Company Profile: Kokatat

Stories
News & Events

Photo courtesy of Kokatat — Blue Puma circa 1984

This profile originally appeared in Rapid magazine.

Every cloud has a silver lining. Even if that cloud is a powerful, global sports brand suing your struggling start-up for trademark infringement. In the case of Steve O’Meara, the shimmer within the storm was Kokatat.

When the natural resources student from San Francisco’s Bay area arrived in the small coastal community of Arcata, California, to attend Humboldt State University in the late 1960s, he knew he’d found a special place. The keen outdoorsman could spend his free time kayaking northern California’s wild coast and rivers, trekking among the redwoods or climbing in the nearby Klamath Mountains and Coast Ranges.

When he graduated in 1971, O’Meara found the only thing lacking in Arcata was prospective employment. Determined to stay, the enterprising 23-year-old scraped together the capital to start a small outdoor equipment retail store catering to backpackers and cyclists. It wasn’t long before he discovered that the products he wanted to sell simply weren’t available. Recognizing a need, O’Meara plunged ahead with blind optimism.

“I didn’t have much business background and I definitely didn’t have any production background,” he recalls, “how to make the stuff was learned on the fly.”

With his then-business partner Chuck Kennedy, O’Meara purchased a couple sewing machines, started scrounging raw materials from local suppliers and branded his new company Blue Puma. Operating out of the back of their retail store, O’Meara and Kennedy manufactured high-end, made-to-order down sleeping bags, parkas and bivy sacs.

In 1976, the men were among the very first in the outdoor industry to recognize the potential applications of a new waterproof/breathable fabric called Gore-Tex. A bivy sac crafted from the material brought Blue Puma national recognition.

In 1980, O’Meara’s friends Don Banducci and Rob Lesser asked him to create paddling clothing for their upcoming expedition on the Alsek River in the Yukon/Alaska.

“We developed a very basic paddling jacket with a neoprene cuff and some fleece under garments—it’s sort of laughable now,” remembers O’Meara. Nevertheless, says Lesser, the Alsek paddling jackets were superior to the wool and flimsy nylon paddling clothes of the period.

Blue Puma was gathering momentum. Then, in 1986, O’Meara received a letter from Puma shoe company alleging trademark violations. Without the money to fight the charges, he was forced to change the name.

Re-branding the company offered O’Meara the opportunity to narrow his focus. “I decided I’d rather be a bigger fish in the small pool of watersports,” he summarizes.

A friend suggested the name Kokatat. Meaning “into the water” in the language of the indigenous Klamath River people, the new name fit perfectly with O’Meara’s commitment to paddlesports and keeping production in Arcata.

Even with a clear purpose and a fresh name, Kokatat almost ceased to exist. Struggling to secure financing, turn a profit and weather stiff competition from new rivals like Stohlquist, O’Meara put his company up for sale. “The offer I got was kind of insulting, so I decided I had to turn the company around,” he says.

Kokatat’s success hinged on recognizing paddlers’ needs and figuring out innovative ways of satisfying them. In 1986, Kokatat created the industry’s first paddling drysuit. Gore-Tex and advanced laminates and treatments followed.

O’Meara also recognized the importance of credibility and product feedback generated through sponsoring professional paddlers. Since the Alsek expedition, Kokatat has signed no fewer than four World Champions and outfitted the U.S. Olympic team.

O’Meara credits Kokatat’s popularity with professional athletes to a tradition of function-first designs. For their part, Team Kokatat’s international ambassadors have helped transform utilitarian function—and mango onesies—into paddling haute fashion.

For both longevity and ethics, O’Meara is admired throughout paddlesports. “Steve is an ex- ample of the entrepreneurial rocks upon which the whitewater industry worldwide was built,” says Lesser. “He never [sold] out to the consolidators of this industry. I couldn’t speak more highly of his manufacturing philosophies.”

After four decades, O’Meara is still enjoying the daily challenges and rewards.

“Kokatat changes about every five years so it’s endlessly interesting for me,” he says. “People ask how I can do the same thing for 40 years and I tell them, ‘I don’t.’”

This article originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2010. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Running Waterfalls

Skills

Photo: Patrick Camblin — Kayaking waterfalls

Every waterfall is unique. Running falls with consistent success means tweaking your technique to suit the drop. The strategies outlined here have seen me safely through over 15 drops in excess of 70 feet.

The art of running waterfalls lies in an intimate communication between you and your kayak— having a poised sense of boat angle in freefall. Maintaining boat angle at the point where the waterfall’s lip becomes vertical and you enter freefall is crucial to a successful outcome.

I like to enter freefall with a neutral, nearly straight body position. Depending on how I left the lip, I will adapt my body position and the speed or delay of my tuck to maintain the right amount of boat angle. The sensation is of a balancing act. The goal is to make sure you’re tucked safely to your front deck when you land in the pool below, protecting your body against the force of impact.

The most straightforward drops are those with lips that gradually transition to vertical. Oregon’s 70-foot Metlako Falls is a perfect example of an easy, rolling lip. On falls like Metlako it is actually important to not do too much—the waterfall sets your angle perfectly. Ride down the lip with a neutral body position—using a stern rudder to control side-to-side angle as necessary—and slowly begin to tuck as the waterfall becomes vertical to maintain a good entry angle.

It is usually a very bad idea to run a waterfall when your boat might connect with a rock at the lip. My definition of a shallow lip waterfall is when the river goes over a shelf just deep enough for a kayak. Sahale Falls, another 70-footer in Oregon, extends over a 30-degree shelf for 15 feet then immediately drops to vertical. This waterfall is more difficult because you can’t simply tuck at the lip. To avoid boofing as you fly off the shelf, you must delay or slow your tuck and let the bow drop so you are reaching full tuck as the boat becomes vertical. A strong sense of your boat angle and knowing how your body’s position affects this angle is the crux to running waterfalls of this nature.

Waterfalls with tight lines demand more precise placement and concentration to put you on the correct spot at the lip. My descent of Washington’s 186-foot Palouse Falls had a tricky thread-the-needle line between a pitching hump on the left and a kicker into space on the right. The lip at Palouse was one of the most difficult I have ever run—I lined up with a rudder and held a stationary stern draw to stick the right to left orientation of the lip. Lining up the lip is the most intimidating part of running waterfalls—it is very important to have good points of reference at the lip so you know exactly where you are dropping over. I usually spend more time scouting the lead-in to the lip than the actual drop.

Whether the drop is categorized as deep or shallow lip, rolling or abrupt, your reaction as you begin freefall is critical. Visualization plays a very important role at this stage. Visualize sticking the line, then focus on this image until it is embedded in your mind. When you are running the waterfall there is no space for conscious thought about right or wrong reactions—they must simply happen in immediate response to the present situation.

Visualization is also invaluable when deciding which waterfalls to run. If I cannot visualize myself running a waterfall successfully, I won’t attempt it. My best advice is to start small and work up to larger drops—nothing can replace personal experience.

Tyler Bradt hails from Missoula, Montana, and began kayaking at age six. He enjoys long walks on the beach, wine by candlelight and watching sunsets. [He also holds two waterfall world records]. Learn more about his new film at www.dreamresultmovie.com.

This article originally appeared in Rapid, Early Summer 2010. Download our free iPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Canoe Routes to be Dammed

Trips

Thumbs down to development on wilderness rivers. Photo: Ryan Creary — Thumbs down to development on wilderness rivers.

This canoe route destinations article was first published in Canoeroots and Family Camping magazine.

If only the power- and money-hungry moguls of industry could see beyond the potential energy of falling water and experience the kinetic pull of a free-flowing waterway. River tripping canoeists know this soulful feeling, but with provincial governments from British Columbia to Newfoundland and Labrador riding a bandwagon of “green” energy, wild rivers have become hot commodities. Despite the efforts of grassroots advocacy organizations and international environmental networks the number of endangered Canadian rivers is growing. Here’s a cross-country list of last-chance river trips.

Peace River, British Columbia

TIMELINE: 5–10 YEARS

Admittedly, portions of the historic Peace River in northern British Columbia have al- ready been spoiled by waterpower developments. In 1968, the W.A.C. Bennett Dam created a 250-kilometre-long reservoir that flooded out parts of Alexander Mackenzie’s route to the Pacific Ocean. Still, the middle and lower Peace remain much the same as when Mackenzie paddled the river in the 1790s. BC Hydro’s proposed Site C dam could change that by turning most of the 120 kilometres between Hudson’s Hope and Fort St. John into a wasteland. With BC Hydro just starting consultation, there are still a few years to enjoy the easy, four-day float. More importantly, there’s still time to convince government otherwise.

Namakan River, Ontario

TIMELINE: IMMEDIATE

The Namakan River forms a 40-kilometre- long, pool-and-drop link on the fur trade route from the canoe-country lakes west of Lake Superior to the Canadian interior. But because the Namakan isn’t contained within the protected boundaries of neighbouring Quetico Provincial Park, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area and Voyageurs National Park, it is open to development. The Ojibway Power and Energy Group is poised to begin construction of a 6.4-megawatt dam at High Falls as early as this summer, and two other sites in years to come. The chance to experience the still-wild Namakan is worth the effort of lake-hopping from Quetico’s Pickerel Lake access.

Romaine River, Quebec

TIMELINE: IMMEDIATE

The most recent river to be attacked by the Hydro Quebec juggernaut is the Romaine, which flows from the Labrador border to the St. Lawrence River. Although preliminary work began last summer, Alliance Romaine spokesperson Fran Bristow says there’s still time to enjoy one of La Belle Province’s best whitewater trips before construction of four massive dams ramps up in 2012. What’s more, Bristow is convinced there’s still a window to convince the Quebec government that the Romaine is worth protecting. The 575-kilometre, three-week trip starts with a train ride from Sept-Îles to Oreway. The Romaine’s challenging whitewater and spectacular canyons are reason enough to sup- port Bristow’s campaign.

Albany River, Ontario

TIMELINE: 10–20 YEARS

Ontario Power Generation has highlighted the powerful rapids of the remote Albany River (currently protected as a waterway park) as a future site of a large-scale hydro- electric complex in the province’s far north.

Fond du lac River, Saskatchewan

TIMELINE: 10–20 YEARS

The need for energy to fuel the surging oil and gas industry in northern Saskatchewan threatens rivers like the Fond du Lac, a favourite among experienced canoe trippers for its whitewater and unique limestone gorges.

This article originally appeared in Canoeroots & Family Camping, Early Summer 2010. Download our freeiPad/iPhone/iPod Touch App or Android App or read it here.

Lake Huron: a Solo Adventure

Stories

Photo: Stephen Brede — Lake Huron: a Solo Adventure

The long-time journalist and photographer, 58, quit his job and was the first to accomplish what no other person has done—canoe around Lake Huron. The 1,200-kilometre solo circumnavigation, inspired by the iconic canoeist, Verlen Kruger, is part of dream to canoe all the great lakes.

Talking with the self-assured yet humble Brede, no one would have ever guessed he had reservations about being able to complete the trip. On september 19th, 2009, 12 weeks after waving goodbye from the western tower of the Mackinac Bridge, Brede rounded Lake Huron, conceding that, “instead of washing out, I was sucked in.”

I spent years dreaming about this trip, ever since I read an interview with Verlen Kruger, late in his life, about a challenge he wished he could have undertaken—to circumnavigate the Great Lakes. Although Kruger likely paddled as many miles of Great Lakes shoreline as anyone, paddling the entire loop remained undone when he died in 2004.

I discovered a Kruger Sea Wind on Craigslist for $3,500. Back in Michigan, my wife, Ruth, and I started taking our solo Krugers on day trips around Little Traverse Bay. The boats handled beautifully, and I began to believe I could make it around at least one of the Great Lakes.

My body needed to go outside and stretch. My ego wanted to do something no one has ever done. I wanted to come to Canada because the canoe is revered for its role in the nation’s history.

You assume all responsibility in a solo boat. River right or river left. Pry or draw. Go for it, or portage. Tandem paddlers engaged in the “blame game” have ruined trips and friendships. If couples paddled solo boats, “Divorce River” would likely disappear from maps.

It was suggested that I look for sponsors, but I felt better going “no logo.” A boatload of gear purchases later, I quit my job, poked a peace pin on my PFD, and stenciled “Around Lake Huron 2009” on the stern.

Mosquitoes were my nemesis. Michigan has about 60 species of mosquitoes. One evening, between the mesh body and the fly of the tent, I counted 200. I squashed them all, and within five minutes another 200 filled the space.

Initially, I stayed close to shore. As I gained confidence in my canoeing ability and the weather forecasts, I began paddling from point to point. My longest open water stretch was about nine kilometres, when island hopping from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island.

I wasn’t afraid, but was very cautious. I always wore my PFD, which had a knife and whistle attached, and signal mirror, SPOT locator and cell phone in its pockets. A couple of times, when the waves were big and I felt there was a chance of swamping or capsize, I clipped on my VHF radio, strobe light, and a 15-metre floating orange banner I could deploy. I would also clip my bow line to my PFD, so I wouldn’t become separated from the canoe if I went over.

Noise pollution was almost everywhere. Cars, trucks, cement plants, mining operations, power plants, lawnmowers, chainsaws, Jet Skis. I could hear power boats 15 kilometres away. The silence on the North Channel, after Labour Day, was bliss.

Her name is Seaweed. Derived from the canoe model name Sea Wind, her colour green, and the old hippy at the helm. I hesitated, however, when the Canadian border officer asked, “What’s your boat’s name?” I figured Seaweed might raise a red flag. Our website, greatlakescanoe.com, is stenciled on the canoe, so I told her Great Lakes Canoe.

I wish I could have brought national health care across the border when I returned to the U.S. I had asked about 15 Canadians what they thought of their health care system. They all said that while it wasn’t perfect, they were glad to have it. I also asked if they would consider trading it for the U.S. system. Everyone answered that with a resounding “No!”

The one camping meal I never tired of was breakfast—a cup of tea and granola from my local food co-op, mixed with fresh fruit and powdered milk. The best fish and chips I had was at Purdy’s Fisheries in Grand Bend, Ontario.

It felt like my days were spent floating in outer space and as the sun set I returned to earth for the night.

My advice to canoeists wishing to take on an expedition is to read all you can by, or about, Verlen Kruger, Valerie Fons, Joanie and Gary McGuffin, Cliff Jacobson, Bill Mason, Becky Mason and Howard Rice. Study wind and waves. Pack light. Leave no trace. Wear your PFD. Have faith in the kindness of strangers. Breathe.

My next canoeing adventure is to paddle around a second great lake.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Portaging

Stories

Photo: Christopher Pratt — My Love-Hate Relationship with Portaging

Portage.

That’s what lakewater trippers do—we portage. From lake to lake, into remote wilderness, we heft mounds of stuff, all intricately organized into wannigans, canvas packs and polyethylene barrels. Yokes dig into our tired muscles as 60-pound canoes balance precariously on our shoulders. We are like oxen plowing the last furrow of the day, ready to unburden our load.

Many sport enthusiasts willingly subject themselves to torturous masochistic prac- tices—boxers accept head punches, cyclists wear tight spandex and canoeists…well, we portage.

It’s no wonder the word portage is often synonymous with gruelling pain and agony. As renowned canoeist Bill Mason once reminded us, “…portaging is like hitting your- self on the head with a hammer: it feels so good when you stop.”

So, when it came to planning a 200-day ca- noeing expedition, my husband and I found a way to paddle days on end, enjoying wide-open views, endless scenery, crystal clear wa- ter and the full gamut of weather conditions with no portages. Well…except for one. I will get to that later.

If you are a serious lakewater tripper, you must travel some of the coastline of the five immense lakes that shape the heart of North America—the Great Lakes. Vast and diverse, they are the largest chain of freshwater lakes on the planet, holding 20 per cent of the world’s freshwater.

Over the last three summers, we paddled this ancient waterway, travelling the entire 4,000-kilometre coastline of the Canadian Great Lakes from the Pigeon River, west of Thunder Bay, to Kingston on Lake Ontario, where the Great Lakes flow out the St. Lawrence River.

Along the way, we paddled the shores of Lake Superior, Lake Huron, Lake St. Clair, Lake Erie and Lake Ontario.

Each lake lives up to its great reputation. Lake Superior is the deepest, its greatest depth at 406 metres. Lake Huron is home to Manitoulin, the largest freshwater island in the world. Lake Erie boasts endless sand beaches around Long Point, Rondeau and Point Pelee and supports the richest aquatic life of all the lakes, a total of 46 million fish. And Lake Ontario offers its own challenges when your route takes you right through the busy city waterway of Toronto harbour. Oh, and there is only one portage. It happens to be 25 kilometres long, around a pretty major waterfall—Niagara.

THE COUNTDOWN TO P-DAY

After two blissfully portage-free summers, preparations for our third summer had begun and we were inadequately prepared for the 25-kilometre hike ahead. The longest portage in our combined portfolios was a mere three kilometres, but we felt confident in the helping hands of friends and family eager to lend their support in what was soon coined, P-Day.

As P-Day drew closer, however, our helpers dropped faster than the 100,000 cubic feet of water that flows over Niagara’s brink every second. We heard the full range of excuses, from dentist appointments to busy work schedules. Instead of a brigade, we were reduced to three helpful saints, who made the one-day carry possible. Portage technology had also advanced since the fur trade and we were well equipped with a modern canoe trolley that proved invaluable. Some call it cheating, but after a few kilometres, I call it smart. I’ll bet not one voyageur would rather carry a barrel of whiskey than roll it.

The Niagara Falls Review, the oldest newspaper in Ontario, reported that no one had portaged the route in recent history. It’s estimated that the last portage taken was over a hundred years ago. The ancient trail, however, is still intact—now paved and suitably bearing the name Portage Road.

As we approached the brink of Niagara Falls on foot, with our canoe in tow, citizens and vacationers sent worried glances in our direction. It was understandable considering that, in their lifetimes, more people have paddled over the falls than portaged around them. Within minutes a police cruiser pulled up and out stepped two straight-faced uniforms.

“I hope there’s no law against portaging, officer,” my husband said with a smirk. After telling our story, the police were delighted to help us out, making routine visits throughout the day. “I’m happy we weren’t the first portagers to be arrested,” I said as they sped away to another call.

The busloads of tourists filling the sidewalks proved no more difficult to navigate than overgrown balsam on a seldom-used trail. The crowds also made for an interesting portage, as we were an attraction ourselves, posing next to our canoe for hundreds of snapshots.

Stops at places like the Hershey’s Chocolate Factory and Candy Planet fuelled the journey. The 25 kilometres rolled on and by the end of the day we rested and dined lavishly at Peller Estates Winery. With a fine glass of private reserve, barrel-aged golden Chardonnay, we toasted our fun-filled day, a bit sad that it was all over. Because as Bill Mason also wrote, “It’s the portage that makes travelling by canoe unique.”

Stephanie Park is the new editor of Canoeroots magazine and has rekindled her love of portaging.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Betcha Didn’t Know About Pitcher Plants

Stories

Photo: Virginia Marshall — Betcha Didn't Know About Pitcher Plants

Pitcher plants are carnivorous. Although they may not feast on drive-thru Big Macs, they trap insects, spiders, newts and even small frogs for their protein-rich meals.
Colourful deep red and purple veined pitchers attract prey and entice them to rest on the slippery leaves at the top of the plant. The prey falls into the pitcher and becomes trapped in the digestive juices below. Escape is futile—little downward-pointing hairs block any retreat.
Gigantic man-eating plants exist only in Hollywood thrillers, like Journey to the Center of the Earth—the box office hit in which actress Anita Briem plays a tasty snack.
The pitcher plant is the official flower of Newfoundland and Labrador, symbolizing the inner strength and willful determination of Newfoundlanders.
The pitcher was historically used as a drinking cup (perhaps another reason why it’s Newfoundland’s official flower).
For a one-time, low price of $2,149.95 you can purchase one of the world’s purest 99.999 per cent gold coins from the Royal Canadian Mint. The 12th coin in this series is pressed with the symbol of the pitcher plant.
Pitcher plants grow in wet, acidic soils that are deficient in nutrients such as nitrogen and phosphorous. They are found in marshes and bogs throughout Canada and the eastern United States.
The largest pitcher plant, Nepenthes attenboroughii, was discovered in the Philippines in 2007. Named after the famous BBC Planet Earth broadcaster, David Attenborough, this plant has large enough traps to consume a rat—hey, a mousetrap that empties itself!

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Risk Management: Squeezing the Lemons

Stories

Photo: Scott MacGregor — Risk Management: Squeezing the Lemons

As I quickly approached the accident scene, I could see that my paddling partner was in considerable pain. I gathered that the overturned canoe, spilt pot of steaming spaghetti noodles and the string of choice expletives pouring out of his mouth added up to a cooking burn.

“How bad is it?” I asked. “The pot caught me on the back of my leg,” he responded, with a painful twinge in his voice. An examination revealed that the second-degree burn was severe, ending the trip and requiring an evacuation over the next two days.

[ Also Read: Why Your Mistakes Don’t Make You Smarter ]

I frequently use this story as my introduction for risk management seminars. What I’ve found interesting is how the discussions that follow have changed, over the years, from one paradigm to another—from lemons to systems.

In 1987, James Raffan introduced a risk management theory referred to as the Lemon Theory. The Lemon Theory’s premise is that during the course of an outdoor trip a sequence of events occurs, that if left unchecked, can lead to a crisis. Raffan uses the analogy of the slot machine that if too many lemons line up—jackpot, an incident occurs.

Counting Lemons

The genius of lemons is that they serve as an easy symbol to incorporate into day-to-day tripping activities. Canoeists, kayakers, mountaineers and skiers across North America spend their trips counting lemons—literally.

In our scenario above, it was late in the day, lighting was poor, equipment was new and unfamiliar and dehydration put pressure on my partner’s judgment. All these lemons would have been manageable, if the proper routines of setting up camp and creating the conditions to safely operate the stove had been established.

[ Also Read: How Risk Management Is Sucking The Life From Kids’ Paddling Trips ]

Today’s risk management paradigm recognizes that we no longer have to identify and pre-empt all those lemons and instead, we should work to establish a series of systems.

By focusing on systems, we don’t need to account for every interaction that could lead to a jackpot. Once implemented, these routines create the conditions to have safe and fun adventures.

Matt Cruchet is an educator, consultant and co-author of the new book Managing Risk, which is an exploration of systems planning, applied to outdoor adventure activities.

Traditional Paddling with a Punch

Skills

All photos this page: Reid McLachlan — Traditional Paddling with a Punch

“Keep your stroke short, it’s more efficient and relaxing,” Dad suggested as we paddled the flatwater stretches of the trip. It was 1983, and we were on the Nahanni River preparing me for a summer of guiding. I fondly remember my dad’s voice as I paddled in the stern of the canoe. Being a teenager, I rolled my eyes at his instructions and was determined to prove him wrong. With stubborn resolve, I pulled with both arms and lengthened my stroke. Dad’s stroke was smooth and relaxed even as he took two strokes to one of mine. I watched him more closely just as he had learned by studying a First Nations paddler. This short stroke, which I now call the traditional stroke, has become an important forward stroke in my flatwater repetoire.

Master the Traditional Stroke

Start with the blade in the water at your knee and your grip hand at your chin.
Punch your grip hand forward and down towards the onside gunwale creating a lever with your lower shaft hand as a travelling fulcrum. Rotate your torso to put some bodyweight behind the punch.
As your grip hand gets closer to the gunwale start to roll your thumb down setting up the blade for the correction stroke. Having your grip hand over the gunwale ensures that the blade is close and parallel to the hull throughout the stroke.
After the grip hand punch is accomplished relax your arms, let your bottom hand trail smoothly behind you and do your correction stroke.
Return to an upright position and feather your blade out on the recovery knife the paddle in toward your knee to start the next stroke minding that your grip hand doesn’t creep up over your head.

To get the feel of the punch with power, try this learning technique. Hook your shaft hand thumb onto the gunnel to force yourself to create a fulcrum, punch your grip hand from your chin all the way to the gunnel until your knuckles touch. Repeat this a few times and you’ll be well on your way to mastering this relaxing traditional stroke.

Becky Mason is a canoeing instructor based in Chelsea, Quebec. She has contributed to several books, produced an award-winning video, Classic Solo Canoeing, and presents workshops throughout North America. Find her at redcanoes.ca.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Red Riding Hood Beware: Keeping Wolves Away from Your Campsite

Skills

Photo: Dave Quinn — Red Riding Hood Beware: Keeping Wolves Away from Your Campsite

Few experiences embody the essence of Canadian wilderness like the haunting howl of wolves in the chill air of a backcountry night. Even better is a glimpse of wild wolves prowling a river’s edge or loping along a distant skyline. As paddlers we seek these encounters, like wolves on a scent.

However, our feral romance of wolves quickly fades when a 70-kilogram predator enters our campsite.

In 1996, a biologist was killed at a wildlife preserve in Haliburton, Ontario, while feeding captive wolves. In 2000, a kayaker was attacked on Vargas Island in British Columbia by wolves that had been fed by previous kayakers and most recently, a Canadian folk singer was fatally injured from a coyote attack while hiking Cape Breton Highlands National Park in Nova Scotia.

Once humans are associated with food, it is only a matter of time before curiosity and hunger overcome fear, increasing the chances of close encounters that almost always result in extermination for the wolf, and can result in injuries or death for humans.

Curiosity in wildlife is natural, and it is our responsibility to ensure that any interest in our campsites is never rewarded. The same principles used to protect wild bears from human carelessness should be applied to wolves.

Tips for Keeping Your Campsite Wolf-Free

Keep your campsite clean: locate your kitchen at least 100 metres downwind from your tent site. Hang all food and toiletries out of reach, or use animal-proof storage devices provided at some campsites. In treeless areas, stow all food and kitchen equipment in animal-proof containers. Do not burn food scraps in fire pits—pack them out.
Frighten wolves away: if wolves approach your campsite, scare them away with loud noises or by throwing sticks and rocks. While this may appear to cross the lines of wildlife etiquette, you are doing them a favour by convincing them to give humans a wide berth. In most cases, your simple two-legged presence should be enough to frighten them off.
Secure your gear: Wolves are very curious, and any unsecured gear—drybags, shoes, and jackets—is fair game. Clip dry bags to your tent and leave shoes and loose items in your tent. This will alert you if an animal is trying to sneak off with your gear.

The last unprovoked, unfed wolf kill in North America has been traced back to 1922. However, with an estimated 60,000 wolves roaming the untamed regions of North America, and an ever-increasing number of humans searching for solace deep in the heart of their habitat, encounters between our two species are sure to increase. It is up to us to ensure that our dances with wolves remain distanced and friendly.

Dave Quinn is a wildlife biologist and wilderness guide based in Kimberley, British Columbia. He has worked extensively with carnivores and has led many expeditions into the heart of wolf country.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Canoe Treasure Hunting

Stories

Photo: James Raffan — Canoe Treasure Hunting

Afew years back, a friend of mine in Calgary, Alberta, was looking through his weekly tabloid advertising supplement, The Bargain Finder. Beside the advert for Ab Rockets with As Seen On TV guarantees was a lonely ad that read, “For Sale: one good used birchbark canoe.”

My friend called the number. The woman explained that her late husband had purchased the canoe and she was hoping to find it a good home.

In a heartbeat, my friend was there, although sure he would find a beater, something with the aesthetics of a hog trough made by hands part of an offshore assembly line sewing up souvenir canoes to be titivated with dyed chicken feathers for sale in the tourist kiosks of Disney World.

What he found instead was a beautiful handmade 14-foot birchbark canoe. The ribs and planking were made of hand-split eastern white cedar, the shell was one large piece of birchbark and the gores were gummed with the exact mixture of conifer gum and tallow that you would expect on a traditionally handcrafted canoe. The sewing with split spruce root was exquisite, obviously done with great skill and care. Best of all, it was signed by William Commanda, renowned canoe builder and spiritual leader from Kitigan Zibi Reserve, near Maniwaki, Quebec.

HUNTING FOR CANVAS COVERED CLASSICS

If you are looking for a new canoe, by all means use the Canoeroots Buyer’s Guide. However, if you’re looking for canvas-covered classics or birchbark canoes try your local pawnshop—really!

In Edmonton, I was giving a presentation when a chap came up and mentioned that if I was really interested in canoes I’d best get myself to his local pawnshop.

In the Loan Star Exchange, just west of 122nd Street on 118th Avenue NW, hanging above the music section, over the knock-off Gene Simmons autographed guitar and the framed special-issue Jan Arden CD, was an absolutely beautiful bark canoe.

It was dusty, but the lines of this amazing canoe flowed like pure poetry. It was 16 feet long, made from one piece of birchbark. The woodwork was all hand done by a very practiced hand. The thwarts had a gentle curve, as if they’d been steamed and placed under pres- sure between the gunwales to give the boat even more vital life and tension. Lastly, there, on the outside of the hull, was a very familiar carved and painted ornamentation.

The shop owner, Mike Monaghan, was a little nonplussed by my enthusiasm for the item, which for him was just window dressing.

Turns out, the canoe had come with the store when he had purchased it. The bill of sale had included the promise that he never sell the canoe. Beyond that he didn’t know much about it except that along with a huge stuffed buffalo head it gave a kind of frontier atmosphere to his place.

With a stepladder and a dust rag, we found the name. Not William Commanda, this one said, “Henri Vaillancourt, 1989.” That would be the Henri Vaillancourt whose canoes are in the Canadian Canoe Museum and the Smithsonian Institute—the same Henri Vaillancourt whose canoe-building legacy is featured in John McPhee’s classic book, The Survival of the Bark Canoe.

James Raffan is the executive director of the Canadian Canoe Museum.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

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