Editorial: Not Quite Like The Other

Stories

Photo: Lauren Watson — Editorial: Not Quite Like The Other

Three of these kids belong together

Three of these kids are kind of the same

But one of these kids is doing his own thing

Now it’s time to play our game

In that 1970’s Sesame Street skit, I remember the jingle but not the point. Was I just to notice that one kid was playing soccer while the other three base ball, or was I supposed to respect the kid who was stepping out of the crowd and doing his own thing?

Under many circumstances, doing your own thing is quite admirable. Paddling without a helmet and PFD, however, isn’t one of them. Or at least that’s more or less the consensus of the paddlers weighing in on a thread on Boatwerks’ Boater Board Internet forum.

A group of high-profile, 20-something hotshots are surfing Bus Eater on the Ottawa River—site of the 2007 World Freestyle kayaking Championships— without helmets and PFDs.

One of them feels this is a real-risk versus perceived-risk issue, arguing that the deep wave (albeit one that can beat you down like the Hart Foundation), warm water, pool below and safety in numbers are enough: “We’ve been boating this wave for a long time, we know what we are doing and we aren’t putting ourselves or others in danger…this isn’t a big deal.”

Based on six pages of debate and 4,000 paddlers following along, this is a big deal to a great number of paddlers. The threads of responses weave in and out of “It’s a free world, man” and “What are you thinking you irresponsible ass.”

With 89 paddlers contributing opinions (and the usual stupid comments) I was surprised that no one asked the most obvious question:

Why wouldn’t you wear a PFD and helmet?

I’m a pretty good driver. Been at it 21 years now, six of which I was a professional truck driver hauling petroleum to gas stations. I still put on over 60k each year travelling to rivers and events. Accident free, knock on wood. I wouldn’t think of jumping in my pickup without putting on my seatbelt. First of all it’s the law everywhere in north America, except new Hampshire, where their license plate also reads “Live Free or Die.” Secondly, I don’t even notice it; a seatbelt doesn’t hinder my driving experience, nor is it cool not to wear it. Most importantly, if I do go into the rhubarb, however unlikely that might be, I know that I’m better off with it on than without. I feel the same way about my helmet and PFD.

In skiing and skateboarding helmets are progressively being accepted as a good idea and becoming part of the uniform worn by kids in the parks and by the pros. Paddling, in this way, is far ahead of other adventure sports.

Show me one whitewater kayaker who wasn’t handed a PFD and helmet before he climbed into a boat. Never in a welcome-to-whitewater chat has an instructor said, “Here’s the essential safety equipment—a helmet and PFD— that we will always wear in and around whitewater, or at least until you’re really good and surfing one of the largest waves in the world.”

Life jackets and helmets are already part of our uniform and have been since before Sesame Street. Now it’s time for these kids to play our game.

This article on helmets and PFDs was published in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

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

Copycat Creeker

Stories

No waterfall drop is more revered than Tao Berman’s 1999 descent of Banff National Park’s Upper Johnston Falls. It was the first to approach the 100-foot mark and undoubtedly the most recognizable event in extreme kayaking, breaking the previous record by 20 feet and still standing as the highest falls run without swimming. The event was witnessed by 100 sightseers and several camera crews and was almost immediately broadcast across the world. Even without most of the fanfare, imitation is still the highest form of flattery, and for Canmore, Alberta’s Logan Grayling, it may also be a 98.4-foot steppingstone to something higher.

Nineteen-year-old Grayling was a Grade 6 student who had never paddled when Berman set the world waterfall record just 25 minutes from his house. John- ston Falls was a common school class trip.

“I didn’t even know what whitewater kayaking was at the time. I had seen the falls dozens of times, but had no idea anyone had gone over it or even what that meant,”

Grayling said. “I do now.”

Since Grayling began paddling the big stuff a little more than two years ago, he’s been hiking into the park, trading in math quizzes for real life calculations. He says as his skills improved, so did his confidence that this tourist attraction could be “knocked off” so that a new, younger generation of paddlers could emerge as leaders.

“Since [Berman’s drop] no one has been able to step up and run it, and let me tell you, it’s huge and f-ing intimidating. But I wanted to do this for myself, to prove to myself I could; to show that people can still push the limits of the sport and see what comes next,” Grayling said.

With only a couple of cameramen and about half the spectators of Berman’s drop, Grayling ran Johnston Falls on June 13. He estimates the flow was about two feet higher at the top and only a foot higher in the basin than in 1999. So technically, this could be some sort of new record, though he admits it is difficult to prove. The only hitch to the descent was that Grayling grazed his cheek on a jutting rock about 75 feet down, the very same rock that broke Berman’s paddle eight years earlier.

Most importantly for Grayling is what’s next.

“Now I know what my body can handle, we’re moving on. I’ve got a couple of spots that I can’t tell you about that are waaaay higher than Ed’s,” he said, referring to Ed Lucero’s 2003, 105.6-foot record drop of Alexandra Falls, NWT, which he swam. “Hopefully this September we’ll have a new record to talk about.”

This article on Logan Grayling was published in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

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

Peer Pressure: Kayak Bungee Jumping

Stories

Photo: AJ Hacket Bungy — Peer Pressure: Kayak Bungee Jumping

You’d think an Australian cop would be better prepared to deal with peer pressure. However, while on location this spring for their upcoming film We’re Going There Anyway, the Skippy Film crew convinced Jackson kayak’s down-under paddler Jez Blanchard to hurtle himself in his Rocker well more than 50 metres (164 feet) into oblivion for some truly sick bigdrop footage.

Simply known as Jez, the Sydney riot squad officer is a four-time national champion, multi-time OC1 World Cup finalist and creator of the Jackson kayak Camp Instructional Tour. After a quick phone call to the operators of AJ Hacket Bungy, who immediately went about setting up safety and erecting a ramp for a little added vertical spice, he was whisked off to North Queensland.

Rigged into a full-body harness, then strapped into his kayak, Jez was placed several metres higher than the usual 50-metre-high bungee platform. At the very top of the tower the ramp had been added, allowing him to reach 200 kilometres per hour as he launched into rarified air.

“I wasn’t feeling too bad considering I knew what was about to take place,” says Jez.

“A jump like this is fine at the start as all you can see is the horizon line of the roof, however, as soon as I got to the edge I realized how ridiculous this was.

The ground is a very solid thing, and when it comes towards you at terminal velocity you do tend to get a little freaked out.”

He went into an uncontrolled spin, but kept paddling, “partly because it’s a normal reaction to being in a boat and partly because the film crew thought it would look sweet.”

With the recoil at the bottom, Jez scuffed up his shoulders on the harness and says he felt an uncomfortable squeeze in his manhood, but the bow of the boat successfully kissed the surface of the pool below and he even added a little slap of his paddle before bouncing back up.

“It is the ultimate park and huck,” Jez said. “But if you’re ever asked to kayak bungee, it’s like drugs, just say ‘no’.”

This article on kayak bungee jumping was published in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

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

River Alchemy: Hockey Night in Utah

Stories

Photo: Matt Leidecker — River Alchemy: Hockey Night in Utah

It’s a seemingly simple move when done correctly: launch from behind the oars at a run with your coiled bow line and a sand stake; leap to the beach with your raft still in the current; drive the stake into the ground and tie it off like a rodeo calf roper. When done just right, the rope stretches taut and pendulums the raft up onto the sand bar coming to rest where no eddy exists. Miss the timing of the jump, carry too little bow line, or tangle the calf roper loop and the loaded raft keeps on trucking, dragging the boatman down the sandbar on the end of the bow line, heading into the very rapid he intended to scout.

This time the boatman nailed it. She buried the stake with authority and had the rope wrapped and tied in seconds—long before the line came taut. She watched with quiet satisfaction as her raft swung up on the beach, just like it was supposed to. We were above Triplet Falls on the Green River in the desert southwest, the water running high, with her deftly herding passengers off her rig and onto the scout trail. She wasn’t messing around–I was impressed. There was something familiar about this young dynamo of a trip leader. As the last boat on her trip skidded onto the beach and easily tied to her stake, I asked another guide “Is that a young Brown in your lead boat?” He nodded and smiled admirably.

This sense of home, belonging, and ownership will do more for our rivers than anything else in the world. Take care of our rivers.

It was well over 10 years ago when I first landed in Vernal, Utah, to guide the canyon rivers. Vernal was the birthplace of western river running 75 years earlier, but is now all oil drilling and ranching. I had been in town only a couple of days when a rumbly, full-size Ford F350 pickup truck rolled up in a cloud of dust. Out dropped a small, serious-looking man—worn western boots, Wranglers, handlebar mustache and a cowboy hat as big as the grill of his truck. He’d heard there was a Canadian in town. I ran for cover.

Turns out that Cowboy Al loved hockey. He’d come looking for the Canadian kid to come and watch the playoffs with him. It was 1995, New Jersey was playing Detroit.

Al Brown is a legend. He ran rivers for decades in the early days and ended up a dude rancher. In the wintertime he flooded his horse arena and hosted a kids’ hockey league, turning his tack shed into the dressing room, using equipment donated from his wealthy eastern seaboard clients (at the time you couldn’t buy ice skates in Utah).

Cowboy Al was a serious hockey fan in the middle of a hockey desert. As the puck dropped, we became fast friends, meeting in his living room for the playoffs every second night. On off days we’d take shots in his hay barn, blasting pucks at his plywood goalie, Al in his boots and Wranglers, me in sandals and river shorts. While I was on the river he would tape the games and have an edited highlight reel waiting for me when I got back.

Watching hockey at the Brown’s house was serious business too. No one was allowed to talk during play, his three young kids’ eyes glued to the tube. When the game stopped for commercials chaos would erupt with kids brawling and crawling all over each other, shrieking and laughing. When the puck dropped again… silence.

Something I learned from spending my summers on the rivers and at the Brown ranch was Al’s deep love for where he lived. He’d spent most of his life on the Green River, in the canyon of Lodore and Split Mountain, his ranch now on its banks and within view of the take-out. His family was firmly planted, and it was a joy to be invited in.

Named after the canyon where she now guides boats, young Lodore Brown was the trip leader up the trail scouting with her group—the one who nailed the sand stake and the same kid who years earlier pretended to drop her gloves and pull my jersey over my head during breaks in the hockey game.

As she returned her clients to her boat, I introduced myself in the way river guides do—an old-timer nodding and exchanging first names with the new generation, as she focused on her run and getting her rig in order. I didn’t mention watching hockey at her house or taking shots with her dad.

I had just returned to the Green after a long absence and my brief, chance encounter with Lodore made my summer. The sand anchor she so deftly buried and the skill and authority with which she drove it in were symbols of her family history and connection with the place. It is more than “being at home” on the river, this river is her home. I could see it in the depth and clarity of her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at the rapid’s entry in the midst of our brief introduction.

I wish this for all people who travel rivers; I wish them the true feeling of home and connection with a place. The ability to nail a stake into the river bank and know “this is my river.” This sense of home, belonging, and ownership will do more for our rivers than anything else in the world. Take care of our rivers.

This article on Cowboy Al was published in the Fall 2007 issue of Rapid magazine.

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

Skills: Making the Bands

Skills

Photo: Carole Westwood — Skills: Making the Bands

Shallow water ferries can present an interesting water-reading challenge to canoeists. As the current flows over rocks or boulder gardens it is divided into bands of fast-and slow-moving water. Like lanes on the highway, these ribbons of water appear as parallel lines of traffic. Fortunately, these bands of current can be used to your advantage to assist in doing effortless ferries. The key is recognizing the currents and applying varying ferry angles that work with the water to move you quickly and easily across the river.

Identifying the bands of fast- and slow-moving water is actually quite easy. Reading water is simply observing the changes in colour and texture of the water as it flows over and around obstacles in the riverbed. In shallow water, look across the river for alternating bands of colour to show the different speeds of current. For example, colour changes from light–dark–light may indicate currents ranging from fast–slow–fast. Do the same for texture. Wavy–flat–wavy would also indicate current changing from fast–slow–fast.

The fun of shallow water ferries is selecting ferry angles that work with the currents to significantly reduce the number of paddle strokes needed to cross the river.

Why? Because it is always better to use the water to your advantage, and specifically in shallow water ferries, fewer strokes mean you are less likely to trip over your blade.

Here’s how: choose a ferry angle that points across the fast water and enter the current. This strategy helps to pull you quickly into the flow and jets you toward the adjacent band of slow water. Allow your angle to open until you are pointing across the boundary with the neighbouring band of slow water. Next, as you enter the slow current, allow the current to point the canoe upstream, which it will try to do, sort of like coming into an eddy. The momentum you carry from exiting the fast water will assist in your ferry up and across the slow current. As you approach the next band of fast water, open your angle to jet through the rapid flow. The changes in the speed of the current actually assist the changes of angle and direction of your canoe; it just takes some getting used to because we usually open our angle in slow water and close it when we enter fast moving water. On shallow water ferries we are doing the opposite.

This strategy, although untraditional, has a couple of advantages. First, it minimizes your exposure to fast current so you don’t have to waste energy duking it out in a losing battle against the river. Second, each transition between currents allows the boat angle to follow the current, practically eliminating correction strokes. Third, opening your angle promotes efficient glides by capturing momentum from fast water and carrying it into the slow currents. And finally, it gives you the opportunity to attain in the slow current to better position your boat for subsequent manoeuvres.

Shallow water ferries across bands of fast and slow moving water allow paddlers to tap into the power of the river to move across the river with very little effort. Effective water reading, choosing ferry angles that work with the water and, of course, practice make it easy.

This article on open canoe ferry was published in the Summer 2007 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine.

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

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.

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