When Bruce Lash started kayaking in 1983, he never imagined one day leading a group of paddlers across 12 kilometres of open water on lake Superior in November. The self-proclaimed “ordinary paddler” and firefighter from Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, first became interested in sea kayaking as a means to better duck hunting. Less than a decade later, he was paddling with top kayakers, the likes of Derek Hutchinson and Valley Canoe Products designer Frank Goodman, and had started the first sea kayak company on lake Superior. lash became part of sea kayaking’s highest order in 1995 when Nigel Dennis, a British Canoe Union (BCU) coach and legendary expedition paddler, signed his 5-Star Sea Award.

Lash says his 5-Star assessment included everything the Holy Grail of sea kayaking is known for: rough water landings, broken boats and night navigation. Early on in the crossing portion, a paddler panicked and had to be towed for most of the way. Then, Dennis flooded someone else’s bow hatch—camping gear and all—and left lash to pick up the pieces. All the while and ever deadpan, Dennis watched on from a distance.

“It was like a rite of passage,” says lash. “I’ve never been so intimidated in my whole life. But there was a certain comfort in knowing that the assessor put you in those situations knowing that you had the tools to get out of them safely. And because I went in ready for the worst, it was achievable. But it felt really, really good when it was over.”

Despite its iconic status, the BCU wasn’t the first national governing body of paddle- sports. The American Canoe Association (ACA) started up in 1880, long before 1936 Olympic hopefuls created a union of English paddlers. But sea kayaking was barely known in North America when the sport’s highest standards were set by BCU grandfathers and whitewater paddlers Hutchinson, Tom Caskey, Sam Cook, and John

Ramwell in the 1960s.


BCU programs are divided into training and assessment stages. Since the beginning, the goal of the BCU’s top sea kayaking award has been to train and assess expedition paddlers for their ability to lead groups in advanced sea conditions.

In north America meanwhile, where sea kayaking blossomed without for- mal instruction, the ACA’s only sea kayaking offering by the 1980s was a course that corresponded with the bottom rung of the BCU’s five-step ladder, says Dave ide, who began paddling in Traverse City, Michigan, in 1983. “All the ACA had were beginner-level courses. The British were doing things like kayaking around Cape Horn and Nigel [Dennis] had kayaked around all of the British Isles. They were very into the adventure aspect and the rougher ocean, and had an instruction program to back it up.”

The British invasion began when Czech ex-pat and former whitewater slalom world champion Stan Chladek began importing British-built sea kayaks to his Detroit paddling shop in the late 1970s and BCU instructors to his Great lakes Sea Kayak Symposium in the mid-1980s. Ide says that Britons Hutchinson, Goodman and Howard Jeffs were recruited by Chladek to oversee the ACA program. But it quickly became obvious that the British system of instruction was more refined, and BCU North America became its own entity.

Ide, a long-time AT&T telephone employee who still lives on the shore of lake Michigan, admits to having an addictive personality. As quickly as he became hooked on sea kayaking, he also became one of North America’s highest-ranking paddlers. He surfed his 18-foot Nordkapp with Goodman, Dennis and lash at Chladek’s Gales of November rendezvous on lake Superior’s Canadian shore, explored Vancouver island’s gale-battered Brooks Peninsula and paddled the violent tide races of the British isles. He achieved his first BCU instructor award in 1990.

After taking Advanced Proficiency Sea (now 5-Star Sea) training on lake Michigan, ide joined the 5-Star fraternity in 1993 when he led a group of paddlers, including assessor Dennis, in fog and five-metre seas on the boomer-ridden coast of Maine. “I was the only one with a chart and to get back to shore we had to follow a particular path around a bunch of is- lands,” says ide. “When we made it in safely, Nigel said he’d be happy to sign my endorsement.”

The Advanced Proficiency curriculum was about “stretching the boundaries of your skill level,” says ide. Still, it was doable. Ide says that then—as is still the case with the 5- Star today—candidates were told the skills and knowledge they were expected to demonstrate well before being assessed.

“Some of the skills sounded intimidating—like throwing away your paddle and rolling up with a spare in breaking waves,” he says. “But practiced, and by the time the assessment came around I could do it without fail. The hardest parts were the leadership and navigation aspects. You never knew what they were going to throw at you.”

In 1994, Ide became a senior instructor and, along with New York’s Bill Lozano, was handed the unenviable task of administering the BCU in North America—while the tea-sipping grandfathers watched on from across the pond. When Ide sanctioned Lash’s 5-Star Sea assessment on Lake Superior, the old guard balked. “It never really flew with the people in Britain that we could have an endorsement that was non-tidal,” says Ide.

Sam Crowley, an Ide-trained sea kayak instructor from Marquette, Michigan, says there were complicated politics involved: “The BCU has always had this thing where some have aspired to go global and others have wanted to stick to England. In the late-1990s, the ‘stick to England’ camp won.”

The BCU withdrew high-level instruction in North America for a time. As the BCU’s influence here waned, homegrown American and Canadian paddlesports programs flourished. Both the ACA and Canada’s national paddlesports organization, Paddle Canada, developed beginner to expert programs with skills and instructor streams that parallel the BCU hierarchy. Yet interestingly—whether out of deference to the legendary status of the BCU’s top honour or just poor marketing—both labelled their top award a level 4. Both level fours have yet to equal the 5-Star’s prestige.

Back in England, the BCU remained the domain of some of the world’s best sea kayakers. Today the BCU torch burns brighter than ever in the hands of a fresh, younger generation of expedition paddlers and ocean playboaters like Jeff Allen.


To understand the BCU program, says Allen, an instructor, expedition paddler and owner of Sea Kayaking Cornwall, you have to realize that its awards are based on the sea conditions of Great Britain’s North Atlantic coast.

“The biggest problem with the running of 5-Star assessments in the U.S. is the lack of strong tidal flow,” says Allen. “It’s not that the U.S. doesn’t have 5-Star conditions. But the strong tides [of the British Isles] are intrinsic to the BCU 5-Star Sea award.”

Allen, who has sea kayaked around Japan and Antarctica’s South Georgia Island, admits to having never heard of the BCU when he started paddling in the mid-1990s. “At first I thought what a mess—levels, stars, A grades—and assessors and coaches griping at the system,” he says. “There may be a certain amount of British bull, but I quickly realized that the core of the system is as strong as it gets.”

After several 5-Star dry runs in Welsh overfalls as a “crash test dummy,” Allen found himself under the leadership microscope in 2003, taking a group across the Straits of Gibraltar. The typically three- to four- hour crossing from Spain to Morocco turned into a nine-hour suffer-fest, with Allen and assessor Fiona Whitehead both towing other participants in buffeting winds.

“Because I prepared religiously, I can’t say that it was a challenge,” says Allen. “In my training I worked through the what-ifs, looked for answers and developed strategies.”

Unlike the early days, female paddlers have played an increasingly important role in today’s BCU—and are instrumental in bringing the resurgence of the BCU’s North American influence. Since Trys Burke became the first woman to achieve the coveted Level 5 Coach award and was certified to assess 5- Star candidates in 1998, Fiona White- head and American Jen Kleck have also become top-ranked coaches.

Inspired and intimidated by the 5- Star Sea’s reputation, Ginni Callahan, a sea kayak guide and instructor who splits her time between Washington’s Puget Sound and Baja, Mexico, challenged the award in 2005. She did her assessment in Wales under the auspices of Nigel Dennis, Rowland Woollven and Fiona Whitehead, in the powerful, unfamiliar tidal races of Holy Island.

“It was my first time paddling in England and behind it all there was this sense of the impossible,” says Callahan. “On the whole, sea kayakers in England don’t paddle in the same type of conditions that we paddle in here on the Pacific. The tide races are so dynamic. It’s true that the sea conditions over there are un- like anything in the U.S.”

Callahan says British-trained sea kayakers seem to have a fondness for hardship and an affinity for disaster. “I went over and practiced for a few weeks before my assessment and helped out as a rescue boater at Nigel’s symposium,” she says. “The symposium was a real eye-opener. Participants could choose between three streams of instruction: Playing in the tide races, rescues and incident management, or taking out Nigel’s old beater kayaks for a crash and bash. In the end, all three groups seemed to blend into one. It sounds crazy—and it was—but it really got me thinking on my toes.”

When it came time for her assessment, Callahan says the biggest challenge was the night navigation. She was responsible for leading the group on a set route in pitch darkness. As she completed the last leg, the single streetlight she was using as a target was missing and she was reduced to hoping for the best.

“When we got close to the beach and the light was gone, I was certain I’d screwed up,” says Callahan. “All the while, the rest of the group and the assessors were just watching me sweat it out. But it turns out I was right on. The light had been turned out for the night.”

Ten years after Dave Ide’s reign, instructors like Ginni Callahan, Jen Kleck, Leon Sommé and Shawna Franklin have re-established the BCU in North America. Sea Kayak Georgia and Florida’s Sweetwater Kayaks in- vite some of England’s finest instructors for their annual BCU weeks. And on the West Coast, Kleck runs 5-Star training courses and is planning a 5- Star assessment in the tide races of San Francisco Bay.

Callahan says the award’s “Holy Grail” reputation is only half right: “The assessment isn’t about trying to trip you up, it’s about getting you to lead. It’s accessible for those who’ve done their homework and have the leadership knack. Still, the award is real in the sense that it actually means something.”

Conor Mihell is a freelance writer and kayak guide based on Lake Superior. He holds the BCU 4-Star Sea award and is a Paddle Canada Instructor-Trainer (conormihell.com). 

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

“Quit drinking,” my husband said. “You’ll just have to pee more.”

New to kayaking, I had a major problem to figure out this summer. How the heck do women pee from these things?

On our first trip, we had to stop every two hours for me to go. I decided there had to be a better way after reading fabulous stories of women on expeditions doing 10-hour marathon days. How are they doing this? I must know since we are planning our own circumnavigation this summer around Manitoulin Island. It would be handy to discover this secret before then.

I began a desperate quest for knowledge. I ordered back issues of kayaking magazines that looked like they might have hidden tips. I bought kayaking videos and books about kayak expeditions. I found few answers. In Kabloona in the Yellow Kayak, Victoria Jason describes having a drysuit with no relief zipper and holding it all day until she could unpeel on shore. Not an option for my weak bladder.

At last I came across an advertisement for a women’s drysuit that included a relief zipper and a “Shewee.”

Ah ha! I was off to the outdoor store to find a Shewee. I purchased a P-Mate—the same idea. The sales girl told me, “Just climb onto your deck and go. It’ll wash off.”

She had obviously never seen me practicing reentries. If I could do one of those headstands in a kayak, then I wouldn’t have this problem.

Time to ask the experts. I nervously sent an email to the well-known expedition kayaker Justine Curgenven. The very next day I received an answer. (In trying to convey my excitement at this to a hockey-loving friend, I compared it to him getting a personal e-mail from Wayne Gretzky. How she had the time to respond to my wee request between all her touring for her latest movie, I don’t know.) My quest was over.

She presented three options.

1. Pee on a sponge (ew).
2. Try the P-Mate into a bottle. (This, Justine admits, is pretty awkward.)
3. Raft up and put one foot on my kayak and the other on another kayak and pee in between. Yeah, okay. In fact, Justine told me there is a short clip in her latest movie This is the Sea 4 that shows this being done.

So, unfortunately, there is no magic formula, but I now have something to work on for the summer. After several weird attempts at standing on my back porch and peeing off it, I’m still unsure about lying down with a drysuit on in a tiny coffin-like space and aiming into a bottle while bouncing around in waves. And since I’m not going to quit drinking anytime soon, my new strategy involves “stopping to smell the roses” whenever I want to. At least until I can do a headstand.

Terry Johnson lives in Whitefish Falls, Ontario, and writes personal anecdotes of her outdoor adventures (terrylynnjohnson.com). 

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

For me there’s a certain ritual associated with heading out to kayak surf. There’s the obsessive monitoring of online wave plot predictions, winds and tides. And the spirited debates and often ridiculously over- optimistic hopes about what day will yield the best surf. Authoritative predictions are made, and then come the day, the traditional early morning phone calls and emails crisscross our little surfing community as we make the final call—do we risk the long drive in hope of surf? Or do we abort in favour of going sea kayaking closer to home, running a river or (gulp) doing yard work?

I’ve been paddling the surf breaks that form at the mouth and point at Jordan River on southern Vancouver Island since the early ‘90s. Jordan river is about one and a half hours’ drive from Victoria—out past the community of Sooke—on the island’s west coast. Its proximity to victoria has made it a very popular destination with an ever-growing number of board surfers, as well as a handful of misguided souls (like me) who kayak surf.

Now Jordan river and a huge chunk of land that stretches along that section of coast is threatened by major development. Despite very vocal opposition from the public, it’s unclear what the fate of the land and the surf break will be. The dispute dates back to January 2007, when the provincial government gave a logging company, Western Forest Products (WFP), approval to release 28,000 hectares of its private land from management under the province’s Tree Farm License system. The decision allows WFP to sell the land—including the Jordan River area—for corporate profit. A Vancouver-based developer has plans for 2,550 hectares, including a village of 10,000 residents at Jordan River, a marina and hundreds of rural lots.

The province’s auditor general, John Doyle, said in a July 2008 report that the decision to release the land was made without due consideration for the public interest. Due to pressure from environmental organizations and the public, the regional government put in a new bylaw that requires a minimum lot size of 120 hectares for most of the area. The bylaw also restricts the subdivision of existing lots into anything smaller than 10 acres. This is staving off major development for the moment, but WFP and the Association of B.C. Landowners have challenged it in court.

Perhaps the potential loss of one surf break on Vancouver Island doesn’t sound very important. Maybe it seems irrelevant. But look at it this way: Jordan River is the canary in the coal mine alerting us to the pressures on our favourite backcountry paddling destinations. If we paddlers do nothing to manage expansion as our population grows and urban sprawl sprawls, it is not a question of if each of us will lose one of our favourite paddling destinations, but when.

In B.C., an incredible number of waterways have been targeted for small independent power production. The amazing Okisollo rapids and Surge narrows off of Quadra Island were recently threatened by a hydro project. In the face of strong opposition, the provincial government announced the cancellation of both applications. Great news, but don’t celebrate too long because not very far away, another proposal is threatening the beautiful mainland watershed in Bute Inlet.

This summer, as I paddled Vancouver Island’s west coast from Port Hardy round Cape Scott and the Brooks Peninsula, it struck me how many campsites we use through convention and the good graces of their custodians, rather than by permission or any formal land use agreement. Much of the coast south of the Brooks, for instance, is subject to land claims from First Nations. Our access is a privilege, not a right, and despite the reassuring presence of all the sites listed in guidebooks and on maps, in truth we could lose access very easily. The clock is ticking.

Unless we start to give some thought to preserving the areas that we love to visit by kayak and act to establish land use agreements that support marine trail systems (such as the ambitious B.C. Marine Trail concept), we may find that touring possibilities become very restricted. The loss of just a few strategically placed campsites can make linking many kayaking routes unsafe or virtually impossible for the average paddler.

Of course expansion and development is not all bad and hydroelectric power generation is a necessity for our power-hungry lifestyles. But I for one want to try and help steer development so that it happens within a carefully considered, publicly approved plan and timeframe, that protect as many green places as possible. Because when it comes to making shopping malls, radial tires and light bulbs, we humans are fantastic. But we suck at building a dragonfly, grizzly bear, gnarled pine tree or a pristine stretch of coastline.

Now I’m going surfing. While I still can.

Alex Matthews would rather be out paddling. He recently organized a paddlers’ rally to oppose a mega-yacht marina in Victoria’s harbour.

This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2009 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Carving a descent through 6,200 feet of unyielding granite, water from the South Fork San Joaquin has earned a reputation for being the hardest working water in the world. On its turbulent journey, the water is reused nine times as the river runs a gauntlet of lakes, tunnels and powerhouses all part of the Big Creek Hydroelectric Project. Construction of Big Creek began in 1912 and the last powerhouse at Balsam Meadow, built in 1987, is 1,000 feet underground and carved from solid granite. Big Creek, California’s largest hydro project, swallows all but a trickle of the South Fork’s aquamarine waters.

Information regarding the project is held as tightly as the hold on water flows. In late August, American Whitewater volunteer Paul Martzen heard rumours of a release. 

“The hydro project had to move more water than they could get through the generators,” explained Martzen. Thirsty farmers down the valley meant water in the South Fork, and a shot at a first descent. The flow window would be brief and uncertain—the release starting on the Friday of Labour Day weekend. “My contact was fairly sure that the release would last through Sunday.”

With a three-day window, a group of four California and Oregon kayakers decided to go for it. Ben Stookesberry, Darin McQuoid and Matt Thomas drove through the night to meet with Kevin Smith for a once-in-a-lifetime assault on the river.

“It was no surprise that we had to portage large sections of Mono Creek, a small tributary inundated by 500 cubic feet per second,” says Smith. “The Middle Fork San Joaquin is known as the hardest run in California, but the South Fork takes everything about it to the next level.”

The run is filled with inescapable granite gorges, mandatory class V+ rapids, complex portages and pure wilderness scenery. For the first three days the group was surprised at how much they paddled, but late into day three it was painfully obvious they wouldn’t get out in the alloted time.

“Large sieves made us leave river level and portage over gorges,” says Thomas. Increasingly numerous and treacherous portages made for slow progress. As three days stretched to four, Big Creek’s gates closed and the South Fork eased back underground into restless hiding.

 “The South Fork San Joaquin is the hardest of the High Sierras,” says Stookesberry. “It’s an absolute classic multi-day.” 

Too bad it’s gone.

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