Stall Tactics for Regulation in Columbia River Wetlands

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Photo: Dave Quinn — Stall Tactics for Regulation in Columbia River Wetlands

Renowned nature artist and wildlife advocate Robert Bateman calls southeastern British Columbia’s Columbia River Wetlands “one of the most precious things on a world scale,” and he is among thousands joining the call to protect this critical wildlife habitat from increasing threat of fast-moving, noisy, motorized recreation activities such as jet boating and jet skiing.

This 180-kilometre-long wetland complex forms the headwaters of the Columbia River and is one of the largest intact wetlands left on the continent. Filling the Rocky Mountain Trench between the towns of Canal Flats and Golden, B.C., these wetlands are particularly critical to both migratory and resident birds and wildlife.

The Columbia River Wetlands were designated wetlands of international significance under the Ramsar International Convention on Wetlands. They also join South America’s Lake Titicaca, Siberia’s Lake Baikal, Eastern Africa’s Lake Victoria and nearly 50 other water bodies in the Global Nature Fund’s Living Lakes Network, an international conservation network dedicated to the protection of water resources.

AN ACCEPTABLE COMPROMISE

In response to nearly 10 years of effort by local canoeists, hunters and conservationists led by a local non-profit, Wildsight, Transport Canada is finally poised to impose regulations to control unsustainable motorized recreation activities in these wetlands.

The proposed regulations include a ban on waterskiing and powerboat operation in the wetland portion of the system. However, pressure from motorized users has stalled protection measures for the Columbia River main channel—a central habitat feature of the wetlands.

The initial proposal, which included a ban on all motorized use of the river during critical spring and fall wildfowl staging and nesting periods, was shot down by motorized interests, who earlier launched a lawsuit to rescind a 10-horsepower limit imposed by the Province of British Columbia, based on the premise that the river is a navigable waterway, and therefore under federal jurisdiction.

Now up for debate is a proposal for a year-round 20-horsepower limit on the river.

“We see otters, beaver, heron, eagle, waterfowl with chicks, songbirds, moose and bears using the main channel, and it is one of the few remaining opportunities for non- motorized recreation in this region,” says Maryann Emery with the Golden Outdoor Recreation Association, who has been canoeing the Columbia for over 30 years.

“Our members would like to see a complete ban on motorized use of the main channel, but the 20-horsepower limit is an acceptable compromise,” concedes Emery. “This place is an unbelievable treasure, both from a wild- life and quiet recreation standpoint, and we need to act now to protect it, not just for us, but for the future.”

Transport Canada says they will make a final decision on the future of the Columbia River main channel and its wildlife sometime in 2010.

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

Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

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Photo: Gary McGuffin — Group of Seven Painting Sites: Then and Now

After canoeing across Canada, around Lake Superior and through the wildest reaches of northern Ontario, acclaimed photojournalists Gary and Joanie McGuffin are now getting their adventure kicks closer to home. The McGuffins have partnered with Michael Burtch, the retired director of the Art Gallery of Algoma, to retrace the trails and photograph the painting sites of the Group of Seven.

“We grew up in homes and cottages with images of the Group of Seven,” says Gary McGuffin, “and now we live right in the heart of their favourite places to paint. We were working with Michael on another project and it hit us. Wouldn’t it be neat to find some of these painting sites of the Group of Seven?”

Burtch and the McGuffins piloted the project last summer with a canoe trip down the Petawawa River in Algonquin Park, in search of Tom Thomson’s Petawawa Gorges series of canvases. “Michael brought us up to speed on all the biographies of the Group of Seven painters,” says McGuffin. “It’s a great combination of art history and adventure.” The project will focus on the period between the group’s formation in 1919 and when they disbanded in 1930. When they find the exact site of a painting, McGuffin frames the scene in a photograph proportional to the artist’s original canvas.

A DREAM PROJECT AND QUEST

Currently, Burtch and the McGuffins are combing the Algoma Central Railway line, north of Sault Ste. Marie, for painters J.E.H. MacDonald, Lawren Harris and Frank Johnston’s most iconic subject matter. Since parts of the landscape have been altered by logging and hydroelectric development, a large portion of the project has involved identifying how scenes have changed over time, and poring over painters’ journals and letters for clues on directions to specific sites.

McGuffin was especially struck by MacDonald’s response to the landscape along the Agawa Canyon. “He was obviously overwhelmed,” notes McGuffin. “In his letters home he called it ‘the original site of the Garden of Eden’!”

Ultimately, McGuffin says he wants to produce a book of 100 then-and-now Group of Seven images from across Ontario. “The story would be how the painters got to these places,” he says, “and describing the investigative work we did to revisit the sites.”

A sideline project might be a “map-intensive guidebook to actually get people to find these spots on their own,” says McGuffin. “It’s turned into a quest…it’s a dream project for us.”

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

Editorial: Urban Adventurers

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Photo: Jonathan Pratt — Editorial: Urban Adventurers

I met Terry Bachmeier, a member of the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, this summer as he waved to my husband Jonathan and me from a rusty breakwall elevated above the waters of the upper Detroit River. He motioned for us to land our 19- foot lakewater expedition canoe on a narrow sand beach—a public canoe and kayak launch site developed by the club.

Pointing to our story in his copy of the Windsor Star, he was enthusiastic to meet the couple “trying to canoe the entire Canadian shoreline of the Great Lakes”—a 4,000 kilometre journey from the Pigeon River on Lake Superior to Kingston on Lake Ontario.

Before launching our canoe back into the powerboat-infested waters, Bachmeier made an offer we couldn’t refuse: a paddle and pot- luck barbeque with club members 25 kilometres downstream. By this point in the trip, more than a month into the third summer of our expedition, our freeze-dried rations were reminiscent of paper-mâché paste and we welcomed all offers of real food.

Skyscrapers towered above on both sides of the river and our canoe felt insignificant compared to the multi-million dollar power cruisers that sent curling wakes crashing wide variety of species ranging from spotted Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, into the sides of our canoe. We felt like a Smart car on a transport-ridden highway.

THE ADVANTAGES OF THE URBAN WILDERNESS TRIPPER

The busy city waterway didn’t hold the same wilderness appeal as the remote and pristine areas along the north shores of Lake Superior and Georgian Bay and I found it hard to imagine why canoe club members would enjoy paddling along such an urban and industrial shoreline. However, it didn’t take us very long to discover the advantages of the urban wilderness tripper.

Where else would you have the opportunity to canoe beside a giant 1,000-foot bulk freighter carrying 60,000 tons of cargo, barter for fresh walleye on the commercial docks, enjoy a hot pizza for lunch on the Tiki patio of a waterfront restaurant and snuggle under a down-filled duvet at a neighbouring bed and breakfast.

If you have never tried urban paddling, I suggest you do. You might be amazed at the wilderness in your own backyard.

Later that afternoon, members of the canoe club guided us on a paddling tour of the lower Detroit River. Massive Carolinian trees stood tall along the shoreline, as they had for centuries, and natural wetlands hosted a wide variety of species ranging from spotted gar pike to green herons.

Our newfound friends were passionate about the region and its environment. They pointed to a bald eagle nest high on a treetop with a young fledging tucked inside. At nearby Fighting Island, a constructed reef was allowing sturgeon to spawn in the Detroit River for the first time in 30 years—all indicators that the ecosystem is healthy.

Needless to say, I shouldn’t have worried so much about water pollution disintegrating our Kevlar canoe hull.

It’s a fact that more of us live closer to urban waterways than wilderness areas. Thanks to local canoe clubs, such as the Windsor and Essex County Canoe Club, you don’t need to leave the city to enjoy canoeing. Clubs are an excellent way to meet paddlers, learn about the natural history of the region, protect our historic right to navigate our waterways and enjoy urban canoeing adventures in your own backyard.

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

The Beginner’s Guide to Downriver Overnighting

An overnight kayak trip may seem like a huge leap from downriver daytripping or park-and-play, but try it and you’ll discover that overnighting just might be the ultimate paddling experience. Packing your kayak with everything you need to survive a few days— or even just a single night between shifts—combines the fun and excitement of whitewater with a grander feeling of independence, exploration and river travel tradition.

Start with a few easy overnighters, dial in a system and then keep everything you need in a duffle bag by your back door…so you’ll always be ready when the levels are right, your friends are psyched and the river is calling.

Boat Selection

If you don’t own a creek boat or river runner, try to borrow or rent one. Larger volume boats with a high back deck are easier to pack, allow you to travel with a few additional camp items and are more comfortable.

For a summer weekend out, a river running playboat might do the trick, but keep in mind that a boat much smaller than 58 gallons will be a nightmare to pack. The exact volume you’ll need depends on the length of the trip, the weather forecast and your willingness to rough it with minimal gear.

The ideal kayak for a two- or three-day trip is a creek boat designed for someone 30 pounds heavier than you. I paddle a small creek boat (63 gallons) on daytrips, but with the additional weight of my food and camping gear, a larger kayak (72 gallons) performs better.

Experiment with a fully loaded boat on your local river—kayaks paddle quite differently with extra weight on board. You may find that your boat’s usually forgiving stern starts to grab on eddylines, and quick directional changes become more difficult.

Gearing Up

A mid-sized river runner or creek boat has about 40 to 55 litres (10-15 gallons) of usable storage space—that’s less than a typical trekking backpack. Accordingly, volume is the critical factor when selecting gear.

Most tents are too large to fit in a single kayak. Try sharing the load with another paddler—one packs the tent body, the other packs the fly and poles. If that doesn’t work, you’ll have to settle for a lower-volume shelter: a lightweight tarp or bivy sac—or, if heavy rain, mosquitoes or black flies are anticipated, a combination of both.

When the climate doesn’t demand a winter or three-season sleeping bag, you’re safer packing a synthetic summer bag. Down bags pack much smaller if you’re expecting cold temperatures, but they are a disaster if they get wet.

To save space on clothing, try to combine paddling and camp clothes if possible. In colder water, a full Gore-Tex drysuit with camp clothes underneath eliminates the need to pack anything but a toque. Merino wool provides the most warmth for the least volume, but polypro and fleece layers work fine and are less expensive.

Don’t bother with rain gear— keep your river gear on if it’s raining and use a versatile tarp for shelter at camp. Wear sturdy shoes on the river, but pack clogs or flip-flops to give your feet a chance to dry out in camp.

When it comes to menu planning, don’t skimp on hot meals. On frosty mornings, you’ll need a hot cuppa to get you fired up about climbing into your frozen-stiff farmer john. A small stove is handy—and a must where firewood is scarce or fires prohibited—but in most places you can do all your cooking and boiling of drinking water on an open fire with a single pot. Stick to a compact, backpacking-style menu of quick-cook pasta (ramen noodles or easy Mac are good bets), rice, salami, cheese, peanut butter, instant oatmeal, dried fruit and trail mix.

In your efforts to be efficient, it’s important not to cut back on rescue gear. In addition to personal throw bags, whistles and river knives, someone should carry a group wrap kit (webbing sling, prussiks and carabiners) and a decent first aid kit—and know how to use them. On longer, more remote trips, pack a topographic map and breakdown paddle as well. Figure out communication options in case you run into trouble. Will you have cell phone service in the river valley?

Finally, for simple equipment repairs, duct tape wrapped around a water bottle or the shaft of your paddle can be used to patch boats and sleeping mats, reattach seats or hip pads, mend a broken paddle, and perform a thousand other useful tasks.

Packing Your Boat

The kayak’s stern is the easiest to pack, so the challenge is to get enough weight forward to balance the trim of your kayak. You may want to start by moving your seat forward. Pack the heaviest items in front of your bow bulkhead or right behind your seat. You can also carve custom-sized holes into the foam of the bulkhead or support pillars to create storage space for awkward or heavy items like camera boxes.

Also consider the order in which you pack gear and food 1 items. Tapered dry bags are great for sleeping and camping gear because they take full advantage of the hard-to-reach packing space in the ends of your kayak. Breakfast and dinner food items that you won’t need during the paddling day can be squeezed past your bulkhead in individual double-Ziploc packages.

Pack your lunch, snacks, camera, headlamp, fire-starter, first aid kit and rescue gear last, so these items are easily accessible throughout the day. You don’t want to pull your boat apart every time you’re hungry. And you definitely don’t want to dig through Therm-a-Rests and tuna couscous to find your pin kit in an emergency.

Finally, do a dry run of your packing strategy before leaving home—the put-in is a poor place to realize that your dry bags don’t fit in your boat.

Steve Whittall has been organizing and running multi-day kayak expeditions from his home base in Whistler for over 15 years and works as a heli-ski guide during the off-season.

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

Stand Up Paddling: Another Man Standing

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Photo: courtesy Imagine Surfboards — Stand Up Paddling: Another Man Standing

The sight of some dude wearing body armour and wielding a long, single bladed paddle while standing on a modified surfboard may seem wildly out of place on a river, but it’s a scene that is becoming increasingly familiar on inland waterways across North America.

Stand Up Paddling (SUP) has been a fringe element of ocean surfing since its early days in the 1960s, when instructors and photographers used paddles to move around quickly on longboards. Over the past decade, Laird Hamilton—widely regarded as the all-time best big wave surfer—has popularized the sport by riding massive waves at legendary breaks like Jaws and Teahupo’o on a SUP board.

More recently, SUP has gained popularity with everyone from wind-skunked kiteboarders and fitness-focused hard bodies to veteran whitewater kayakers. The diversity of environments and users is giving rise to a wide variety of designs, including—in just the past couple of years—whitewater park-and-play and river running boards.

For long-time whitewater boaters like Dan Gavere, Corran Addison, Jimmy Blakeney and Jay Kincaid—some of river SUP’s leading innovators and athletes—the lure of running rivers on two feet is in the fresh challenge of learning a new skill set.

“SUP has made river running fun again,” says Addison, owner of Imagine Surfboards and Surf School in Montreal. “I reached a point where the only way to be challenged on whitewater was to be in mortal danger all the time, and that gets old. What SUP has done is make easy rivers a real challenge.”

THE FASTEST GROWING NICHE OF THE PADDLESPORTS INDUSTRY

Addison isn’t alone in his sentiments. The inaugural Whitewater Stand Up Paddling National Championships, held last May on the snowmelt-swollen Colorado River in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, attracted over 20 elite competitors from across the U.S., many of them professional kayakers or surfers. Dan Gavere, a world-class freestyle and creek boater who helped Werner Paddles develop their SUP paddle line, won the event and has been pushing the limits of whitewater SUP since he first tried it in 2006.

Gavere sees parallels between the nascent SUP boom and the early days of whitewater kayaking. “Currently we’re in the Dancer days of whitewater SUP and maybe the RPM days of surf SUP. My analogy for its potential is that SUP is to kayaking what snowboarding is skiing.”

Indeed, SUP is the fastest growing niche of the paddlesports industry. According to Werner Paddles’ sales manager, Doug Ragan, SUP paddle sales experienced triple digit growth in 2009. Board manufacturer Surftech’s marketing director, Duke Brouwer, put the number of SUP boards sold last year at well over 10,000.

“Whitewater SUP is not the bulk of the market,” Gavere allows, “but it does represent an exciting element.”

Even paddlers with modest abilities can ride a SUP board on small surfing waves too slow for most freestyle boats. Many of the river skills developed from kayaking or canoeing are transferable, but once on a wave the speed and carving advantage over a whitewater boat yields a completely different ride.

Beyond park-and-play, the downriver element of SUP is beginning to blossom as well. A handful of new 2010 models will substantially increase river running options.

If catching eddies in a Dancer seems like the dark ages, then river SUP clearly has some growing pains ahead. But with the greater weight of the surfing industry behind it, expect SUP design technology to grow at a much more accelerated rate than that of kayaking.

“It’s fun to be on the leading edge of a new, growing sport again,” Addison summarizes, “trying to see what the limits are—in skills and equipment.”

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

Himalayan Hijinks: Whitewater Kayaking In Nepal

two whitewater kayakers paddle down a rocky gorge in Nepal's Himalaya Mountains — Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

In the fall of 2008, I traveled solo to Nepal. I brought only my boat, my camera and a vague idea of the whitewater potential of a small country with the Himalayan Mountains as its backbone, but I was hopeful that would be enough. Nepal has everything you could want for whitewater kayaking: plenty of gradient, post-monsoon high water, and a mountain-dwelling populace intent on keeping adventurous visitors fed and comfortable.

Kayakers Witness Huge Avalanche Above Glacier Lake (Video)

two whitewater kayakers paddle through a rocky, monsoon-flooded canyon in Nepal's Himalaya Mountains — Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

Himalayan Hijinks: Whitewater kayaking in Nepal

I arrived just as the last monsoon clouds were clearing and managed to join a raft-supported trip on the high volume, low elevation Sun Kosi. Led by Dave Allardice, a new Zealander who pioneered whitewater rafting in Nepal, the trip celebrated 20 years of successful rafting in the Himalaya and reunited many of the first generation guides for one more run on this 300-kilometer, multiday beauty. The Sun Kosi trip also connected me with two keen and hilarious American boaters, Mefford Williams and Shawn Robertson, who became partners for ensuing paddling missions.

Meet you in Kathmandu

In Kathmandu, the frenetic capital of Nepal, Williams, Robertson and I regrouped at the Hotel Holy Lodge to organize transportation and figure out logistics for some higher elevation assaults. Walking into the Holy Lodge, a known kayakers’ hangout in the tourist ghetto of Thamel, we were surprised to see some familiar faces.

JJ Shepherd of South Carolina, a veteran of Himalayan kayaking missions, had just rolled in from a rafting trip and Norwegian huckster Benji Hjort was on a quick sabbatical from his teaching job. Seconds later, a distinctive voice announced the presence of Kiwi talent and young punk Sam Sutton as he emerged from his room with his usual larger-than-life charisma.

Most people have trouble breathing above 2,500 metres. Not these Nepali porters—they have plenty of energy for a game of volleyball at well over 4,000 metres in the Annapurna Sanctuary. With 7,000- to 8,000-metre peaks all around, the Sanctuary is just a two-day hike above the Modi Khola put-in. | Photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

You have to love Nepal’s whitewater kayaking community

You show up alone in a distant country and somehow find a solid team of old and new friends just in time for the first big mission. But what was that mission going to be? Shepherd directed our focus on the Modi Khola, a river flowing right out of the spectacular Annapurna Sanctuary.

Modi Khola, day two. Kiwi hotshot Sam Sutton was our team’s fearless probe in the steepest rapids and long, continuous stretches of the upper Modi Khola. On the easy run-out rapids of the lower river, beneath the gaze of sacred Machapuchare, Sutton styles a pillow rock with typical flair. The takeout, as with most rivers in Nepal, is at the first road bridge. You simply wave down a bus—no shuttle required. | Photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

We endured the six-hour bus ride to the Annapurna Conservation area from atop the rickety Tata’s roof, hanging on for dear life and ducking overhead power wires. The strenuous, one-and-a-half-day hike from the Annapurna Sanctuary trailhead up the Modi Khola valley rewarded us with one of the most spectacular river put-ins in the world.

Annapurna South and Machapuchare peaks loomed nearly six vertical kilometers above the steep mountain creek. A total of eight 7,000-plus-meter summits in the surrounding Annapurna Massif, including 8,091-meter Annapurna One, fed the Modi Khola.

A few initial kilometers of wonderfully continuous class IV soon evolved into stomping class V rapids as the creek gained volume and inertia. After a long day on the river, we walked to a nearby village for a dinner of Dal bhat (a Nepali staple of rice and lentils) and a comfortable bed in a trekkers’ lodge. On the Modi Khola, as with many rivers in Nepal, we could enjoy a multiday paddling trip without any of the usual discomforts.

Paddling trips from Pokhara

From the tourist town of Pokhara, Nepal’s adventure capital, we organized many more trips. Some classic rivers—such as the Seti, Kali Gandaki and Marsyangdi—could be reached with relative ease from Pokhara using public buses, cabs and ancient footpaths. Heading to a few of the more remote rivers required patience, perseverance, some major string pulling and even the odd bribe. But fly-in trips like the Thule behri and Humla Karnali reward determined paddlers with some of the longest, best class V multidays anywhere in the world.

Four people, a dog, and two yaks carrying whitewater kayaks, walking along a narrow path on the side of a mountain with snow.

Nepal’s Legendary Karnali River Is A Kayaker’s Dream

Rapid magazine spring 2010 cover This article originally appeared in Rapid’s Spring 2010 issue. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine and get 25 years of digital magazine archives including our legacy titles: Rapid, Adventure Kayak and Canoeroots.

Thule Behri, day two of five. Dave Mourier and Jon Combs probe yet another drop in the deep, monsoon-flooded canyons of the remote Dolpa region. | Feature photo: Maximilian Kniewasser

Making History In Paddling Towns

In Kent Ford’s documentary The Call of the River: A Hundred Years of Whitewater Adventure, he traces the history of whitewater from its humble beginnings in Europe through its position today as a major outdoor sport.

Paddling as we know it here in North America began in the early ‘70s with an emerging counterculture of hippie adventurers. With topographic maps they headed for the hills in search of virgin runs landing in what are today’s best-known paddling towns. In this issue we’ve featured 50, including my own—Palmer Rapids. Like many others, it became a paddling town in spite of itself.

Person paddling on river with mist rising up

50 Of The Best Whitewater Towns To Visit Before You Die

Making history in paddling towns

Europeans first settled the rugged area in the mid-1800s, scraping out livelihoods with subsistence farming and logging. Hundreds of men drove logs down the Madawaska River each spring to the lumber mills in Palmer Rapids. Men died. “The river killed your father,” widows warned their children.

In 1931 Ontario Hydro (now Ontario Power Generation) rebuilt the timber crib dam constructed in 1881 to hold back water for the spring log drives. It was rebuilt again in 1957 with channel excavations completed in 1967, just in time for the 1972 release of the movie Deliverance and the subsequent first wave of Grumman canoes.

Palmer Rapids quickly became a training ground for canoe tripping summer camps, Black Feather and private groups planning longer, northern expeditions.

Meanwhile further upstream Hermann and Christa Kerchoff opened the Madawaska Kanu Centre on what is known as the Middle Mad section. North America’s oldest paddling school brought a European whitewater flavor to the area—specifically, kayakers.

In the early 1980s, the Ministry of Natural Resources proposed the creation of the Madawaska River Provincial Park. Local residents saw the plan as a threat to land ownership and motorized use of the river, and this marked the beginning of ill feelings toward “goddamned paddlers.”

The park was approved in 1987, but with boundaries scaled back to 200 meters on either side of the 22-kilometer whitewater section from Aumonds Bay to the village of Griffith. Then the recession in the early ‘90s gutted resource management in the province and the park management plan was shelved, downgrading it to a non-operating waterway park.

Powerful Partnerships in the Whitewater Community

Here’s where I come in—me and everyone else. With the introduction of the Perception Dancer and Royalex canoes, not only did the number of paddlers on rivers everywhere double; apparel switched from natural fibers to purple and teal synthetics. Remember the ill feelings toward paddlers? Now we stuck out like sore thumbs.

In 1997 Lee Chantrell, Shawna Babcock and I registered Paddler Co-op, a non-profit paddling school to teach no-frill paddling courses. In a bar after our first tradeshow I got the idea of a paddling magazine, moved to Palmer Rapids, and 11 months later launched the first 16-page sampler issue of Rapid magazine.

[ Browse the widest selection of boats and gear in the Paddling Buyer’s Guide ]

A quiet acceptance

Today Paddler Co-op’s outreach program has made inroads. A two-day paddling program for students at Palmer Rapids Public School marks the first time in 200 years that local residents have actually paddled the rapids. Paddler Co-op operates an office and campground out of the facilities left vacant by the MNR in the ‘90s. It is on this site that Rapid hosts Palmer Fest, making a whitewater festival the second largest tourist event in the 700-square-kilometer municipality.

Jasper, British Columbia: The Second Coming Of A Paddling Town

A few of the 50 whitewater towns in this issue are investing millions in building whitewater facilities. Others are viciously divided on the importance of the natural, economic and recreational benefits of their rivers. Some, like Palmer Rapids, have resolved to a quiet acceptance of our mango Gore-Tex drysuits.

If whitewater is still a major sport at the end of the next 100 years I believe it will be because of these four reasons: Deliverance dies with VHS; we’ve gained the respect of politicians proving we are revenue-generating and pain-in-their-ass neutral; we’ve banded together to protect rivers from development; and we’ve grayed the line between local and boater through education and respect for those who truly call the rivers their home.

Scott MacGregor is the founder and publisher of Rapid, whose office remains in downtown Palmer Rapids.

Cover of the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine This article was first published in the Spring 2010 issue of Rapid Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Paddlers now welcome. | Feature photo: Scott MacGregor

How To Extend Your Paddling Season

There’s no reason you can’t get on the water this spring as soon as the ice goes out. Paddling in the cold is safe and fun as long as we remember what our mothers taught us—dress for the weather, sure, but also for the water.

As a general guide, follow the 100-degree rule: dress for cold water any time the water temperature and air temperature add up to less than 100 degrees F (37 C). Also take into account other factors like your experience, the distance you are from shore, water conditions, and whether you’re solo or in a group. If in doubt, consider the water temperature, assume you’ll go over and dress for immersion.

The point is to be safe and also comfortable, and with the right clothing, you can have both.

Your Body in Cold Water

When dressing for cold water—anything below about 15 C (60 F)—it helps to understand what happens physiologically when you are immersed. There are really two dangers to prepare for: the shock of initial immersion, and the cooling effect of prolonged immersion.

This is a key point made by the world’s leading authority on the subject, Gordon Giesbrecht , director of the University of Manitoba’s Laboratory for Exercise and Environmental Medicine. Nicknamed Professor Popsicle, Giesbrecht has voluntarily lowered his body temperature below the hypothermia threshold (35 C; 95 F) over three-dozen times for the good of science.

Contrary to what you might think, Giesbrecht’s experiences show that it takes some time to become incapacitated by hypothermia in cold water. His 1–10–1 principle explains what happens to the uninsulated body in cold water: In the first minute of immersion you gasp and hyperventilate; the danger in this stage is that you’ll panic and inhale water.
If you can remain calm, control your breathing, begin to tread water or hold onto your boat, the initial shock will subside and you’ll have about 10 minutes of good muscle function to call for help, climb back into your boat or head for shore. Then the cold starts to take effect but you’ll remain conscious for about one hour.

Dressing properly can prolong every stage of this process: reduce the shock of cold water immersion; increase the time you have to rescue yourself; and increase your survival time if you have to wait for rescue.

Wetsuits

Wetsuits are snug-fitting garments made of neoprene rubber that let in only a small amount of water, which is then heated by the body to provide a protective layer of warmth. Paddling wetsuits are generally made of 3-millimetre neoprene. In warm air temperatures, it can be more comfortable to wear a wetsuit all day than a drysuit, especially a shortie or farmer john– style suit that covers just the core. Wetsuits offer the versatility of adding a splash layer such as a paddling jacket for protection from wind, spray and rain. Wetsuits are less expensive, longer lasting and easier to maintain than a drysuit (there’s nothing worse then blowing a gasket or getting a pinhole in your drysuit).

Drysuits

A drysuit creates an actual barrier between you and the cold water. Drysuits are made of completely waterproof material complete with latex seals on the wrists, ankles and neck. The best suits use waterproof-breathable materials like Gore-Tex to reduce condensation, and include essential features like built-in socks and relief zippers.

By creating a wall between you and the water, a drysuit eliminates the “gasp” effect when you hit the water. How long you can last once immersed is determined largely by what you wear underneath. With a drysuit you have the ability to regulate the warmth by adding or subtracting under layers. The best way to refine the layering system is to jump in the water and see how it feels.

You have a choice between a one-piece drysuit or a two-piece drysuit, comprised of a jacket and pants or bibs. A one piece is the norm, because it’s the most watertight. There are advantages to a two-piece, however. First, with the top and bottom being separate, you’re able to get more movement in the groin and shoulders, and better options for fit since the top and bottom can be purchased in different sizes. Also, for the upper layer you can wear either a full drytop or another type of jacket such as a hooded anorak—which is not as watertight but more versatile and comfortable. With the latter, since there is no rubber neck gasket which some believe is the Achilles heel of the full drysuit, you’re spared those embarrassing neck hickies. In warm, calm conditions when you’re not worried about flipping, you can just wear the bottoms to keep your lower half dry.

Under Layers

The warmth of a drysuit comes from the layers you wear underneath: a base layer and an insulating layer. For the base layer, wear a synthetic fabric such as polyester or polypropylene that wicks moister away from the skin. The insulating layer can be synthetic such as the Immersion Research Thickskin Union Suit (immersionresearch.com; $95 US), merino wool, or a synthetic-merino blend such as Woolpower, which is woven with terrycloth loops to hold a layer of air next to the skin.

Merino wool is pricier than synthetic but has several advantages: it doesn’t feel prickly like traditional wool; it absorbs up to 30 per cent of its weight in water while still providing insulation; it is a renewable, natural product;
it doesn’t retain odours; and for après paddle fireside safety, it’s flame resistant.

Splash Layers

When the water temperature is relatively warm but the air temperature is cold, consider putting on a paddling jacket and pants. These splashproof items are perfect for wearing over wetsuits. A hooded paddling jacket also saves weight by doubling as a raincoat.

Hats, Mitts and Booties

Extremities get the final word. Neoprene booties and gloves, with additional neoprene bootie and glove liners for extra cold conditions, work wonderfully. For the coldest conditions, use pogies (mitts that Velcro to a paddle shaft) and wear thin neoprene gloves underneath.

For the head, a balaclava-style paddling hood provides the ultimate warmth, or you can wear a neoprene or fuzzy rubber skull cap (helmet liner) or a plain old wool tuque.

Kayak Dream Homes: Launch Pad

Stories

Photo: Paul Caffan — Kayak Dream Homes: Launch Pad

When you have seals crawling up onto your front lawn and spray from the Tasman Sea breaking over your roof then you know you live close to the elements.

I moved into my house on the west coast of New Zealand 25 years ago. The previous owners sold it when their long-drop toilet fell into the sea. They thought their crayfisherman’s cottage would be next and they were glad to get rid of it.

I was enchanted by the incredible view. I stood on the golden beach and watched the rollers slamming into defiant rock pinnacles and I decided I’d rebuild it from the piles up.

I started mixing sand, cement and beach rocks by hand. Then I bought a cement mixer and built up walls in front of the house. I must have poured 70 square metres of concrete over the years. Now the waves don’t crash over the house anymore, but I’m still privy to such a dynamic environment, right on my doorstep.

Inside, the house is done up quite simply. There’s one main room with the kitchen, my bed and a sitting area, with double glass doors

that open onto the sea. There’s also a small study, a garage and an upstairs snuggery, or loft, where guests can crawl up a ladder and sleep. There’s a shower, and the toilet is in the back of the garage. The position of the car means that any unsuspecting person walking in only gets a view of your head.

Above the car, my five Nordkapp sea kayaks and a k1 are hanging from the roof. They mean a lot to me as they accompanied me on my vari- ous sea kayaking expeditions including around Japan, around Alaska, and several thousand miles in Greenland. The Nordkapps I paddled around Australia and New Zealand are on permanent display in those countries’ respective National Maritime Museums.

The study is full of thousands of books. I collect books about kayaking and the Arctic and love go- ing to secondhand book shops searching for rari- ties. I’m also passionate about opera and usually have Boito’s Mefistofele blaring out of the house.

In between kayaking trips, I used to work as a mining geologist. It wasn’t unusual for me

to be picked up to go to work by helicopter. At low tide, the pilot would land on the beach, and at high tide, he could just get two-thirds of the skids on the lawn, and I’d jump on.

I can’t imagine living anywhere else. I reckon I’ll fall off my perch here and they’ll find me on the lawn with the seagulls picking my eyes out. In the summer, I can wander round naked all day, take my wave ski for a surf outside the door, then relax in my outdoor swimming pool right on the brink of the sea. I watch the sunset with a glass of red or a medicinal dram of whisky. What could be better?

Paul Caffyn made sea kayaking history with his 60-day circumnavigation of Australia in 1981. He has also paddled around New Zealand, Iceland, Alaska and Japan.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine as part of a feature on kayak dream homes. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Kayak Dream Homes: Going Green on Superior

Stories

Photo: Virginia Marshall — Kayak Dream Homes: Going Green on Superior

The first time I sat in a kayak I thought, “I have to have one of these things.” I started as a weekend paddler, fitting it in when I could.

At 63, I wasn’t getting any younger and I knew I had a lot to learn if I wanted to realize my dream of paddling the remote coast of Lake Superior. I started taking courses, eating a healthy raw food diet and losing weight. I learned how to roll, surf and paddle Greenland-style. This year I’m preparing for the Paddle Canada Level 3 certification.

My husband and I discovered this 93-acre property on a weekend drive up the north shore. I spent a year hiking the three-quarter-mile shoreline of the property, searching for the spot where the sound of the waves and the view were just right.

An architectural graduate friend helped us design the plans. We wanted a building that was aesthetically satisfying but also sturdy, low-maintenance and energy efficient. We used a lot of windows to bring the outside in. Since we are on a bluff facing almost due west, we have spectacular sunsets year-round but we are also exposed to heavy winds that build across hundreds of miles of fetch. We had to have special engineering and use triple-pane glass to withstand the wind. Paired with an energy-conscious lifestyle, a windmill and solar panels generate enough power to cover nearly all of our electrical energy needs.

There are a few disadvantages to living here. It’s not as carbon-friendly as I’d like because of the gas used to drive an hour to town for groceries. It’s socially isolated and a bug net is requisite for spring gardening. But there are many rewards: being immersed in nature, fall- ing asleep and waking up to the sound of wind and waves—it’s a spiritual place. And I can put my kayak in the water whenever I want.

Tammy Story, a retired nurse, and her husband live in a cliff-top home on Lake Superior. A latecomer to sea kayaking, Tammy now upstages the regulars at winter pool sessions with an array of greenland-style rolls and last summer completed her first extended trip, an eight-day odyssey on Lake Superior’s north shore.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2010 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine as part of a feature on kayak dream homes. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.