Skills: Depth of Field

Skills

All photos this page: Rick Matthews — Skills: Depth of Field

After a slide show for some paddling friends, a woman asked me how I got the paddler in one of the photos to stand out from the background. It took me a minute before I realized that she was talking about soft-focus backgrounds. I told her she could get the same results if she learned how to control depth of field.

Depth of field refers to the size of the zone of sharpness in your image—that is, how much sharpness there is in front of and behind your subject or focal point. Controlling the depth of field is especially useful for outdoor photographers. You can make better photos by reducing depth of field to eliminate distracting backgrounds—creating mood or soft focus to make your subject stand out from the back- ground—or you can increase the depth of field to show incredible detail or textures. Depth of field is determined by two things—lens aperture and focal length.

Controlling depth of field with aperture

Choosing a wide aperture—low f-stop like f 2.8 or f 4—creates a shallow depth of field. This shortens the foreground and background details that may clutter or distract your eye in the image and leaves only your subject sharply focused. Conversely, a small aperture—a high f-stop like f 11 or f 16—creates large depth of field and packs in lots of detail or texture—the whole image could be in focus.

For example, take a look at the main photo accompanying this article. One damp, early fall day near Huntsville, Ontario, we carried our boats down an overgrown trail to put in on a small lake. I was interested in how the foliage framed and enclosed the paddlers but I didn’t want to lose them in the overall scene. Using an aperture of f 2.8 produced a shallow depth of field, isolating the paddlers from the background and foreground and softning the greenery around them. The out-of-focus background com- plements the subjects, drawing your eye back to the sharp area instead of drawing attention away.

I took photos 2 and 3 while exploring the Rideau Canal, south of Ottawa, where we found the bird life very habituated to boat traffic. Drifting in close with a 200 mm lens, I was able to get almost full- frame shots of the many great blue herons. Again using a shallow depth of field, the background is softened and much less distracting.

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Notice the difference in the background between the two otherwise identical images of the heron. The first image was shot at f 11. The background in the second image, shot with a shallower depth of field at f 5.6, is softer and less distracting.

Controlling depth of field with focal length

The other factor affecting the zone of sharpness in your images is the focal length of your lens. The rule of thumb here is that a wide- angle lens will give a larger depth of field and a telephoto lens will give you much less. You can use this knowledge to your advantage, switching lenses or zooming in or out to achieve the desired results.

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I shot the two autumn paddling images, photos 4 and 5, with an aperture of f 4 but with two very different lenses. The paddling shot, done with a long 300 mm lens, shows a very shallow zone of sharp- ness, leaving just the paddler and paddle and a small portion of the kayak in sharp focus. The rest of the image—water in the foreground and trees behind—is softened, adding a more peaceful mood to the shot.

In the extreme wide-angle, 16 mm shot of photo 5, the complete image is in focus (even with the large aperture of f 4) from the lily pads in the foreground to the blue sky and trees in the distant back- ground. Instead of snapping the paddler out of the scene, plenty of depth of field encourages your eye to wander throughout the image absorbing all the details and colour.

In the final photograph, photo 6, the magnificent Chateau Laurier in downtown Ottawa makes the location equally as important as the paddler, so I wanted to ensure the entire image was sharp and in focus. I combined a 24 mm wide-angle lens and a high f-stop (f 11) for incredible depth of field to bring out maximum detail in foreground and background. This combination keeps the happy paddler, the canal and the Chateau, in the far background, all in sharp focus.

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Try experimenting by varying your depth of field. Begin by shooting at the extreme ends of the scales and getting as shallow or as much depth as you can. Playing with the extremes of depth of field, you will easily see your results and get a feel for how it affects the look of your images. Remember these general rules: if your main subject is a paddler, keep him sharp and lose the distracting foreground and background; and if the photo is mainly scenic, maximize your depth of field for incredible detail and applause at your next paddling club slideshow.

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

Editorial: The Kayaker Wave

Stories

I was meeting some friends past the shipping yards at the foot of Cherry Street, at the city park called Clark Beach—better known as Cherry Beach. We were headed a few kilometres around the point to explore the shoreline and inner canals of the Toronto Islands.

Getting boats, paddles and gear organized down at the water, I was pleased, and surprised, to see another group of paddlers out for a cruise on a cool autumn mid-week afternoon. They were floating just offshore in two fully rigged, 17-foot-long glass sea kayaks. I waved a big hello.

They just paddled away.

My knee-jerk reaction was the same as you might have being cut off in traffic. But I didn’t gesture. I didn’t see the point. However, it bothers me to this day, and I often ponder their reasons for clearly snubbing my friendly wave. Maybe it was because I was launching a 12-foot recreational touring kayak. I wonder if I’d had a “proper” sea kayak if I’d have garnered more respect, worthy of the effort to raise one’s Royal arm and wobble it to acknowledge my presence.

It’s a common practice to say hello to fellow enthusiasts. Automobile legend has it that on June 30, 1953, owner of Corvette number 00001 met driver of Corvette 00002 and they saluted each other with waves, starting a much-cherished tradition that lives on with Corvette drivers today.

Bikers have their own secret handshake to other riders. An article on the website of the Miami Chapter 694 HOG (Harley Owner’s Group) tells us that the wave varies with riders of different makes of motorcycles:

“Harley riders lower their hand to their side and point the index figure to the ground. BMW riders barely lift their hand from the handlebar. And Honda riders, that friendly bunch, give an outright wave almost like a high five, when they pass each other.”

I’m definitely a Honda rider, or at least that’s the wave I gave to those paddlers at Cherry Beach. Did I give the wrong wave? Maybe my Honda wave is not the one “real” kayakers use. I didn’t think to try anything different. How could there be a wrong wave in a community so small as sea kayaking, even in the big city of Toronto.

Are all paddlers not part of one big happy family; in the same boat, so to speak? Aren’t we paddling for the same reasons and affected by the same things: wind, weather, sea conditions? Why wouldn’t we wave to a fellow paddler, another like-minded enthusiast, the first person who’d loan you a tie-down strap, offer a look at his chart, toss you a Snickers bar or share a GPS reading?

overhead photo of a pair of vans hauling many many river kayaks

Wave Theory: Is The Classic Kayaker Greeting Making A Comeback?

We should be waving to acknowledge that we share the same passion, and in this case waving to say hello, great to see you on the water, enjoy your day. We should be waving to one another no matter what size or brand of kayak each of us are paddling.

It won’t take many kayakers for the wave to catch on. Since shooting to fame during the 1986 World Cup in Mexico, the Mexican wave phenomenon has circumnavigated stadiums around the world, 15 rows at a time. Researchers have found that it only takes a couple dozen like-minded sports fans to bring 50,000 people to their feet.

Instead of flipping the bird, I’m looking for 23 friends to paddle the shores of Lake Ontario, just west of downtown Toronto. We’ll get those two snotty paddlers to throw their arms in the air.

Cover of the Spring 2004 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine This article was first published in the Spring 2004 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.

Boat Review: The Polaris by Simon River Sports

Photo: Adventure Kayak Staff — Boat Review: The Polaris by Simon River Sports

Last fall, hunting for something new for readers led me to the unfamiliar world of sprint racing and the boathouse of Toronto’s Beaches Canoe Club. There I met Simon River Sports president Karen Lukanovich, who put a wing blade in my hand and sent me out in the Polaris, hoping I would stay upright.

SRS is a Canadian company that has made a name for itself in sprint kayaking and branched out to offer a unique line of “performance touring” kayaks—hybrid hulls that split the difference between the “milliseconds count” minimalism of racing and the unrefined burliness of touring. Boats like the Polaris are all-around speedsters for adventure racing, fitness paddling and fast-and-light touring.

“Bring your knees together,” Lukanovich coached as I settled into the unfamiliar sitting position. The Polaris was obviously just a slightly detuned cousin of the racing hulls in the boathouse. It’s wider and more stable—SRS actually rates it an 8 out of 10 for stability. But its cockpit is clearly configured for the aggressive, upright paddling position that is familiar to sprint racers but awkward for us touring paddlers who are used to reclining into a backrest with our knees splayed under the coaming.

When paddling in rough water, I felt vulnerable perched with just my bum and the soles of my feet touching the boat and my knees sticking up above the cockpit. But the relaxed sitting position of a regular touring kayak just doesn’t cut it for paddlers hooked on speed and a full body workout, which is the whole point of a performance touring kayak.

Indeed, after paddling the Polaris a few times, going for a workout in my touring kayak felt like lacing on hiking boots to go jogging. The Polaris is fast because it has virtually no rocker—the waterline is probably a couple of inches longer than that of a touring kayak of the same overall length—and it is super light at just 31 pounds in carbon.

For effortless cruising on flat water, fitness paddling or adventure racing—or anyone who needs a superlight boat but doesn’t want to give up the speed of a long hull—dial up your local paddle racing club or dealer and check out the Simon River Sports line.

Seat and deck

The seat is a small, moulded platform—a mere perch for the athlete’s toned glutes. A quick release slides the seat forward/backward in a groove in the marine plywood base. The paddler sits upright with knees together. Lower back and torso are free to rotate for the most efficient and powerful stroke. This aggressive positon takes some getting used to, but once you master the racing style, going back to the old La-Z-Boy slouch just doesn’t feel right. There is just one small hatch on the rear deck for accessing the rudder assembly. Other SRS models come outfitted for touring with a rear storage hatch.

Rudder

The understern hydrofoil rudder turns this rocket-straight boat in a relatively smooth and effortless arc and makes minor course corrections easy. Turning strokes become all but obsolete as the paddle becomes purely the engine, the rudder the steering wheel. You must place the boat in deep water or launch from a dock to protect the understern rudder. Some SRS models come with a retractable “overstern kick-up” rudder that’s more practical for touring.

Cockpit and footrest

The long, narrow cockpit fits paddlers from 4’10” to 6’10”. Only skinny-hipsters need apply. The adjustable footrest provides a solid, sloping platform to push against with both feet. Pumping with your legs on every stroke counteracts the side-to-side rocking of the boat—the rocking motion throws the boat off course and reduces efficiency. Your lower body should get tired too if you’re doing it right. A little aluminum stick between your toes controls the rudder with a slight touch. A sprayskirt is available, but beware that this boat has no sealed bulkheads—a reminder that the Polaris is designed for training on calm waters and near-shore paddling.

This article first appeared in the Spring 2004 issue of Adventure Kayak magazine. For more boat reviews, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Canadian Paddling Bars

Stories

Paddling bars are a great buffer between a great day on the river and the drive back to wherever. They are the nucleus, holding together the free-spirited electrons who are the fabric of the paddling community. Without paddling bars we’d land back in our apartments or day jobs bubbling with epic stories to unload on people who nod politely but quite frankly don’t give two shits. They can’t. They’ve never cleaned gates 16 and 17 or been worked in a pourover above a drop.

Some paddling bars are the light at the end of tunnel after a long day on the river when you’re tired and hungry. Like Calumet Pizza on the Rouge, The Mad Trapper on the Kicking Horse or the Backeddy Pub at the water taxi dock for Skook. Ever stopped to wonder why these bars are located in such thirst-quenching locations? Because some thirsty and enterprising paddler came along before you and he too dreamed of a cold beer at the takeout.

Then there are the paddling landmarks, the destination bars like the Madawaska Valley’s Wilno Tavern, the Ottawa’s River Club, The Drake in Canmore and the Rockcliffe Tavern at Minden’s Gull River. After dinner you sucker a driver and pile into the largest vehicle in the campground and crank the only cassette in the van—a live bootleg of Bob Marley.

In the winter these watering holes freeze over and are taken back by the local loggers and sled-heads. But when the whitewater flows the gates on the taps are open. The person standing next to you doesn’t ask the score of the Jays game, or hasn’t heard the weather forecast. He speaks your language of aerial blunts and cubic metres per second and brags of bagging a swimmer at 60 feet, not to mention knowing the proper way to order beers in both official languages:

“Donne moi quatre Labatt Cinquants s’il vous plait.”

THE ROCKCLIFFE TAVERN

Serving: Gull River, Minden, ON.
Mullet factor: High (but long at the back).
Beer by the gallon: 140 oz. pitchers for $34.
Local brew: Molson Canadian.
Clientele: Locals and cottagers mingle on Saturday nights with camp staff from Kandalore, Kilcoo and Onondaga.
House cocktail: Jack Schnapps (“hangover in a glass”).
Perks: Taxi service, ATM across the street, $3 drinks on Wednesdays, Sunday night open mike on the patio.

THE RIVER CLUB

Serving: Ottawa River, Portage, QC.
Menu: “They sell food here?”
Night: Sundays.
Watch for: the river.
Drinking age 18.
Meat market factor: Grade A.
Odds of sucking face on the dance floor: High. “Even the losers, get lucky sometimes.” – Tom Petty

THE WILNO TAVERN

Serving: Madawaska and Ottawa Rivers, Wilno, ON.
Menu: Polish perogies, Skidder Burger, homemade pies.
Night: Tuesday-night blues jam.
Local Beer: Valley Gold.
Locals: Aging draft-dodging hippies and lumberjacks can really cut the rug.
Perks: First Tuesday of the month is smoke-free.
Factoid: Oldest Polish settlement in Canada.

LE LIBIDO & CALUMET PIZZA

Serving: Rouge River, Grenville, QC, where $10 buys: A) a lap dance for the lonely river guide that lasts for two songs; B) a poutine and hotdog combo washed down with Jack Daniels.

THE DRAKE

Serving: Kananaskis River, Canmore, AB.
Watch for: Live music by “BC DC”, dirtbags, posers.
Factoids: One of Canada’s “top 3 ski bars”.

THE BACKEDDY PUB

Serving: Skookumchuck, Egmont, BC.
Home of: Fabled Skookum Burger—10 ounces of beef with fries and all the fixins’ for only $16.25.

THE MAD TRAPPER

Serving: Kicking Horse River, Golden, BC.
Watch for: stuffed animal heads, disco ball, the Golden Kayak Club refueling on cheeseburgers and Kokanee.

JJ’S ROCK AND ROLL LOUNGE

Serving: Slave River, Fort Smith, NT.
Factoid: Half the paddlers in town bartend at JJ’s.
Perks: Paddling vids on the big screen, all-night jam sessions, nightly specials—Wing Tuesdays, $3 Highball Wednesdays, Draft Fridays.

JENNIFER’S

Serving: Sturgeon Falls, Seven Sister’s, MB—pop. 70.
Perks: Chef Jozef’s alligator chowder, rattlesnake consommé and shark borscht; monthly draw for a steak & lobster dinner including a shot from a $1,350 bottle of 100-year-old French cognac.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

House Crashing and Steep Creeking in Northern BC

Trips

The outdoor play in northwestern B.C. is neverending. In 2001, filmmaker Dustin Knapp came with a crew to Terrace, B.C., chasing rumours of an untouched whitewater mecca. Dustin passed the word on to his bro Brandon about the area’s huge number of unrun rivers and falls. And last September, Brandon Knapp showed up in my living room at 2 a.m. with a whole crew from Teton Gravity Research. They were looking for first Ds and unique never-before-filmed rapids and falls to feature in the up-and- coming New Rider Productions movie Wehyakin. And they were looking for a place to sleep.

Our house is 980-square-foot two-bedroom. I had talked to Team Dagger paddler Scott Feindel about coming up to paddle and offered him a place to stay. Well, in the morning I woke up to people everywhere, eight in total—in the mud room, kitchen, spare room—and my wife Suki was going nuts. There was Brandon, Scott, TGR regular Seth Warren, Dagger bad boy Corey Boux, Riot rep Matt Rusher, NRP film jockeys Trask McFarland and Loren Moulton and photographer Ryan Creary.

“Shane and Suki, who hadn’t met any of us before, awoke to 10 people scattered all over their home,” Creary said. “Then Corey clogged the toilet and chaos ensued from there.”

Iknow I will live in Terrace for years to come because there is so much to do. Hundreds of creeks, rivers, waterfalls, logging access roads, huge run- offs and a paddling season that extends from April to late October combine to make this region a whitewater paddler’s dream.

Over the years the development of logging roads has opened the door for kayakers seeking new rivers; every year new roads and bridges are built, potentially opening up the next classic run. Most of the current put-ins and takeouts are at bridges, which makes things nice because bushwhacking in northern B.C can be hell.

NORTHERN BC’S NUMEROUS FIRST DESCENTS

Over the past decade, paddlers from the region have been gradually ticking numerous first descents. Local kayakers can testify that the only dilemma is not finding the virgin runs, but deciding which one to tackle first. And with a relatively small paddling community, the harder runs only see one or two descents a season.

Always ready to get in a few days on the river with strong boaters, I was pumped to show these guys around. Starting in Terrace we ticked the class V classics—Willams, Kelanze, Kalum, Kitnayakwa, and the second descent of Wesach Falls, a 63-foot waterfall 35 kilometres north of Terrace. Everyone ran it. It’s the easiest falls ever—line it up and tuck. You’re more likely to get into trouble at the put-in.

“I seal launched in and skipped across the river and nailed the wall which bounced me into this hole,” Boux said. “There I was 25 feet from the lip of the 63-foot drop, doing unintentional loops. I finally broke free of the hole and gained my composure as I floated to the lip of the falls.”

Later, we pushed on to some of the runs I have been looking at for the past few years. I was impressed by the precision of these guys’ basic river moves, especially with Brandon. Not having to worry about them screwing up the line, the stress level was way lower for me even though we paddled some sick stuff.

We rented an ocean boat and headed down the coast to Kitimat, a small industrial port town 55 kilometres from Terrace. Our day on the ocean boat proved to be a good value with two first descents including Jesse Falls. The falls makes up the shortest river in the world. So a fisherman told me—fishermen are a good resource in northern B.C. Jesse falls is an astounding coastal waterfall that cascades 50 feet out of an alpine lake, dumping you directly into a deep-sea harbor. We ran the falls and stopped at a natural hot spring on the way home.

Back at base camp, things settled down after awhile. Suki calmed down and the guys were rad, cleaning and cooking every night! After their two-week stay they bought us a DVD player, helping us enter into the 21st century.

Shane & Suki Spencer own and operate Azad Adventures, an outdoor guiding, instruction and retail business in Terrace, B.C.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Park and Play: Thompson River BC

Trips

The B.C. Interior is a desert, complete with rattlesnakes and tumbleweeds. Here, the Thompson River is an anomaly—a big-volume thrill ride through the sun-baked heart of ranch country.

As the river drops into its canyon, the worn bedrock below surfaces in the form of house rocks and Dr. Seuss–style tow- ers. Coulees choked with sand and scree pour in from the sides. It’s the type of place where you’d expect Clint Eastwood to ride up over the next mesa and shoot the nose plugs off your helmet, John Wayne to mosey around the next butte and challenge you to a throwdown.

Tom Faucher is an end slinger from way back. Dirty Tom, as he’s known to friends and enemies alike, has been coming to the Thompson for years and knows the river well. Like most B.C. paddlers, his favourite watering hole is the Frog.

“Thar’s ah’ways play,” he drawls. “Bettah as it gets lowah.”

End slingers always were men of few words.

The fact is, ol’ Dirty is no cowboy, just a paddler who likes the Frog wave on the Thompson for its accessibility, dependability and off-season playability.

The Frog is easy to find. The Trans- Canada Highway follows the Thompson as it winds its way down to Lytton and its confluence with the mighty Fraser. Look for the first real rapid on the river, located between Cache Creek and Lytton, just upstream of the canyon section. There’s a highway pullout on the left, a ladder on the right. A two-minute walk and you’re there. After a rain, beware of the grease they call mud that coats the rocks at the put-in.

The Thompson carries a lot of water, 2,500 cubic metres per second (cms) at peak flow in June, dropping to a trickle during the cold months of January and February. The Frog comes in at 600 cms (around August) and is in best shape at 370 cms (through winter until the flood starts in May). That gives you something to do in B.C. when all the other water is either gone or turned to ice.

Like a lot of features, what you get depends on the level. Usually there’s a hole (the Pit) to be found on surfer’s right, a nice shoulder, then a seam and a scrappy little wave. It’s fast and dynamic, with enough of a foam pile to keep you in place.

There’s an eddy on river left, but get there quick or you’re on a tour downstream. Sometimes there’s a rope fixed further downriver so that you can pull yourself back up and not have to get out of your boat.

Thanksgiving sees local end slingers with time on their hands, a belly full of turkey and a mind for trouble. Every year Dirty Tom and friends head to the Frog for a showdown to tap in on the optimum fall levels. Y’all can join, but remember to bring your hat. Even in October, that desert sun is so strong it’ll make you squint. Just like a cowboy.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Skills: Catching Eddies

Skills

Catching eddies is easier when approaching the eddy pool from across the river.

Approaching eddies from the side, you generate the momentum needed to cut across eddy lines more effectively than when you approach from upstream. Also, when you ferry across the river toward the eddy line, you can more easily achieve the best entry angle for paddling into the eddy pool.

Too often, paddlers descend a river by simply pointing their canoe downstream. Then, when they wish to catch an eddy, they can neither angle the boat quickly enough to cross the eddy line, nor generate the necessary speed to cross over the boils and whirlpools that make up the eddy line. You can solve these problems by paddling across the river, moving laterally toward the eddy pool. The resulting speed and angle will drive the canoe across the boils and into the pool.

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Begin by positioning your boat across the river from your target eddy. Begin your approach by ferrying across the current—moving across the river reduces unnecessary downstream momentum. As the ferry progresses, your lateral momentum toward the eddy pool will begin to build (photo #1).

Once you are within a couple of boat lengths of the eddy line, open your angle so the bow is aimed toward to the top of the eddy (photo #2). Hitting eddies from the side at 90 degrees contradicts the “45-degree rule” you may have been taught, but it works and is done by all advanced paddlers. The lateral momentum and open angle drives you across the eddy line into a snappy, tight eddy turn—at 90 degrees the canoe has less distance to turn to complete the manoeuvre pointing upstream. However, if the eddy line is very wide, you may still want to point the canoe slightly downstream to help it cross and carve a powerful arc into the eddy (photo #3). The lateral momentum created by the ferry carries your canoe across the eddy line and into the pool.

By ferrying across the river toward eddy pools, you create sideways momentum that helps drive the canoe across difficult eddy lines. Moving from one side of a river to the other during your descent gives you the opportunity to use lateral momentum to enter eddy pools and maintain maximum control of your descent down the rapid.

Andrew Westwood is a regular contributor to Rapid and is an open canoe instructor at the Madawaska Kanu Centre.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Re-Actionary: Who Let the Dogs Out?

Stories

It’s a pretty picture—the photo of the outdoorsman in the plaid shirt. He’s rugged-good-looking, in his forties, perhaps a few days’ worth of perfectly even stubble adorning his rich tan and deep, soulful eyes. His vintage cedar strip canoe sits poised on the calm shores of a placid lake. Virgin forest stretches into the warm horizon of an immaculate sunset. A hearty fire throws up heat and light. And who lies quietly and obediently at his feet? The pièce de résistance—his dog. What a load of crap!

You paddlers with your stupid barking dogs, you are selfish, not soulful. There is no peace or tranquility whilst your ill-bred and even-worse-mannered mutt rummages through my dinner scraps, howls at the moon and pisses on my tent. It might paint a nice picture, but dogs and paddling don’t mix.

We paddlers come together at campgrounds, river-banks, and festivals. Often this means that we have our tents very close to one another. Strangely, we all get up at the same time. Ever wondered why? It’s not because we want an early start on the river. It’s because at 5 a.m., some yippy collie sees a chipmunk and begins to bark, and the other 15 canines join in.

Or, back at the campground after a hard day’s paddle, you’ve made yourself a fine meal and realize you don’t have a drink. So you set your plate down on your camp chair to go for a soda or a brewha. When you return to your seat, somebody’s slobbery mutt is scarfing down the last of your beef stroganoff.

Whose fault is this? Well a dog owner (if you can find him) will either deny it—”my dog would never do that”—or laugh—”what did you expect for leaving your plate on the chair?”

I won’t even get into cleaning up after your dog, but let’s just say that many of us like to walk around barefoot.

I’m no dog psychiatrist. I can’t go into details on why doggie A with no balls is acting out frustration on doggie B who still has balls. What I do know is that about every 10 minutes, some dog owner is jumping up screaming and running across the campground to tear his dog off the bleeding neck of another. Very tranquil! At any given river festival there are so many dog fights that maybe we should forget kayak tossing and paddle tricks. Maybe we should build a ring and sanction a fighting league—à la White Fang—with all house proceeds going toward river conservation.

Now let’s talk about the river dog. You know the drill. Owner goes paddling and dog chases him down the river. This isn’t so bad on it’s own—kinda cute—except the dog is stressed and barks the whole freaking time. Very peaceful! Again, the owner knows this will happen yet does nothing (like leave the animal at home). Result? We think the owner’s an inhumane idiot.

Which brings me to my final point: Who is at fault in all this, the dog or the owner? We all know the answer. Dogs are creatures of habit: they don’t have a set of manners for eating with the boys and another set for eating at the girlfriend’s parents. If your dog eats people’s food, goes through garbage and begs, it’s because you, the owner, have brought it up poorly. You, the owner, have failed this beast and, consequently, you have failed us.

Don’t bring your dog to the river.

Ben Aylsworth likes things on all fours but still leaves it at home.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Editorial: Chasing Elephants at the Worlds

Stories

I didn’t have to go to the World Freestyle Championships in Austria. I could have assigned the story and photos to another writer and photographer and stayed back in the office to take care of more important things.

There are always more important things.

But I didn’t start Rapid magazine to take care of important things.

Rapid began because I dreamed of travelling around the world, paddling, writing and pretending to be a photographer. I remember being seven years old, wanting to be the bearded guy wearing khakis in National Geographic, riding in the back of a Jeep chasing elephants, two Canons hanging from his neck.

Eleven years later I was sitting across the desk from my high school guidance counsellor. He was studying my marks, and I was telling him about my journal, the elephants, the Jeep, and how I was sure to have trouble keeping the dust off my lenses.

He wasn’t listening.

“Your grades are much better in math and science,” he said finally, pulling an application form from the top drawer of his tidy steel desk, “you’ll be accepted in engineering.”

Guidance counsellors are paid to sell young minds a real job for the tiny price of their dreams. He was right: I was accepted to engineering and I went. But my dreams kept bubbling to the surface. Complex equations reduced my spirit to the lowest common denominator and branded a squiggled not-equal-to sign into my soul. I only lasted a year….

Very few of the 370 competitors at the 2003 Rodeo Worlds in Graz are scraping together what a guidance counsellor would consider a respectable living by doing cartwheels. But they gathered at the River Mur to chase dreams. Dreams of gold medals, or dreams of paddling the crystal blue waters of the nearby Soca River in the Slovenian Alps. Dreams too strong to be squashed by stuffy men in cardi- gans sitting at desks full of forms.

Take the 17-year-old Norwegian paddler I met in the Graz airport on our way home. He told me he’d flushed early in his first ride and didn’t make it past the first round. His mom was proud of him and she’d be picking him up at the airport. He’d trained for a year and travelled a thousand miles across Europe chasing his dream. Tomorrow he’d be back in school to catch up on more important things.

“Isn’t it a long way to travel to paddle for 60 seconds?” I asked him.

“Yes, but I did it,” he said proudly. “Besides, you came way further and didn’t even paddle!”

The kid was right. I didn’t paddle on this trip. There was no dusty Jeep or charging elephants, but I too was travelling the world, chasing my dreams, two Canons hanging from my neck.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Mediterranean Sunrise: Kayaking Comes to Croatia

Stories

Photo: Guillaume Fatras — Mediterranean Sunrise: Kayaking Comes to Croatia

It’s been a long time since western visitors last wandered the Croatian coast—before the decades of Marshal Tito’s communism and the Croatian war years from 1991 to 1995. But now Croatia has opened up again to tourism. The old Gorgon Mediterranean has shed her grim politics to reveal another one of her faces, this one notable for its beauty and untapped potential for kayak touring.

Croatia is a long, maritime country, across the Adriatic Sea from Italy. Starting at the northern border near the Italian town of Trieste, it stretches along the seacoast as far as Dubrovnik in the south, adorned by 1,000 arid, rocky islands. That Zagreb, the capital city, hides in the inland region of Slavonia is the only characteristic that denies the country’s pas- sionate affair with sea. The rugged coast is lined with villages. Every village has its little harbour, and every family once had a fishing boat. Fishing has now been replaced largely with tourism, but this is still a land best experienced via the sea.

Many areas of the island-studded Croatian coast are ideal for kayaking trips. I chose to visit the coastal province of Dalmatia, at the south end of the country, because of its cultural interest, harbour towns and easy paddling. The palace of the Roman emperor Diocletian in the city of Split as well as the old city of Dubrovnik are both UNESCO World Heritage sites. And Dalmatia’s three elongated islands—Brac, Hvar and Korcula— allow for sheltered paddling even when the infamous Mediterranean winds pick up.

Dalmatia has names for all of its winds, of which the notori- ous bora is the most powerful. Named for Bureaus, the God of the North Winds, the bora comes from the north and inland, blowing down with gale or storm force through gaps in the Dinaric Alps, the half-desert limestone mountains that form the steep rim of the Adriatic bathtub. The bora can last for days and ruin any plans you have of paddling windward. But the bora occurs rarely in the summer months. The southerly wind, the jugo or scirocco, is also weak during this hot, humid time of year. In summer, the welcome, cooling breeze of the northwesterly maestral prevails.

Sea kayaking was not yet popular the last time Croatia was a tourism destination, and today, kayak renting is only just beginning. We brought our own folding touring kayaks, flying into the international airport of the harbour city of Split, Croatia. The boats were to be our camels, carrying water to sustain us between infrequent refills on days reaching 40 degrees C. The Hypalon hull material would cope well with the hard stone beach landings that we would find everywhere. The boats’ lack of speed was only a minor sacrifice.

Split is the largest settlement in the north of Dalmatia and a good place to fly to because you can almost jump from the plane to the water. Thanks to the ferry service, we saved our strength crossing the 19 kilometres to the island of Brac. Our muscles were better used paddling out in the islands, far from the motorboat traffic.

Brac has the steepest shores of the Dalmatian islands, formed by a singular white stone. For centuries, the stone of Brac has been highly valued by masons. The Berlin Parliament, monuments in Vienna and even parts of the White House are made from the bricks of Brac.

You can easily get into wild areas along these islands, spared from crowded shoreline housing by the absence of roads. Camping is permitted along the shore, even on private beaches as far as three yards above sea level.

A day of leisurely paddling passed and a tiny inlet welcomed us for a quiet, mosquito-free night—no tent required, although the stony ground is a bit harsh. We ended the day with an evening bath in the sea, which often reaches 27 degrees C.

The crossing from Brac to the neighbouring island of Hvar only takes an hour by kayak. But we had some novice kayakers along and rode the ferry instead. The ferries among these islands are as common as bus service and a tempting option for lazy paddlers. We saved face by claiming our friends’ inexperience as an excuse.

Hvar is the longest island on the Adriatic Sea, and it’s not very developed. You’re even likely to find deserted houses, which our guide, Tome, told us were probably Serb summer homes. “They don’t dare come back,” he said. His statement could only come from a Croatian, for we cannot imagine having war on the mind in these paradisiacal surroundings.

Where the ferry stops in the town of Stari Grad, we left our kayaks with no worries of theft and hopped on rented mopeds to visit Hvar’s eponymous capital. Although it’s less than an hour by scooter, the town is on the opposite, southern coast and would have been more than a day by kayak, around the distant promontory of Cape Pelegrin. We motored over the middle of the island past fields of lavender protected by stone walls, with views of open sea to the horizon.

In the town of Hvar, we found a fine spot with a plaza looking like a small version of Venice’s Piazza San Marco—a sign of Croatia’s history as a colony of the Venetian Republic. A newer attraction of the town is its clubbing, which is renowned all over Europe.

Clubbing is something that you certainly won’t find on the third island, Korcula. Like Hvar, Korcula is the name of both an island and a town. The bora started blowing the same day the ferry dropped us at Korcula’s quays. The 35-knot wind kept us from paddling for two days, so the town kept no secrets from us. We had time to learn that the locals are proud of the town’s claim as the birthplace and early home of Marco Polo, though history often records his provenance as Venice. Meanwhile, our kayaks, left at the foot of the town’s ramparts, provided housing for a cat and its brood that were not so happy when the time came for us to leave.

Our trip of 15 days gave us plenty of time to tour the sights as we paddled the rugged, arid-looking coast down to Dubrovnik. We would sometimes stop at seaside restaurants where the owners were happy to fill our jerry cans with water and give us a break from our usual fare by serving local cheese, a type of ham called prsut, and fruits and vegetables fresh from the market. And we once saw two dolphins, a rare occurrence along this coast where colonies of German naturists are the more common mammalian life form.

The “pearl of the Adriatic,” Dubrovnik is a bigger town than Split and Hvar and is a gem indeed. Attacked by Vikings, Turks, and more recently Serbs, it is now the tourists that overrun its streets, churches and ramparts. You’re best to get an early start to explore, taking to the gleaming white streets at 6 a.m. You walk along the tiny, deserted lanes of the old town, pass matronly ladies tak- ing sea baths in the harbour, and reach the ramparts where you look out at the Adriatic in the rising sun.

This is the old face of the Dalmatian Med, made over as a kayaker’s paradise.

Guillaume Fatras is a freelance writer, photographer and former whitewater slalom kayaker based in Lyon, France.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2003 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.