Getting Off the Green Highway

Skills

Photo: Ray Canton — Getting Off the Green Highway

Too often, no matter whether on a big play river or a tiny spring creek, beginner and even quite seasoned paddlers run straight-ahead-Fred tongue runs down very interesting sections of river. Even if you’re not a playboater or super hot river runner, there is usually a smoother, dryer, cleaner and sometimes even safer line than blasting down the middle. Finding these lines makes paddling more fun and improves your skills.

Scouting for Fun, Not Function

Standing above a set of rapids you often hear paddlers talking about the line. Not a line, or their line, but the line as if there is only one possible choice. In some extreme cases this is true, but for rivers most often paddled, there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of possible combinations. Start by identifying the hazards like wood and nasty holes. So long as you don’t paddle (or swim) into them, the rest is fair game. Start by picking out a few cool moves at the beginning when you can line them up from above, when you’re fresh and if you’re an open boater, when your boat is still dry. Make note of your exit strategy, which is the tongue line you would have paddled anyway.

Nail it and Rail it

There’s nothing more satisfying than nailing a tiny eddy up against a canyon wall—an eddy just small enough to snap your boat into and feed you back into the current, railing a jet ferry across to the other side. Kent Ford was a presenter at the recent Canadian Whitewater Instructor Conference where he spoke about making class II fun again. His mission is to better manage whitewater’s public image, make it more appealing to more people. However, making class II fun is good for everyone. Practicing tiny eddy moves and ferries on class II adds value to an otherwise cruisy run.

Boofs

Have a look at the above photo. Would you have boofed off the rock or drifted down a tongue with your paddle in your lap? Boofing the first eddy of the run is one of the most fun moves on the river, not to mention an incredibly valuable skill. This is almost certainly a smooth and dry line—whether you launch off the edge of the rock or just cut across the very top of the eddyline—with an eddy waiting below. Angle, momentum and timing work together; if one is off, just compensate with the others. Practice hitting the same boof or eddy super high from different approaches until you can nail it from anywhere above.

Turn and Surf

Not every perfect surf wave is eddy access at the bottom of a set. Look for them when you’re scouting and work them into your run. Catching surfs on the fly is easier than it looks. While floating down to a wave, spin your boat around so you’re facing upstream and paddle forward to slow your approach. Looking over your shoulder and hitting the steepest section with the biggest foam pile will help the wave catch your boat. Open boaters and C1 paddlers, you should try hitting the wave angled slightly to your paddling side so your last forward stroke straightens you on the wave.

Work It, Baby

I’m usually the first person to head down a set of rapids and the last to finish. Most think it’s because I’m in an openboat, ha ha, but it’s usually because I’m picking my way down, working each little river feature for all it’s worth. What’s the rush to get to the bottom, unless of course you enjoy flatwater.

This article on whitewater paddling skills was published in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.

In Parting: One Year of Photos, No Rain

Stories

Photo: Tim Shuff — In Parting: One Year of Photos, No Rain

The weather absolutely sucked: torrential rain, skyscraper waterspouts blasting across the inlet, the nearest lighthouse reporting hurricane force gusts. The wind steam-rolled our kayaks down the beach and filled our cockpits with sand. It was so awful that I took out my waterproof camera and snapped a photo, the one printed above. You could’ve almost bet that it would never appear in a magazine.

you don’t see this side of kayaking in our photos very often. In so many places where we paddle, we spend days upon days en- cased in clammy nylon, yet the cliché is the blue-skied slide show that makes everyone say, “You had such beautiful weather!”

To collect photographs is to collect the world, writes susan sontag. and we like to collect beautiful things. “Rain, rain, go away,” we say, and you can see it in our snapshots. Magazines have more fashion photos of sexy beauties and more travel photos of sunny days.

TAKING THE BAD WITH THE GOOD

There’s another reason we have so many fair-weather photos. It’s not just because nobody wants to get their camera wet. It’s because we kayakers can see blue skies and sunsets as what they really are to us—rare moments well earned. We remember the time the sun came out after 72 hours of rain, how good it felt to leave the tent and not get our clothes pasted to our skin. Those are some of our happiest moments. We photograph them because, as the writer Eudora Welty observed, “a good snapshot stops a moment from running away.”

Fair enough. But there’s a risk that every golden image hides the soggy truth that you’ve got to take the bad with the good.

As a skier, I have a theory about bad snow days that also applies to rainy paddling days. I think it’s a numbers game. The more crap days you endure, the more priceless pearls you find. You’ve just got to put in the time.

I don’t ever want to forget that yin and yang, like when I go camping again after months indoors and experience the shock of discomfort: “hey, it’s cold out here. It’s wet, the ground is hard, there are bugs. Why am I here?” I’ll bet it’s just this temptation to flee to the nearest holiday Inn when it dumps on day 1 that turns most people off wilderness, which is too bad because the outdoors needs all the friends it can get.

Next time you’re out in a gale, snap a few photos so you remember the whole story.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Rock the Boat: The Gods Must Be Seaworthy

Stories

Illustration: Lorenzo Del Bianco — Rock the Boat: The Gods Must Be Seaworthy

Recently I found myself wondering if I was leading a spiritually bankrupt existence. Should I have god in my life? And if so what god? Lord knows there’s a baffling selection. How could I possibly choose?

As with most things, I decided to relate my quest directly to kayaking, posing the following spiritual conundrum: which god (or the given religion’s representative) would make the best paddling partner?

Almost immediately, I ticked Buddha off my list. He clearly wasn’t in the best shape and he’d probably rather sit on the beach and chill than go for a paddle, which is cool, but I guess Buddhism isn’t really for me.

Next I considered Zeus. In Greek mythology he’s the god of the sky, and way too into thunder and lightning to be safe out on the water. He also has an incredibly checkered sexual history, having shagged just about everyone in ancient Greece. Renowned for his erotic escapades (including at least one pederastic relationship), he’s the last deity you would ever want to introduce to your partner, sister, grandfather…anyone. If I were looking for a horn-dog with a god complex, I would hire a kayak guide. Scratch Zeus.

Then I thought, what about Jesus? Great guy—the Son of God and an avid fisherman too. But picture it—you’re in big seas, a couple of miles offshore, desperately trying to get around a headland…and He keeps getting out of His kayak to stretch His legs. You’d feel ridiculous sitting there in your boat with Him striding around atop the angry seas in His goofy sandals. And what about all that kneeling to pray? Seems squarely aimed at canoeists, not kayakers. We sit, we don’t kneel. Forget Jesus.

Mohammed is terrific, but these days he always seems to draw an angry crowd of pissed-off Americans with guns, which is a huge drag. And besides, Islam is predominantly aniconistic, meaning that no visual representations of Mohammed are permitted, so holiday snapshots are right out.

EXPLORING THE INDIAN FAITHS

Next I started exploring Indian faiths: Vishnu and Shiva for instance are very groovy gods, but then it hit me—this was my personal epiphany. I know who the greatest paddling god is! It can be none other than Ganesha. In Hinduism, Ganesha is, according to my spiritual resources (i.e. the Internet) “the Lord of success and destroyer of evils and obstacles. He is also worshipped as the god of education, knowledge, wisdom and wealth.” This is one good guy to have on a trip.

Ganesha is described as having “an elephantine countenance with a curved trunk and big ears, and a huge pot-bellied body of a human being.” Okay, so like Buddha, he doesn’t live at the gym, but he’s the Lord of success, so no problem. And Ganesha has four arms, so we’re talking at least twice the power on a forward stroke, and bombproof braces. Imagine a combination of a low and a high brace both executed at the same time!

Even if he did capsize somehow, if he missed his first roll attempt, the second would be started before he even finished the first. Besides, if he wasn’t into rolling right away, he could just stick his trunk out of the water and breathe as long as he wanted. He could probably even reach his front hatch with that thing—definitely handy for getting at snacks.

Just imagine assisted rescues. While one set of arms would stabilize your kayak, the other would be manoeuvring the boats. He could pluck you from the water with his trunk, whip you back into your seat, and vacuum the water out of your cockpit with his trunk’s powerful suction. Ganesha must be the only paddler with his very own built-in snorkel and bilge pump. And remember, if a god rescues you, then brother, you are SAVED!

Not everything about paddling with Ganesha is going to be easy. It will definitely be a challenge to find a sunhat to fit that elephant head, and the four-armed paddling jacket is almost certainly going to be a special order, but for me, my spiritual journey is at an end. My personal paddling god is Ganesha, the “Lord of success and destroyer of evils”—and a wicked kayaker too. Amen!

Alex Matthews is a Canadian sea kayaker who contemplates the pantheon from a secret location where offended readers won’t be able to find him.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Silent Sam: Sam Crowley on His Circumnavigation of Ireland

Stories

Midway through his solo attempt to circumnavigate Ireland, the scariest thing Sam Crowley had encountered didn’t involve big seas, surf or tidal races. It happened, in Crowley’s words, “on a two-way lane about the width of a bicycle path with a speed limit of 80 kilometres per hour.”

“In many ways it’s safer on the water than on the roads,” says Crowley, a sea kayaker from Marquette, Michigan.

Catching up to Sam by phone in July, it’s not hard to imagine the easygoing, soft-spoken Crowley sipping Guinness in an Irish pub as he talks (with a bit of prodding) about the first quarter of his 2,200-kilometre trip. Despite the fact that he’s been windbound on the southwest corner of the emerald isle for nearly two weeks—all told he’s paddled 18 kilometres in the past 12 days—he’s still optimistic he’ll complete his clockwise circumnavigation before the end of the summer.

If he ever gets back on the water, the next task is an arduous crossing to Skellig Michael, a cliff-bound island with an abandoned 1,200-year-old monastery. Crowley says getting ashore there will involve a “Derek Hutchinson-style seal landing on a concrete pier.” From Skellig Michael, Crowley will continue north up the west coast of Ireland.

If you can convince him to tell you about it, Crowley has an impressive paddling resume including countless British Canoe Union and American Canoe association awards. Crowley and his partner Nancy Uschold run a sea kayak instruction company in Michigan’s upper peninsula. But what really stands out are his many extended trips on lake superior, a crossing of the Baltic sea from Helsinki, Finland, to Stockholm, Sweden, and a circumnavigation of Moresby island in the Queen Charlottes of Canada’s pacific coast.

While Crowley says the Ireland trip was the culmination of five years of planning and “warm-up trips,” the logistics were quite simple: he shut down his sport massage business for the summer, picked up an explorer sea kayak from Nigel Dennis in Wales, took a ferry to Dublin and started paddling.

He says the biggest difference between paddling around Ireland and his previous trips are the people.

“I’m used to places where you don’t see anyone,” says Crowley from a barstool in the town of garnish. “Here you camp on a beach and it’s like a promenade. But the people are so friendly. Earlier tonight a fellow took pity on me and brought me up here for a pint.”

Crowley says the rural Irish people he’s met have taught him the most. “Mostly I’ve learned not to try to keep up with 70- year-old drinking Irishmen, even if they’ve had a head start.”

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Editorial: First Comes Food, Then Comes Marriage

Stories

Photo: Steve MacDonald/Camp Cooking: the Black Feather Guide — Editorial: First Comes Food, Then Comes Marriage

With utmost respect for my favourite writer, I must disagree with his cranky opinion of backcountry cuisine.

I admit you can take gourmet eating too far. In my restless twenties I went on a guided kayak tour and was appalled by the excesses of what surly guides call a “float and bloat” trip. I remember grilled steaks on the first night, fresh peach shortcake with real whipped cream for dessert. Lunch featured a spread of hard and soft cheeses, charcuterie and two kinds of smoked fish, followed by fresh fruit and homemade chocolate chip cookies. As if that weren’t enough, halfway through the trip the guides paddled back to base to restock the larder and returned with Häagen-Dazs packed in dry ice. With so much time devoted to cooking and eating, we spent all seven days within an hour’s paddle of our starting point. We ate more calories than we burned and put more mileage on our silver- ware than our paddles. i like eating more than most, but that’s not my idea of a sea kayak trip. Edward Abbey would have been appalled.

I respect the gustatory minimalism of the hard-tripping ascetic I once was, but as years go by and my trips get shorter, I am coming around to the gourmet camp. I still have good friends who subscribe to the “food is just fuel” philosophy, but my tastes are diverging from theirs. If you dropped in on a recent trip and watched us unpack our respective lunches, you would see me carefully preparing an open-faced bagel sandwich with smoked oysters and cream cheese while my friend is happily scarfing cold baked beans from a can (“No Name, 66 cents!”).

MAKING THE MEALS COUNT

I see gourmet eating not as an end in itself, but as a reward for a hard day’s paddle, a complement to the fine scenery and amiable company of a trip. Kayak trips are one time in my life when I’m working hard enough to be truly hungry, and since I spend a good half of my time on the water thinking about my next meal, I like to make those meals count.

If I once underestimated the importance of gourmet camping, that all changed six years ago when I went paddling for the first time with my girlfriend. Determined to impress, I pulled out all the stops and served marinated chicken and fresh-baked pumpkin pie on the first night. She still tells the story about how I won her heart with that meal (and complains how my cooking nowadays rarely measures up). We’re getting married a few days after this magazine goes to press. For our honeymoon we’re going on a paddling trip and bringing plenty of good food.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Boat Review: Evergreen’s Solito

Photo: Scott MacGregor — Boat Review: Evergreen's Solito

The name Solito for Evergreen’s latest whitewater solo boat was literally pulled out of a hat. Before the new solo boat was about to be released last spring, Mountain Equipment Co-op ran a contest for its members to suggest names, the prize being a shiny new Evergreen Whatchamacallit. More than 5,000 names were dropped in boxes across the country and then short-listed to eight by a panel of judges. Wakefield, Quebec, resident Patrick Hunt is the proud owner of the very first Solito.

Evergreen Canoe Company is more commonly known among whitewater canoeists for their Starburst, a highly rockered, 17-foot river tripper, than it is for solo playboats. Six years ago or so, Evergreen acquired the rights to produce the Starburst, Prowler and Sunburst II, formally Blue Hole Canoe models. Along comes canoe designer John Graye shopping a new boat design and Evergreen has themselves a solo boat.

The Solito falls into the same category as the Esquif Zoom and Pyranha Prelude, short but still a full-bodied open boat. These designs are great surfers, quick to pivot, ideal for small rivers and technical moves. It’s the type of boat you grow into with a little experience.

If you’ve hung around open canoes for a while you’ll take one look at the Solito and say “cut-down Ocoee.” When the Dagger Ocoee was the hottest boat, paddlers were cutting sections from the middle of the hull and joining the two ends back together with epoxy. Great idea except that it removes the widest, most stable part of the canoe. The Solito is flat-bottomed with sharp chines and sharp bow and stern like the Ocoee, but wider, less flared and 13 inches shorter. So maybe not really like the Ocoee, but closer to that than anything else.

Although our test model looked practically new you can see and feel that the wide, flat bottom is oil canning between your knees. Sitting in it you can push the hull down into the water, which means that the water pressure is pushing up on the hull. Roll upside down and your weight really draws the hull in. What this means for performance is hard to tell, as you can’t paddle the boat any other way. With a more rigid hull, the Solito should be faster, and should also be crisper handling. Evergreen has been adjusting the specification of the Royalex sheets they use to stiffen it up, and the new hulls are supposed to be much better.

If the Solito was ours, we’d try moving the thwarts toward the centre of the boat and try bringing them in an inch or so. Sometimes drawing a boat in at the gunwales will cause the bottom to flex, tighten up and be more convex, which in the Solito would be a good thing. A rounder hull should make it faster and being narrower at the gunwales would make it easier to paddle. But this will make it initially more tippy and reduce the amount of flare, robbing its secondary stability. We’d also drill out the rivets and screw on some ash or cherry gunwales.

It seems like we’re being picky, but not really. The Solito is a great little boat that will suit a large number of paddlers, we’re just dreaming of making it our own. And we know from the Ocoee days that this particular shape is tons of fun to paddle and play around with.

Specs

Material: Royalex
Length: 9’ 11”
Width: 28”
Depth: 14”
Gunwales: Vinyl
Weight: 45 lbs (as tested with available Mike Yee Outfitting and bags)
MSRP: $1,349 CAD, not outfitted

Watch THE CANOE an award-winning film that tells the story of Canada’s connection to water and how paddling in Ontario is enriching the lives of those who paddle there.

Boat Review: The Island by Hobie

Photo Victoria Bowman — Boat Review: The Island by Hobie

BEFORE YOU ASK what business this crazy contraption has in a kayak review, let me explain that the core of the Hobie Island sailing trimaran is a standard Hobie Mirage Adventure sit-on-top kayak (this boat’s full name is the Hobie Mirage Adventure Island). The Mirage Adventure is the fastest kayak in the Hobie lineup, designed for maximum speed, tracking and carrying capacity. So if you strip off the Island’s pedal drive, plug-in wheelie cart, twin outriggers, 15-foot mast and 54.5-square-foot sail, you’re left with this nice all-purpose kayak to paddle around or fish from. It even has three hatches and built-in fishing rod holders.

A cautious kayaker, I first climbed aboard the Island with my paddle firmly in hand, ready to resort to paddling if things went sideways. Pedaling with my feet, controlling the rudder with my left hand and working the two lines for the sail with my right felt a bit like learning to fly a helicopter at first. But within half an hour playing in moderate winds I went from complete sailing beginner to flying along at up to seven knots. When the wind died or I stalled trying to come about to tack, I simply threw in a few pedal strokes to get moving again. I had a blast chasing waves and surfing downwind, jacking up the speed with the pedals if I needed a little oomph to get over a wave crest. I soon stowed the paddle for good.

The sail system is the real deal with the same high-quality rigging as Hobie’s famous sail cats: Harken hardware, Delrin plastic bearings at the base of the mast, Spectra cord rudder lines. With the roller-furling mast, you can go from full sail to zero in about five seconds, and instantly adjust the amount of sail for varying wind speeds. Kicking back and enjoying the view while averaging four or five knots, I had dreams of loading up for a long coastal tour and effortlessly cruising 50 to 100 kilometres a day with a cappuccino in the cup holder and some Jack John- son on the—okay, so there’s no stereo.

The Island is nearly impossible to flip due to a self-limiting design: when the boat catches a lot of wind, it leans over and buries the downwind outrigger, automatically slowing down (soaking the paddler in the process) and turning safely upwind. As my confidence grew, I started fantasizing about having more floatation in the outriggers, more clearance for the outrigger arms, and a larger rudder with a more powerful control so I could suck more speed from a strong wind. But I’ll bet that would get me into trouble. And I doubt you could still call it kayaking.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Boat Review: The T-1600 by TRAK

Have you seen The Kayak Transformers? This summer blockbuster begins not long ago in a galaxy not far away (Alberta), where a group of entrepreneurs quietly hatch a plan to create the most successful kayak company in the world.

By the end of 2005 our heroes have raised more than $2.4 million in startup capital and are angling for another $2 million from investors. In 2007 their top-secret invention, the TRAK T-1600, finally hits the water with a big splash. They boldly hype it as “the world’s only performance kayak that goes in a pack” and the media eats it up.

The action begins when the T-1600 rolls onto the scene in an attractive duffel bag with a plastic external frame and built-in wheels. Then it stuns its human owners by transforming into a medium-sized touring kayak in less than 20 minutes—faster than any other folding kayak in the universe. The one-piece hull and deck and aircraft-aluminum frame appear outstandingly engineered and constructed. A battle ensues for the hearts and minds of kayakers everywhere.

There is a dramatic climax when we discover that there are three hand-powered jacks built into the frame—one on each side of the cockpit and one along the keel between the paddler’s legs. These allow the T-1600 to change shape on the water. In an instant it switches from the flat profile of a rowing shell to the rocker of a whitewater canoe. Egads! Do you realize the implications? Here is a kayak that is immune to the classic tradeoff between speed and maneuverability! It can outrun play kayaks and outplay touring kayaks! Global market domination is virtually assured.

There’s a moment of doubt when we see that the side jacks are designed to hook the hull left or right to overcome turning in crosswinds (because the T-1600, in a gesture of elegant simplicity, has no skeg or rudder). The hard-chine, deep-V hull is not strongly affected by wind, so we wonder if this kinky feature is a strength or a weakness.  As the saga continues, however, the TRAK T-1600 proves itself to be an awesome transformer. It holds its own against any other folding kayak for its construction quality and ease of assembly alone. Dueling with quality hardshell kayaks in their element is another matter. These old standbys do what they do really well, at a price that’s easier for the masses to swallow. So the battle rages and it will take more time to know if the T-1600 can fulfill its creators’ dream of revolutionizing kayaking the way parabolic skis swept downhill skiing. Things look rosy for now, but just like in Hollywood, you can pretty much bank on a sequel.

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This article first appeared in the Fall 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Performance Paddling for Dummies

Skills

Photo: Don Stoneman — Performance Paddling for Dummies

For nearly 30 years my friend Steve has been paddling canoes “marathon style,” calling “huts” and switching sides every eight strokes or so. While some of Steve’s on-water time has been spent racing —he has been known to show up at the cottage regatta with his young son and make heads turn—far more of his days have been spent tripping across Algonquin Park and expeditioning in the Arctic.

Why does Steve paddle marathon style on trips? Steve admits that canoe tripping isn’t about being in a hurry— every canoe tripper will tell you that being outdoors in the fresh air and on the water is simply good for the soul. But you still have to achieve travel goals every day. So why not paddle the same distance with less effort and fewer sore muscles, with more time and energy left to explore when you get to the campsite?

Marathon style melds the human body (or bodies) with an exquisitely designed canoe to achieve a cruising speed of five or six miles per hour. Steve says that, boiled down to its essence, all it takes to master marathon’s elegant and efficient style are three rules of thumb. Steve’s three rules are essentially the fundamentals of the perfect forward stroke stripped of all fancy bits, such as the J- stroke, until there’s nothing left but what makes a canoe move quickly and effortlessly through the water.

The first rule: use the big muscles of the body’s core. Too often, canoe trippers simply reach forward and pull the paddle though the water with their arms. But the arms should be merely connecting rods to the paddle, not the pistons that drive it. The real power comes from the large mus- cle groups of the body’s core—the lats, abdominals and to a lesser degree, the shoulders. The arms hold the paddle in the water while these large muscles provide propulsion.

Rule number two is the secret to accessing the power of those core muscles: sit in the proper marathon position. Sit in a comfortably padded canoe seat—most marathon style paddlers prefer the rear of the seat to be raised slightly. Keep your back straight. Position your feet less than shoulder width apart against a firm footrest just far enough in front of you that your knees are either at the same height as your hips or just slightly higher. Rest your feet against a specialized footrest or strategically placed canoe pack to take the pressure off your hips. Keep your hamstrings loose, knees together—do not press your legs against the sides of the canoe.

This an ideal posture to prevent lower back pain. It also facilitates a forward lean of about nine degrees or 10 percent and lets your hips move freely. Maintain that lean in a relaxed fashion through all phases of the forward stroke. Do not hinge forward at the waist to maximize your reach. Bending forward tires the muscles, and it makes the canoe bounce, wasting energy. In the proper seating position, your skeleton takes the load. You can paddle further and faster without fatigue.

Now you’re ready to place a stroke. Bend your paddle-side knee to let the paddle side of your body rotate forward. Drop your paddle-side shoulder to place the blade in the water at your feet. Push down with your top arm and pull on the shaft with your back and abdominal muscles. Take the blade out before it reaches your hip.

Do it again.

Now for rule number three: you must keep your paddle perpendicular to the water surface so that it moves parallel to the keel line. Pay attention to your top hand— it should be out in front of your paddle-side shoulder from the very beginning of the power phase of your stroke, only coming low and in front of your body during the recovery. If the top hand strays, the paddle won’t travel parallel to the canoe’s keel line. The bow paddler will push the canoe slightly off course to the side away from the paddle, wasting energy that should be spent pushing the canoe forward while the stern paddler spends energy drawing to bring the canoe back in line. A stern paddler who doesn’t have the top hand over the paddle is likely crabbing the stern off course. So get that top hand out over the paddle! You know you’re doing it right if the shoulder strap on the “top arm” side of your PFD is rub- bing against your ear or even your cheek.

When both paddlers are performing this stroke correctly (wind and current effects aside) the canoe will gradually veer toward the bow paddler’s side. Call a “hut” to switch paddling sides and in a few strokes the canoe will come back on course with no momentum-wasting pries or J-strokes.

Marathon style paddling is most effective when you have a lightweight performance canoe with a long water- line, minimal rocker, a sliding bow seat and adjustable footrests; you and your partner have correctly sized paddles—ideally bent-shafts; and your canoe is made trim by adjusting the load or sliding seats.

However, Steve’s three principles of an efficient forward stroke are the same no matter what canoe you’re in, whether you’re skirting the shores of Bathurst Inlet, crossing Lake of Two Rivers or trashing those twits who beat you at last year’s cottage regatta.

Don Stoneman has been racing marathon canoes and kayaks for about 25 years. He is the chair of Canada’s Marathon Racing Council and past president of the Ontario Marathon Canoe Racing Association.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2004 issue of Canoeroots Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Canoeroots’ print and digital editions here.

Drag-and-Drop

Skills

I set up for shallow slides much the same as I set up for any creek line. I start opposite the side I want to end up on and carry momentum into the rapid to cross the grain of the falling water. On shallow slides in an open boat carrying momewntum is even more important than in a kayak, since an onside forward stroke wants to spin the boat and any strokes in one inch of water don’t work very well.

On the Independence River in New York State I started down a narrow shallow slide that fanned out as it steepened, before dropping into a very tiny cauldron surrounded by sloping granite banks. With some surprise I found myself grinding down angled left as planned to cross the grain, but definitely not moving left. Matter of fact, as I was approaching the landmark rooster tail at the lip of the steeper bit, I was sliding even further to my right toward the cauldron—not at all where anyone would intend to go. Finishing the drop backwards seemed like the best of the worst, and even though there was so little water cascading over the rocks you could hardly call it a rapid, it was enough to drown out the laughter of everyone on shore.

It was several months before I came up with a plausible explanation of why I’d gotten so far off line.

On the Doncaster, a classic Quebec spring run, I watched the same thing happen. In this photo, the boater is trying to drive river left but the water pushes him out towards the middle of the rapid. He either didn’t come into the rapid with enough forward momentum to begin with, or the drag on the bottom of the boat in the shallow water caused the boat to slow down and move slower than the water. Either way, if you’re not moving faster than the water, crossing the grain turns into a scary back ferry.

Think back to the old days when we all used the back ferry to descend rapids slowly. A back ferry works because the canoe is moving slower downstream than the current, due in this case to your backpaddling. The water pushes on the exposed side of the canoe moving the craft laterally across the river.

On a shallow slide you get the same effect when your creek boat is slowed by the friction of the river bottom.

As soon as you lose forward momentum the current begins to take your boat with it. Aligned perfectly with the current, you’re going where the water is going. Any angle in either direction and presto, you are in back ferry mode, whether you like it or not!

So far, I’m not setting up to back ferry down slides. I still much prefer maintaining forward speed and driving toward the direction I want to go.

However, understanding how the friction in shallow-water slides slows my boat, I can always try to claim I was back ferrying when I end up beached on shore.

Who knows, maybe it won’t be too long before we’re all back ferrying off waterfalls… you go first.

This article on back ferries was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

This article first appeared in the Summer 2007 issue of Rapid Magazine.