26, but kept it tucked away under life’s many callings, ambitions, loves and expectations. Now I was all in and traveling alone, with nothing more than a loose plan and a kayak.

I was terrified.

I never set out to become divorced, homeless and unemployed. Divorce is heartbreaking enough, but letting go of everything I had worked for in life to start over again was brutal. Doubling down, selling everything, and resigning from a decade-long teaching career was only slightly less scary. I resigned from one of the best private schools in the region, a position in the 99th percentile for teacher pay. On the upside, my savings got a little bump from the leftover equity from selling my house. I promised myself not to drain my account. These days, paddling sponsorships rarely provide significant money or cover travel. It’s about minimizing costs and maximizing social media reach in hopes of a future payday. So, I knew I would have to find work along the way.

Starting with a 16-hour flight from Atlanta to Qatar, my initial journey would take several uncomfortable and lonely days. The common questions people ask when they meet you, had suddenly become so simple they felt complicated. “So, what do you do? Where do you live? Where are you going after this?” I have no idea. For now, the ticket says Livingstone.

The author Boyd Ruppelt below Victoria Falls.
The author below Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River. | Feature image: Boyd Ruppelt

Rite of passage on the Zambezi

Arriving in Zambia the warm humidity billowed into the airplane cabin. When we stepped off, my eyes were fixed on the ground crew unloading our luggage in hopes that my kayak made it with me, maybe even unscathed. After 36 hours, little sleep, and a seven-hour time change, I stepped into an intimidating scene of rowdy and weathered overlanders and post-college backpackers. Torn between hunger and exhaustion, I was trying to figure out what to do with myself—fortunately, the only other kayaker there found me. Immediately, I had a new family for my stay. But I was also immersed in a new culture, in a place with a river that would keep me on my toes while pushing every boundary I’d known.

My first strokes were no different. Jet-lagged and weak, I paddled a playboat on the Zambezi River for the first time. It only took the first vortex of an eddyline to humble me.
Downstream the deep black walls cast a shadow over the green water of the Batoka Gorge and crocodiles dipped from view. I was soon looking down at a two- or three-story horizon into a chaotic wave train lined with safe but horrendous-looking holes: rapid Number Five. Accelerating down the most dynamic tongue I’d ever seen, I couldn’t believe I was finally there, then, the pulsing explosions of water snapped me out of it. I was engulfed.

The Zambezi was a quick teacher. I felt like a child when I arrived in Zambia, unsure and cautious of my surroundings, and unceasingly aware of my privilege as I hid away my expensive cameras and drone, almost as essential as a kayak. The river was a place where I was safe enough to grow, the only venue that allowed for introspection and immediate consequences that I could understand. The month on the Zambezi strengthened my confidence, and as big water will do, made me decisive—leading my next move to Chile.

Kayaker plunging off a waterfall in Chile.
Running the Rio Fuy, Chile. | Image: Eli Castleberry

Paying the dirtbag tax in Chile

To pay for a season in South America, I had to instruct and guide. From the outside, it looked like the dream: staff laps to get to know new lines and blow off extra steam. My runs however were always accompanied by the media hustle, and usually the fixing of preventable problems under increasingly heated and rushed conditions.

Guide life is often accompanied by limited food, shifting accommodations, and hoping guests leave leftovers from an underfunded chef in a kitchen. Some days, after the river, you even find yourself working in said kitchen. After months of the seasonal grind, people pleasing and customer appeasing, there was finally a moment to post a precious GoPro clip to hit Instagram.

I tell anyone interested in working as a guide that it’s 80 percent awful but the 20 percent makes it worth it, if it’s what you want. Eventually, my thirst for fulfillment led me to a monumental personal victory: running Demshitz Drop. It was the technical 60-foot waterfall I never thought I wanted.

Reflections under northern skies

A season later—sunburnt, weathered, and with longer hair—I found myself camping in the snowy rain in Canada surrounded by better freestyle paddlers, easily half my age. I recognized their energy and ambition as every camera was carefully set up and placed. Their media was meticulously collected and reviewed in hopes of earning the mythical big break. I wondered if that part of me was beginning to fade. The perpetual discomfort of scrounging for every dollar and waiting for waves in the most beautiful and inconvenient places reminded me how much I like to have the warmth of a partner and a home.

Under the Northern Lights, I had a chance to reflect on my years as a paddler and what this experience taught me. When I first gave up my dream in college, I watched any grasps of recognition I earned fade unpityingly into a distant memory—unshared by the masses and hidden by the turn-over of our little community.

Group standing under the aurora borealis.
From left to right: David Silk, Luke Pomeroy, Mark Zielonka, Casey Williams and Boyd Ruppelt during a Stakeout at Riviere Mistassibi. | Image: Boyd Ruppelt

The true scent of Polypro

When I chose to rejoin this dream after personal tragedy, I lived the fact that it’s never too late to create the life you’ve always wanted, but it also comes with some tough trade-offs. Financially, I broke even, but the dearest price I paid to travel the world was the loss of connection to my local crew and community. Local rally messages ceased, and when I was home, paddling became lonely.

Choosing paddling as a career also meant dealing with the intruding expectations of strangers, unsolicited judgments, and often existing only adjacent to the dream lifestyle while supporting the dream for others in hopes of earning enough to live this way for another day. It’s accompanied by a never-ending hustle for sales, media and clients and an unquenchable thirst for the next adventure or accomplishment to post.

These jaded troughs though are just part of the deal. If moments make you wealthy and experience gives you wisdom, then paddling made me rich, and the rivers have made me wise.

Boyd Ruppelt is currently on Team Jackson Kayak, instructing signature weeks in Chile and Canada, and traveling internationally to kayak. You can find him through his instructional YouTube Channel, @CleanLineKayaking, or at BoydRuppelt.com.


The author below Victoria Falls on the Zambezi River. | Feature image: Boyd Ruppelt

 

SUP Racing 80 Ocean Miles On Borrowed Lungs

a group of SUP endurance paddles, including double-lung transplant recipient Scott Johnson, subject of a new documentary
Scott Johnson (third from front) with his team in the Crossing in 2023. The Crossing begins at midnight and takes most participants between 12 and 15 hours to finish. | Feature photo: David Scarola

An avid surfer from the age of 13, Scott Johnson thrived in the water. “I don’t remember a time of my life that the beach wasn’t there,” he says in the 2024 documentary, Double or Nothing.

It was also prolonging his life; the ocean air helped loosen the mucus building up in his lungs, a symptom of cystic fibrosis (CF) that makes it difficult for patients to breathe.

Racing 80 miles on borrowed lungs

It wasn’t until Johnson was 29 his health began to fail. Bedridden for two months, he began contemplating suicide. But he received a second chance in the form of a double lung transplant.

Since then, he’s attempted seven Ironman triathlons, successfully completing one. In 2022, on the 20-year anniversary of his lung transplant, he attempted to paddleboard 80 miles from the Bahamas to Florida as part of the Crossing, an annual fundraiser for patients and families struggling with CF. In doing so, he became the first double lung transplant survivor to take on the challenge.

a group of SUP endurance paddles, including double-lung transplant recipient Scott Johnson, subject of a new documentary
Scott Johnson (third from front) with his team in the Crossing in 2023. The Crossing begins at midnight and takes most participants between 12 and 15 hours to finish. | Feature photo: David Scarola

Paddling Magazine: Where did you first hear about the Crossing?

Scott Johnson: I was at a paddleboard race called the Carolina Cup in Wilmington, North Carolina. I was hyping up some friends who were racing, while my wife toured the expo. She met Piper’s Angels. She found me and said, “You have to talk to these people. They’re insane. They do a race from the Bahamas to Florida—and it’s all for cystic fibrosis.”

I was like, “Yeah, that’s pretty crazy.” But in my mind, I thought: “That is just my kind of crazy.”

PM: Who is Piper?

SJ: Piper is the daughter of Travis Suit. He founded Piper’s Angels—the nonprofit behind the Crossing for Cystic Fibrosis—when she was diagnosed with CF at age four. When I first met Travis and told him my story, it hit him in a profound way. When I was born in 1972, the average life expectancy for someone with CF was two. I told him having CF isn’t a death sentence. Miracles can happen. And when I looked up, he was crying. In meeting me, he saw what was possible for children with CF.

PM: What challenges does paddling with borrowed lungs present?

SJ: I’m good at maintaining a steady pace and can go all day, which is why I’ve gravitated to endurance events. But I’m not very fast. Anytime speed gets introduced into the mix, my whole body just falls apart.

On the day of the Crossing in 2022, there was no wind. Usually, the prevailing winds give you some help across. The water was so calm, it felt like an oven. My team realized we wouldn’t make the cutoff time at our pace of 3.5 miles per hour and would have to double our speed. I knew I couldn’t maintain it, so I had to call it quits around mile 43. I do a lot of crazy stuff, but I never put my health in such jeopardy it might end my life.

PM: Why do you push yourself?

SJ: The progression is you can do longer, you challenge yourself, and you keep going. I push the lungs I have to the absolute limit because it is a gift I don’t want to waste.

PM: When are you attempting the Crossing again?

SJ: The Crossing is much harder than any Ironman I’ve ever done. With an Ironman, the distances are extreme, but there are three different disciplines. With the Crossing, it’s just paddling, so you have to be mentally prepared. There’s a saying in the endurance community: you learn more from your failures than your victories. I finished the Crossing as part of a relay team in 2023, but I’m going back in 2025 to try and do it solo.

Watch the documentary film Double or Nothing on YouTube.

Cover of Issue 72 of Paddling MagazineThis article was first published in Issue 72 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Scott Johnson (third from front) with his team in the Crossing in 2023. The Crossing begins at midnight and takes most participants between 12 and 15 hours to finish. | Feature photo: David Scarola

 

Astral Releases 15th Limited Edition PFD In Collaboration With Whitewater Legend Dave Fusilli

Oct. 10, 2024, Seattle, Wash. – Astral is proud to introduce its latest GreenJacket LE in collaboration with whitewater legend Dave Fusilli. This limited edition jacket is about enjoying the river with everyone, rolling deep, and being supportive of each other’s dreams, similar to a wolf pack. Featuring motifs of wolves, waterfalls, and the “Brown Claw,” this is Astral’s 15th limited edition life jacket since 2009. The LE collection represents a unique effort to push the limits of innovation at the intersection of performance, design, and creativity alongside athletes, artists, and nonprofits.

This collaboration GreenJacket LE, available in a Demshitz Purple colorway, is inspired by Fusilli’s desire to celebrate the whitewater community, who have supported his journey and goals as a kayaker. “This LE represents my journey as a whitewater kayaker,” said Fusilli. “The wolf explains a lot about how I became the paddler I am today. I couldn’t have done it without the help and support from my pack of friends. Do not underestimate what just a little bit of help can provide for someone who is motivated.”

Fusilli adds, “The star shines on the mountains, where snow melts into the rivers that run through the valley. After such a journey, which many of us kayakers can relate to, you probably have a change in your perspective. Such great experiences may make you see things differently, which is represented by the third eye of the wolf. I think it’s so important to try to see things from the other side.”

Alaska-based artist and pilot, Meg Smith adds that “When Dave called me to design this LE, I was more than hyped! To create a meaningful piece of wearable art for a longtime friend who has done so much for a sport I love has been an honor and one of my favorite projects.” The LE is Smith’s second collaborative LE design with Astral. “I’ve always viewed Dave as being part of a Wolfpack and him being an Alpha. Demshitz always rolled in a posse. No matter when yinz have come and gone through the wolfpack, yinz are always family to him. I love that about Dave.”

The GreenJacket LE available in Demshitz Purple shares the same platform, architecture, and features as the industry-leading GreenJacket Rescue PFD. It is available online at astraldesigns.com and at select retailers.

Astral will donate 5% of online sales of its latest GreenJacket LE to RISE Erwin, a non-profit directly benefiting the rural communities at the intersection of the Nolichucky River and Appalachian Trail in Southern Appalachia that are beginning a long road to recovery after Hurricane Helene.

For more information on Astral, please visit www.astraldesigns.com.

ABOUT ASTRAL

Established in 2002, Astral designs high performance wilderness equipment created in the least toxic, lowest impact ways. Built on decades of experience and experimentation, Astral has assembled athletes, artists, and craftspeople to build the cleanest, most beautiful, and highest performing gear. Astral has significantly reduced toxic PVC foam from the PFD industry, invented breathable life jackets, won awards for their paradigm changing footwear designs, and developed the stickiest rubber ever worn on wet rock. Visit www.astraldesigns.com for more information.

Man Paddles 46 Miles In Giant Pumpkin For World Record

Gary Kristensen after setting record for longest journey by pumpkin paddling
Gary Kristensen after setting record for longest journey by pumpkin paddling | image courtesy of Kyle Kristensen

This October, Gary Kristensen grew his own boat—a giant pumpkin. Kristensen then went on to paddle 46 miles on the Columbia River securing the Guinness World Record for longest journey by pumpkin boat paddling in his pumpkin named “The Punky Loafster”.

“I’ve been growing pumpkins since 2011 and I’ve been paddling pumpkins in the local pumpkin regatta since 2013,” Kristensen said. 

The Guinness World Record for longest journey by pumpkin boat paddling

On the morning of October 12, Kristensen embarked on his pumpkin odyssey with the goal of breaking the then current Guinness World Record for longest journey by pumpkin boat paddling. The then-current record was 39.17 miles held by Steve Kueny on the Missouri River set on October 8th, 2023. 

Breaking the longest paddle in a pumpkin record has been on Kristensen’s mind for a while. 

Gary Kristensen paddles his pumpkin boat on the Columbia River to set world record
Gary Kristensen paddles his pumpkin boat on the Columbia River | Image courtesy Temira Amelia Lital

“There was a lady in our giant pumpkin growing club who set the record many years ago, somewhere around 16 miles I believe,” said Kristensen. “I’ve always thought it’d be kind of cool to do that. I had an extra pumpkin in my yard this year that looked like it would be good for a long journey, so it felt like the right time to go for it.”

Armed with a sturdy looking pumpkin, a double-bladed paddle, safety equipment and a support team including an old friend in a pontoon, Kristensen decided to make his attempt on October 12, 2024. 

Challenges of pumpkin boat paddling: from high winds to high tides

Kristensen’s adventure had a rocky start. Initially, he struggled to average two miles per hour and was then forced off the water temporarily by high winds.

“We were supposed to have a 15-mile-per-hour tailwind, what ended up happening was a 35-mile-per-hour tailwind. The waves were crazy big. We ended up having to stop only three hours and 45 minutes into the trip to wait out the waves on the beach. Water had been coming over the side of the pumpkin, almost sank it.”

Gary Kristensen after setting record for longest journey by pumpkin paddling
Gary Kristensen after setting record for longest journey by pumpkin paddling | image courtesy of Kyle Kristensen

Landing to wait out the wind was one challenge; once Kristensen’s paddle resumed, landing in the dark to rest proved another. Rather than land, Kristensen opted to paddle his pumpkin boat for almost 17 hours straight, his friend in a pontoon nearby to keep him company and for additional safety in the dark.

“Pumpkins are fragile. If you hit a rock it could be game over. I didn’t want to risk damaging the pumpkin so that leg was 16 hours and 45 minutes,” Kristensen explained. 

As soon as they could see well enough to safely land the pumpkin on a sandy beach Kristensen laid down on the pontoon boat to try and sleep. Kristensen slept for only about an hour, waking to find that the tide had gone out and his pumpkin boat was now high and dry.

“We spent like three hours trying to dig the pumpkin off the beach, where it was stuck, and finally got it back in the water to start paddling again,” Kristensen explained.

Ultimately, Kristensen would paddle a total of 26 hours to go 45.96 miles by way of paddling a pumpkin, securing the world record. 

Paddling a pumpkin boat versus a traditional kayak

Paddling a pumpkin boat for 46 miles is no walk in the park. To prepare for the trip Kristensen trained by kayaking every weekend and running every day. While kayaking, he would put pool noodles around the kayak for additional resistance, but according to Kristensen it is still not anything like paddling a pumpkin.

Inside Gary Kristensen's record-setting pumpkin boat
Inside Gary Kristensen’s record-setting pumpkin boat | Image courtesy Gary Kristensen

“The pumpkin goes nowhere,” Kristensen explained. “It feels like when you pull the paddle back nothing happens.”

Kristensen’s pumpkin started out at 1224 pounds before he carved it; after carving, the pumpkin boat still weighed 950 pounds. For reference, the typical kayak weighs anywhere from 35-70 pounds. 

Inside the pumpkin boat, Kristensen simply put down a yoga mat and alternated between sitting and kneeling throughout the duration of his paddle.

What makes a good pumpkin to paddle?

All of which begs the question—what exactly makes a good pumpkin to paddle?

“The more it looks like a kayak and is naturally shaped like a kayak, the better,” Kristensen explained.

According to Kristensen, the pumpkins that make the best boats are pointy on both ends, symmetrical and have smooth skin. Kristensen grows his giant pumpkins on a piece of plywood with foam on top rather than dirt to help keep the bottom flat for a more stable ride. 

Gary Kristensen's pumpkin boat and support team
Gary Kristensen’s pumpkin boat and support team | Image courtesy Temira Amelia Lital

In addition, it also helps if the stem and the blossom of the pumpkin are level, meaning the ribs of the pumpkin would run parallel to the beam of the pumpkin boat, and the pumpkin is pointy on both ends, almost like a bow and stern. 

An all-around paddling adventure 

“It started out to break the record but at the end it was just a cool adventure,” Kristensen said. 

In his potentially record-breaking pumpkin journey, Kristensen also reconnected with an old friend from high school, who drove the pontoon that trailed Kristensen for the journey and proved instrumental as a support team member.

“We had put lights on the boat and the wires started catching on fire. A seat and a lifejacket caught on fire and he took care of that and fixed it,” Kristensen explained. “He was also the one that ended up doing most of the digging to get the pumpkin unstuck.”

Kristensen is not done with the Guinness World Record for longest journey by pumpkin boat paddling. Next autumn, he plans to go farther, longer, and hopefully break his own record. 

The Real Problem With Paddlesports

person stands on beach with arms outstretched at remote coastal campsite with kayak, tent and pack nearby
Why we’re here. | Feature photo: Ryan Creary

I met Shannon Litzenberger flying home from the world’s largest consumer paddlesports show. She was returning from a conference at a remote island retreat center.

Litzenberger is an award-winning contemporary dancer and choreographer. Cool. But she’s also a freelance strategist, policy thinker and leadership developer.

“If our collective task is to imagine and co-create a better world for future generations, what role does culture play in this project?” she asked me.

I shrugged. I hadn’t thought about the culture of the paddlesports business in a long time.

“The culture we abide by today—including the stories we live by, our normative behaviors, rituals, metaphors and codes of belonging—has produced the world we live in now,” she added.

I walked off flight AC1900 wondering how Litzenberger’s ideas on a culture of collective thriving and leadership could work in our world. If Litzenberger attended the Paddlesports Trade Coalition Colab in Oklahoma City, what leadership capacities would she help us develop to navigate the many intersecting crises we face today?

The real problem with paddlesports

I helped curate the opening panel discussion at the PTC Colab. I asked longtime paddling industry professionals what they thought our greatest successes and failures had been in the first 50 years. What should we keep doing? What should we leave behind?

I realized that during the early years, the culture of the paddlesports industry wasn’t too far from paddling culture. We were creating an industry, one new paddler at a time. Driving sales, as we say these days, went like this: Meet people at the water with a trailer full of boat and gear samples. Take them down a river, across a lake or along an ocean shoreline. As Litzenberger would say, “These sensory capacities—attuning with the world around us, paying attention so we might discover beauty, awe and inspiration—is what helps us all understand how to be in relationship with ourselves and our world in a good way.”

Boat orders wrote themselves.

person stands on beach with arms outstretched at remote coastal campsite with kayak, tent and pack nearby
Why we’re here. | Feature photo: Ryan Creary

For years, industry leaders gathered in Salt Lake City for Outdoor Retailer’s Summer Market. They didn’t gather around a table, per se, but there were enough carpet conversations among company owners to develop new ideas and plant seeds for the industry’s future.

Between sales meetings, fiercely independent-minded, highly competitive leaders of the top paddlesports brands and scrappy startup entrepreneurs discussed industry issues. Yet, the core culture remained virtually unchanged.

Today, we have MBAs parachuting in to maximize returns for shareholders or plum profits for a quick flip of the company. Companies who are experts in plastics manufacturing look at boats as new line items in revenue forecast spreadsheets. Meanwhile, the rest of the industry is forced to adapt, or feel like they should adapt, a business culture that never had any business in the business of paddlesports.

Selling more was a by-product of sharing what we all loved with more people. Investors understood the connection to the water and believed what we believed. Twenty years ago, nobody was hired into sales or marketing roles because they were expected to double revenue in two years. They were hired because they understood what paddlesports meant to customers.

“As soon as we foreground industry and background the experiences we are trying to bring to life, we screwed up.”

— Shannon Litzenberger

Revlon’s co-founder Charles Revson used to say, “In the factory we make cosmetics; in the store we sell hope.” The day the beauty industry stops selling hope is the day consumers start asking why they are spending $40 on tiny tubes of wax, oil and pigment.

“As soon as we foreground industry and background the experiences we are trying to bring to life, we screwed up,” says Litzenberger.

I don’t know what kind of paradigm-shifting changes will be tabled at the inaugural Paddlesports Trade Coalition event. But I do know we aren’t selling as many boats and boards as we were during the bonkers years of the pandemic.

Participation during lockdown grew because people connected with themselves and the natural world. And they bought boats, boards and all the fixings. They bought everything we could make. They didn’t care about color. They didn’t haggle on price.

Litzenberger asked me, “How would the paddling industry organize itself differently if all that was needed were simple invitations to experience beauty, awe and a connection to the elements?”

I don’t know how exactly, but the who behind any paradigm-shifting cultural change is easier to find. You’ll find the answer stuck to the bumpers of station wagons and pickup trucks anywhere there’s water.

“The world is run by those who show up.”

Scott MacGregor is the founder of Rapid Media.

cover of Paddling Business 2024This article was first published in the 2024 issue of Paddling Business. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Why we’re here. | Feature photo: Ryan Creary

 

Expedition Torngat

A polar bear tastes the air when he sees us, trying to get our scent
A polar bear tastes the air when he sees us, trying to get our scent. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf

Instinct tells me to turn around. Urgently.

The worst-case scenario is a polar bear right behind me, I think, not believing it as I write in my diary by the fire. I look over my shoulder, and two piercingly black eyes in a creamy white face meet mine. For a moment, I wonder if I am dreaming. Twenty meters away, dinner-plate-sized paws pad slowly but purposefully toward me.

Expedition Torngat

Northern beginnings

“Polar bears, polar bears and polar bears! That’s what you need to worry about,” said Nigel and Kristen Foster, the last people to kayak this route 20 years ago. My partner JF Marleau and I had pulled out of this trip four years previously when a group of four canoeists who had spent two weeks on the coast told us they saw three polar bears within 10 meters of their tent at night. Now, reinforced with a team of four, we are kayaking 1,000 kilometers through the remote Canadian Arctic, carrying food for 30 days between two isolated communities.

Our route follows the east side of Quebec’s Ungava Bay, home to the world’s largest tidal range, and a southern trace alongside Labrador’s dramatic Torngat Mountains. Inuit have traveled through this area for centuries, and many still hunt here. Polar bears thrive thanks to plentiful seals. A nearby pupping area fattens them in shortening, climate-changed winters to survive the lean, ice-free summers. Hundreds migrate to the northern tip of Nunavut and Labrador at this time of year, which is exactly where we are heading.

JF holds up a polar bear skull at the start of our trip
JF holds up a polar bear skull at the start of our trip. | Photo: Frank Wolf

JF and I meet Larry Chomyn and Frank Wolf in Montreal in early June and fly north to Kuujjuaq, where we jam into a rickety 12-seater. Boxes, bags and a kid’s bike cram the tiny space between the friendly pilots and us. A roar of engines lifts us airborne, and I peer down at an endless plateau of bare grey rock dotted with pockets of scrubby green vegetation and thousands of lakes. An Inuit man in front of me plays Candy Crush on his phone until neat rows of colorful box-shaped houses appear below. We land in the isolated village of Kanjiqsujuak, Quebec’s northernmost settlement.

Polar bear watch

It is sunny the next morning, but the sea is nowhere to be seen. The tide tables say it will be back at 1 p.m. In Ungava Bay, the ocean rises and falls the height of a six-story building each day, disappearing up to 10 kilometers away. Sometimes patience is the better part of valor.

When water oozes under our fully loaded kayaks at noon, we take a team selfie before pushing off into frigid water. Butterflies are partying in my stomach at the unknowns ahead.

The author sets off into a colorful sunrise in Ungava Bay
The author sets off into a colorful sunrise in Ungava Bay. | Photo: Frank Wolf

“How low is my kayak in the water?” Larry asks. Two large drybags are strapped onto his back deck, and I can barely see his seam. I hope the 15 oatmeal breakfasts in one of them will survive; there are no villages or resupply points for the next month.

Enthusiasm, excitement and pent-up energy power us forward against a brisk headwind and a steep, choppy sea. When the current turns against us, Larry and I cut close to the rocky shore while JF and Frank take the direct line across a bay. We don’t have a plan beyond moving north. It is our first trip together, and no one wants to impose their leadership.

Rocky vistas give way to vast muddy plains as the tide drops, forcing us to paddle farther from the glacier-smoothed hillocks of the treeless tundra. My paddle hits the bottom repeatedly, and it feels like the sea is racing to leave us stranded. We debate camp options while the wind blows us backward. Paddling toward what we think is a gravel beach proves to be a rock shelf fronted by a two-kilometer-wide boulder-strewn plain.

After scanning the map, we head to an island. Scrambling and slipping over wet boulders is the warm-up for a 400-meter leg-burning steep, rocky ramp. After seven round trips of gear hauling, we pitch camp by ancient stone circles at the flattish summit. Remote trips like this are hard work on and off the water. It’s not always fun, but I relish the unbeatable feeling of being physically and mentally spent. Now I have time to scan the rocky plateau stretching away as far as I can see. Tan lower slopes turn to carpets of black lichen above the high tide line.

That night, JF wakes me for watch. His nose is like an ice pack as he kisses my cheek. Shivering, I layer up and pull my neck buff up over my mouth. It is midnight; I have two hours on lookout.

A bright orange line along the horizon sits below layers of slate grey clouds. Our tent silhouettes are obvious, but I worry a bear could creep up on us. I sit on our one camp chair under a flapping tarp, shoulders hunched against the cold, two shotguns at my feet. One contains six shots of lethal ammo, and the other contains bear bangers. Grabbing a couple of lichen-crusted rocks to pound together, I complete my defense. I am surprised to find peace and enjoyment in the alone time.

A new rhythm

We shift our day to the tidal rhythm, rising at 2 a.m. to launch nearer to high water. As the water level drops throughout the day, reefs force us ever outward, and we go around islands rather than risk dead ends.

After a week, a barely rippled sea under a pink sky dotted with cotton wool clouds welcomes the new day. We should make quick progress, but ice floes are common and photos slow us. Promising myself I am done with photos, another glinting, sculpted iceberg appears. We are approaching the northeast tip of continental Canada and drawing nearer to the broken-up ice pack. Onshore gusts are like opening the freezer door, cold air rushing through me. I wiggle my numb toes constantly and regret not bringing more warm clothes. A harp seal pops up its round, grey head behind JF, reminding us this is prime polar bear habitat. Small bergs look just like bear heads and we study them carefully.

Steep, rugged mountains line both sides of the breathtakingly beautiful McLellan Strait, which leads to the east coast. The following day, we approach the ice-choked narrow channel with anticipation, knowing the currents fly through at up to eight knots. Progress is almost impossible. Icebergs of all shapes and sizes fly toward us, and continuing would be like cycling the wrong way up a motorway. Pulling our kayaks up a rocky beach to wait out the tide, we explore a wide terrace.

Farther back is a bottle-shaped depression hewn from the ground. I gasp, recognizing the outline of an ancient sod house—an Inuit shelter. Walking gently inside, the remains of earthen walls reach up to my waist, their musty smell filling my nostrils. Reaching out, I can almost touch all three sides. I marvel at how people survived and thrived in such a small space in such a harsh world.

Some of our friends think we are brave for paddling in this cold, windy, polar bear-ridden land, but we are merely passing through with all our food, warm clothes and technology. The Inuit quietly lived here for centuries, taking gifts of land and sea when offered, hunkering down and eking out in times of scarcity. I aspire to such wisdom in my more contrived wilderness experiences and struggles.

Frank snaps a photo of the first polar bear we saw
Frank snaps a photo of the first polar bear we saw. | Photo: Justine Curgenven

Place of the spirits

We see our first bear the next morning. Larry points to Almaty Island, a few hundred meters away. The bear is sauntering purposefully over the rock, oblivious to us. I am struck by its size and majesty. Frank paddles in for a closer look. I follow behind, drawn magnetically to the powerful predator. About 100 meters away, we stop. What long leg fur, I think, like hairy flares. Finally, the bear sees us and turns, his nose held high and tongue out to taste us. He is imposing.

“It’s a male, probably four or five years old,” Frank shares. He pulls out his phone and enters the details on a bear tracking app he contributes to.

We see bears almost every other day after that. The next one is way high up on a ridge. It turns onto its belly to slide down a snow patch like a kid. I giggle. He moves on and disappears from view. We paddle around a corner looking for him, and a small ice floe catches my eye. It doesn’t move. Two black eyes and a shiny black nose give him away. A few days later, approaching a fjord called Bear Gut, another polar bear swims toward us, lifting his nose high to smell us.

After we pass him, I stop to film, and the bear swims around behind me, a few boat lengths away. As I concentrate on keeping my camera steady, he drops his head under the water and disappears. I hear Frank say, “aquatic stalking,” and I strongly sense I don’t want to find out what that means first-hand. I curse my slowly retracting camera lens before thrusting my paddle deep and pulling as hard as I can. We don’t see the bear again.

A polar bear tastes the air when he sees us, trying to get our scent
A polar bear tastes the air when he sees us, trying to get our scent. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf

The Torngats take their name from the Inuktitut word Tongait, meaning place of the spirits. I feel reverent amongst the steep, towering peaks that reach skyward, connected to the ancient energy. Sharp flanks and sinuous ridgelines are exposed, giving a rawness to these ancient rock piles. Every imperfection is laid bare like we’re seeing the skeleton of the Earth herself.

Land of the white bear

We are three-quarters of the way through our trip when the polar bear sneaks up on me. I have become complacent, focusing too much on diary writing and not looking around often enough. By the time I leap from my chair, the bear is two meters from me. The flare gun is at my feet, within reach, but I dare not look down to get it. Taking my focus off this bear could be my last mistake. Instead, I shout, “Go away! Go away! Go away!” The bear stops, his eyes locked on mine.

My brain whirrs. Can I grab the flare gun without looking down? Can I use the fire behind me? The two shotguns are five meters away—too far. There’s no time to regret my lack of preparation. I am strangely aware of the beauty and closeness of this magnificent creature while fearing for my life. I shout continuously: “Go away! Go away!”

The bear takes a slow step toward me. Instinct takes over, and I grab the nearest object—the lightweight camp chair I was sitting on. Holding one metal leg, I thrust toward the bear, swinging it wildly. “Go away! Go away!”

One of the campsites that a polar bear visited
One of the campsites that a polar bear visited. | Photo: Frank Wolf

The bear lunges backward, moving his head away from impact. Even with the seriousness of the situation, it’s almost funny such a huge, powerful creature is scared of a one-pound chair. Still, I’m merely buying time. I’m desperately searching for my next move when a loud bang rings through the air. I later find out it’s Larry, quick to get out of the tent and fire a warning shot. The bear turns and bolts, knocking over the tripod of paddles holding our water filter. Relief floods me, and I lower my eyes and grab the flare gun.

Holding one metal leg, I thrust toward the bear, swinging it wildly. “Go away! Go away!”

As I look up, I see the bear halt, turn around and start back toward me. I point the flare gun at him. He’s five meters away but not paying me any attention this time. He starts sniffing the paddles. There’s another bang, and the bear bounds away 30 meters. I fire my flare just above his head, hoping to reinforce the warning, but it only seems to remind him of unfinished business. Before the flare even hits the ground, the bear stops, turning back around, eyes locked on me again. Head down, accelerating in my direction.

I spin around, desperately searching for another flare or another gun. I see JF behind me with a shotgun. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of white and whip around. The bear has changed tack; he’s off to my side and charging at Larry and Frank, who are standing by their tent. My heart lurches. Frank doesn’t have a gun and runs behind the tent. The bear is a leap away from our teammates. Larry holds his ground and fires a bear banger with a loud crack. Stopping at the last possible moment, the bear U-turns rapidly and charges away over the tundra.

This time, he doesn’t come back.

JF poses besides a polar bear scratch pad at the former Inuit village of Killiniq
JF poses besides a polar bear scratch pad at the former Inuit village of Killiniq. | Photo: Frank Wolf

After checking in with each other and ensuring the bear has gone, the others return to bed, and I am left alone again by the fire to finish my watch. Heavy feelings swirl with adrenaline: relief, excitement, guilt and resolve.

A few mornings later, we discuss the close call. There are many lessons. As the trip wore on without incident, our tents got too far from each other and we didn’t put our fence around them, expecting the person on watch to see a bear.

From now on, we will put the tents closer together and always use the bear fence. Each tent will have a gun, and we will be on high alert at all times. I’m happy everyone walked away from the incident, but I can’t shake a dull ache in my stomach, a heavy guilt that my inattention risked everyone’s lives, including the bear’s.

As we draw closer to our endpoint in Nain, everything feels tamer. In the Okak Islands, JF excitedly shouts “trees” and points at a few pockets of stunted conifers. Later, valleys are covered in lush green grass and bushes. It gets warmer; I no longer need a hot water bottle during night watch. I wander around in my thermals to dry them, realizing thin merino is no match for the probing proboscis of the suddenly plentiful mosquitos. The hardiest follow us hundreds of meters out to sea.

Cruising beside cliffs, the sleek black back of a minke whale emerges; the graceful arc of the fin is gone as quickly as it appeared. We see more black bears than polar bears, sometimes three in a day, their dishevelled fur highlighted by the sun. I notice how tiny they look in comparison.

Polar bear tracks in the garnet-rich sand of Iron Strand
Polar bear tracks in the garnet-rich sand of Iron Strand. | Photo: Frank Wolf

After 28 days, we start our last five-kilometer crossing to Nain on glassy seas. After so long with only the wind and waves, the piercing buzz of a helicopter jars my ears. It’s strange to be back in the bustle of even a small community. In four weeks, we’ve seen 10 polar bears, 14 black bears, dozens of caribou, a walrus and just five people. There aren’t many places in the world so isolated.

JF’s definition of a good adventure is one where we’re part of the food chain, and this one surely qualifies. I just hope never again to be quite so close to being the dish of the day.

Justine Curgenven is an award-winning filmmaker, a sea kayak guide, and a lover of wilderness and laughter. Her ambitious expeditions have placed her among the world’s most legendary paddlers. Find her online at cackletv.com.

Cover of the Summer 2024 issue of Paddling Magazine, Issue 72This article was first published in Issue 72 of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

A polar bear tastes the air when he sees us, trying to get our scent. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf

 

The Mustang Life Jacket Reinventing The Inflatable PFD

man immersed in water beside his paddleboard while wearing a Mustang Khimera inflatable PFD
Type 2 fun immersion. | Feature photo: Mustang Survival

For decades, Mustang Survival was the brand of life jacket you’d expect to find hanging in the boathouse at the cottage, stowed on a commercial fishing vessel, or aboard a Coast Guard icebreaker. The company’s life jackets and insulated floater coats were utilitarian, without the flash and features of other brands.

With a lineage stretching back over 50 years, it’s no surprise the familiar seahorse logo was most often associated with “frumpy, orange and safe,” a historical description acknowledged by Tyler Bazant, the company’s product designer for professional, defense and aerospace.

Mustang Survival Khimera PFD in grey
Mustang Khimera PFD. | Image: Mustang Survival

Yet, despite being designed for first responders, Mustang’s technology has been steadily making its way into the hands of everyday paddlers. As the company expands its offerings beyond commercial use, paddlers are appreciating the advanced safety features and innovation packed into Mustang’s gear, including unique life jackets such as the Khimera, a dual-flotation PFD combining foam and inflatable technology. First released in 2019, the Khimera evolved from the specialized demands of rescue swimmers seeking a vest that maximized mobility but didn’t skimp on floatation when needed. In short, it captured the same sweet spot demanded by standup paddleboarders and sea kayakers. The latter adoption marked a turning point for Mustang Survival.

“We woke up and realized we were a brand, not an engineering, design and manufacturing company,” says Bazant, who has worked with Mustang for over 20 years. “We realized we had this legacy lineage—this journey—and we’ve been leaning into it the last five years. Part of that has been focusing more on water sports. The Khimera is a product that’s born from that refocus.”

Coastal professionals dressed in Mustang Survival gear on boat covered with snow in the 1980s.
The pros donned in Mustang Survival gear in the 1980s. | Photo: Mustang Survival
Ad from the Mustang Survival archives featuring Floater Coats on man and woman.
Vintage Floater Coat ad. | Image: Mustang Survival

A life jacket company emerges out of spite

Mustang Survival was created “almost out of spite,” says Bazant. In the late 1960s, founder Irv Davies manufactured down jackets from a facility on Water Street in Vancouver, BC. He experimented with foam to cut the cost of down insulation. According to Bazant, the vendor selling him the foam said if you fell in the water wearing one of Davies’ jackets you’d float. The tease was a lightbulb moment for Davies. And so, the Mustang Floatjacket—a hybrid life jacket and insulated parka that’s standard issue for anyone working around icy water, from commercial fishermen on subarctic waters to oil rig workers, was born. “They still call them ‘Mustangs’ in the [Canadian] Coast Guard,” says Bazant, “and we still make them.”

Davies’ invention came about around the same time floatation devices were becoming standard for all boaters. Historically, “life was cheap,” wrote C.J. Brooks, a Navy captain and physician in the Canadian Forces who passed recently in October of 2024. “The drowning of a sailor or a fisherman was considered an occupational hazard.”

Upwards of 40,000 officers and passengers on Royal Navy vessels lost their lives in World War II because a personal issue life jacket did not exist, Brooks writes. It wasn’t until the 1960s that the U.S. Coast Guard started emphasizing the strong correlation between drowning deaths and lack of life jackets. Movement by the Coast Guard in the 1960s and ‘70s to legislate life jackets—and distinguish between life jackets (vests with a self-righting capacity) and more streamlined yet buoyant PFDs—kickstarted a global trend. Mustang Survival came along at the right moment.

Diagram of how the original Mustang Floater Coats worked.
Archived diagram breaks down what made the Floater Coat a success. | Image: Mustang Survival

Finding the path to paddlers

Mustang’s roots are written into Bazant’s job title—professional, defense and aerospace. From its inception, the brand made a name for itself amongst professionals working in high-risk aquatic environments, including the Canadian and U.S. Coast Guard and military, law enforcement, Navy SEALS, and NASA. Research and development, including multiple iterations of prototypes, were par for the course. With so much testing and refinement, final products were rightfully recognized as gold standards of innovation. It was a tidy (and no doubt lucrative) space to occupy. But aside from clunky life jackets and drab PFDs that still turn up in cottage country, Bazant says Mustang missed out on key segments of recreational users—namely, paddlers.

“The nerd side of the business is very deep and long,” he laughs.

The tide began to change with the advent of inflatable life jackets. In the 1990s, Billabong, a popular surfing brand, commissioned Mustang to create streamlined, inflatable floatation bladders to help Hawaiian big wave surfer Shane Dorian survive epic wipeouts. Mustang engineers became recognized for their precise and durable radio-frequency welded seams. That was nearly three decades ago, about the same time the company created one of the first inflatable waist belts for paddlesports, which was met with mixed reception.

 

“Paddlesports retailers looked at it, and they said, ‘What do we do with this?’” recalls Bazant. However, this “horrible bomb in the recreational sector” was embraced by the U.S. Navy, Bazant adds. “They asked us to add attachment points for a light and sea dye and made it the standard abandoned vessel pouch on every boat in the fleet.”

Fast-forward to the 2010s, and Mustang’s waist belt inflatable became popular with the expanding number of standup paddleboarders. Currently, the brand manufactures a pair of waist belt inflatables, including the tiny Minimalist and compact Essentialist belt packs, both of which provide up to 16.9 pounds of buoyancy and are approved by the U.S. Coast Guard and Transport Canada.

4 angles of the Mustang Survival Khimera PFD in red
Images: Mustang Survival

The Khimera ushers in the hybrid inflatable evolution

Despite their compact size and proven performance, inflatables can be a stretch for paddlers more familiar with foam PFDs. Enter the slim-fitting, PFD-shaped dual-floatation Khimera. Like most Mustang products, it has professional origins, starting as a rescue swimmer vest for first responders in helicopter rescues.

“They need to wear life jackets but don’t want it to be bulky because it’s hard to see when they’re going down the wire,” explains Dave Abt, the head of Mustang’s public safety and industrial business department. “The solution was to create a vest [known as the MRV170] that doesn’t restrict movement and provides additional floatation when it’s really needed. It was and still is the only vest in the market of its kind.”

man prepares to launch inflatable paddleboard while wearing a Khimera inflatable PFD
Expedition paddlers such as Norm Hann choose the Khimera for its lightweight, dual flotation design. | Photo: Mustang Survival

For the Khimera, “The technology stayed the same with small changes and some features removed for the rec market,” notes Abt. Mustang scaled back the flotation to 7.5 pounds of foam and 13 pounds of manually deployed inflation, which was plenty to achieve U.S. Coast Guard and Transport Canada certification.

Canadian expedition paddlers Norm Hann and Bruce Kirkby chose Khimeras for their daunting 50-kilometer crossing of the Hecate Strait, from British Columbia’s northern coast to Haida Gwaii, in June 2023. “We’re huge fans,” says Kirkby. “It’s a lightweight, dual-flotation PFD that we’ve used on expeditions, training and travel. The Khimera weighs almost nothing, which means no additional strain on the back, especially during long days. The dual floatation offers serious protection in all sea conditions.”

As much as Bazant hopes Mustang makes big strides in the paddlesports sector, he’s certain it won’t be at the expense of the brand’s emphasis on safety and innovation. He looks forward to more game-changing products like the Khimera, which bridge the gap between professional and recreational users, and employ high-tech and dependable air bladders to make safety as streamlined and comfortable as possible. “We’ve never been the cool brand,” he says. “We’re the reliable brand.”

“When the chips are down, pros come to us to use our equipment,” Bazant continues. “When you work in this space, it quickly becomes apparent performance is all that matters. You either deliver, or you don’t.”


Type 2 fun immersion. | Feature photo: Mustang Survival

 

Paddling Magazine Wins People’s Choice Award for Best Print Publication at Outdoor Media Summit

EIC Kaydi Pyette with the People's Choice Award for Best Print Publication.

Paddling Magazine is stoked to announce its win of the People’s Choice Award for Best Print Publication at the Outdoor Media Awards, held during the Outdoor Media Summit from October 14 to 16, 2024, in Missoula, Montana. Competing against legacy publications like Outside and Backpacker, this recognition underscores Paddling Magazine’s dedicated audience and excellence in outdoor media.

A huge thanks to our readers who voted for us and made this win possible!

Editor-in-Chief Kaydi Pyette attended the event to accept the award on behalf of the Paddling Magazine team. “We’re incredibly grateful to our loyal readers, whose passion for paddling continues to inspire us,” said Pyette. “This award reflects the strength and enthusiasm of our community, and we are committed to continuing to deliver the stories that entertain, inform and inspire our readers to paddle forever.”

This is Paddling Magazine’s third major award in 2024, after receiving the Best Magazine: Special Interest and the Grand Prix awards at the National Magazine Awards in June.

“We’re incredibly grateful to our loyal readers, whose passion for paddling continues to inspire us.”

In addition to receiving the award, Pyette also spoke about the evolution and endurance of enthusiast print media on a panel discussion alongside editors from Ori Magazine and Adventure Journal. The panel explored how niche publications are navigating the digital age, keeping audiences engaged with compelling content and transforming how readers interact with media today.

The three-day Outdoor Media Summit offered a packed schedule of events, combining one-on-one meetings, breakout sessions and industry discussions. It kicked off with a product showcase, where participants visited brands including Old Town, Simms, NRS and Eddyline to preview the latest 2025 products. (We’ll tell you all about those products as soon as their embargoes lift!)

On day two, Field & Stream Editor-in-Chief Colin Kearns delivered an inspiring keynote detailing the revival of the 129-year-old print magazine and shared strategies for staying relevant and sharp in a competitive media landscape.

The annual summit serves as a platform for connecting outdoor media professionals, discussing industry trends and celebrating achievements, like Paddling Magazine’s award.

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If you’re not already a print magazine subscriber, you can dive deeper into the world of paddling with a subscription to Paddling Magazine. If you’re passionate about paddling adventures and value top-notch storytelling, subscribing is the perfect way to ensure you never miss out on the exclusive content of our biannual magazine. From thrilling expedition stories to expert tips and the latest gear reviews—Paddling Magazine is crafted for enthusiasts by enthusiasts.

Subscribe now and let us bring the adventure to your doorstep. If you love paddling, you’ll love Paddling Magazine.

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