Whitewater rivers are one part water and one part rock, tilted downhill. No one understood this better, and explained it more clearly, than William Nealy. His book, Kayak, The Animated Manual of Intermediate and Advanced Whitewater Technique (1986, Menasha Ridge Press) is a classic. If you are unfamiliar with Nealy’s book, note the words classic and animated: classic as in still relevant and highly recommended, and animated – hand drawn and hand printed, unlike anything you would find today.

While kayaking has changed immensely since these early days, rivers have not.

It is Nealy’s understanding of “hydrotopography,” as he aptly calls it, which illustrates his brilliance and the staying power of his work. With his keen perceptions and black pen, he removes the water from the river and illustrates rapids as conveyer belts, geometric shapes and arrows. He explains better than anyone:

How well a boater can read the topography of this complex terrain and extrapolate what’s going on underneath the surface can make the difference between a good run and a bad run… Being able to look at a rapid and know what’s happening both on and below the surface…is the mark of the advanced kayaker.

Kayak is one of the earliest kayak manuals, and certainly the most read and longest lived. Nealy’s revealing illustrations informed generations of paddlers’ understanding of whitewater. This three dimensional understanding and appreciation of rivers is being lost.

New paddlers now access whitewater via DVD instruction and YouTube. Lost is the self-paced, engaging, imaginative, cerebral and committing study of written manuals such as Nealy’s.

Over the last five years or more, paddling has centred on a few familiar and well-travelled destination rivers. Boat designs have been feeding this narrowly focused park and play trend. Even institutional kayaking’s push to get newbies surfing amounts to minimizing a river to only its play spots.

In this new paddling world, scouting is optional and therefore becoming a lost skill.

The ability to analyze the current and understand the rocks and riverbed below is being overlooked for superficial, immediately self-gratifying, two-dimensional thrills.

The last couple seasons have, for the good I believe, seen a resurgence and renewed interest in river running. With river running comes exposure to different rivers and different rapids; with that comes the need to scout and develop a sense for what the current is doing. This, as Nealy believed, is best done with an understanding of what is going on beneath the surface. This three dimensional view is integral to the whole river experience.

Guiding on Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon, I remember one rock in particular. It was pyramid shaped and reaching to within arm’s length beneath the surface of the fast moving, crystal clear water. Tumbling in the submerged eddy current was the material of a living river: bits of bark, dirt and bugs. In that instant, for me, the river became a three-dimensional being much greater than just the surface features with which I formerly had been preoccupied.

Nealy wrote that to understand and appreciate what goes on “both on and below the surface” is the sign of a good kayaker. I believe that when someone understands (or at least tries to understand) the whole river, that person becomes not just a good kayaker but a true river person.

Jeff Jackson is a professor of Outdoor Adventure at Algonquin College in Pembroke, Ontario. William Nealy died July 19, 2001. Kayak has sold over 250,000 copies and been translated into five languages. 

This article first appeared in the Fall 2009 issue of Rapid Magazine.

While the following strategies do require a small amount of effort and forethought, the payoff is so significant that they must be incorporated into any trip you do without your significant other. If applied correctly, these tips will not only mollify your partner; they will actually win you brownie points.

Here’s the secret: Document yourself missing your partner. 

As a kayaker, there comes a time when you experience a magical moment. Paddler, boat and water combine into a oneness of existence. No longer are you a separate entity from your vessel. No longer is the kayak at odds with the flow of the water. Congruence occurs and your experience becomes Zen-like, where your only realm of being is in the moment. you are so connected with the water that paddling transcends into an unconscious effort, where the rhythm of your motion is as involuntary as the beating of your heart.

This Zen of paddling cannot be consciously willed. It merely happens. It is, of course necessarily predicated on the hours of kayaking needed to perfect your strokes and to coordinate your body movements into well-defined synchronization. Paddling a kayak is forged to perfection with dedicated practice.

You know you are approaching the Zen stage when the fundamental parts of your stroke slide together. The catch, power phase and release reach the point where they are separately ingrained into your musculature and complement one another. When your focus moves from the left blade catch to the right blade catch, and all the movements between the two just happen, the magic moment is near.

Zen will be upon you without searching for it. you arrive before you know it! It simply dawns on you that your paddle is an extension of your arms. The paddling motion is happening without your willing it. your mind is no longer the necessary master of your actions. Rather, your actions free your mind to reach another level of being.

No longer needed to will a motion, the mind finds purpose in crystallizing the experience of the moment: the essence of a breath; the sound of the paddle blade kissing the water; the slicing of the bow through the ripples; the cadence of catch after catch; the joy of being at one with the water. Here, life can simply flow. Unencumbered. Purposeful. Restful. Smooth.

I first met my friend Dave when he was one of the interview subjects for my master’s thesis. The thesis was about the religious aspects of the wilderness experience. I was looking for people who were passionate about outdoor sport the way other people are passionate about church; in a way that infuses and influences their whole lives.

I couldn’t have found a better subject.

Dave is a few years older than me, but we have parallel backgrounds. We both grew up in suburban Toronto and escaped the city as early and often as we could. We both studied geography in university, got summer jobs tree planting in northern Ontario, and went to grad school in Victoria.

But something happened to Dave along the way that sharpened his experience—and probably made him especially qualified to speak to my thesis question. A car accident broke Dave’s back.

Several years ago, Dave and I paddled from Prince Rupert to Victoria: 1,400 kilometres in 80 days. If you do the math, that’s an average of just a few hours of paddling per day. We paddled high-volume boats and carried loads of food. We rested one day out of three and most days we were off the water by lunchtime. Time off was for reading and eating, photography and sunbathing, sleeping and exploring. We could have finished sooner but we went slowly because we didn’t want it to end. Every day was quality.

I couldn’t have planned a trip like that without Dave. I would have been caught up in covering a lot of distance and lost sight of the goal, which was just to have fun, explore and live outside.

Dave has a clearer sense of his values than most people I know. He knows how to use time well—on kayak trips and in everyday life.

When I first met Dave he was talking about leaving his secure, senior government job to spend more time kayaking and work as a photographer. Then he did it: quit his job, went to photography school, sold his house, downsized his life and started freelancing.