Trailering Your Boats

Stories

Photo: Scott MacGregor — Trailering Your Boats

There is something about hauling a trailer that changes how people drive. They start to turn a little wider and feel like they deserve a little more than their fair share of the road. It’s perfectly acceptable to grind the odd gear and wear large belt buckles even if you’re only pulling a small trailer loaded with touring kayaks.

Towing your boats to the water offers plenty of advantages over the traditional roof rack method. However, many potential kayak-towing paddlers shy away from trailers. With a better understanding of the advantages, how to hitch and a few driving tips the only thing left holding them back will be the installation of a CB radio, 10-4?

Towing Your Boat

You could re-mortgage your house to invest in a KevlarTM sea kayak but it’s often not the weight of the boat that makes it difficult to transport, it is the height of your roof racks and the fact that the boat extends six feet past your wingspan. Kayak trailers are lower to the ground requiring you to lift the boat only to your waist. You can also easily do one end at a time. Some trailers are designed so you can even back down into the water and float your boat off and on the trailer.

Depending on the size of your parking area around home, trailers add the convenience of being able to leave the boats ready to go at any moment. No more loading boats early in the morning or unloading late on Sunday night. Simply unhook the trailer and go to bed. This convenience could come at a severe cost if you’re not careful. Insurance claims indicate that thieves also enjoy the added convenience of stealing boats pre-loaded twice as much as plucking them from your yard or roof.

To prevent your pride and joy from being a fond memory, store your trailer in the safety of your backyard, in the garage or as out of sight as possible. Run a pad lock through the hitch closure and if possible back this up by chaining the trailer to a large tree. There are various kayak locking devices, none are fool proof but they are more work than cutting a rope.

Now that you don’t have to strongarm your boat onto your roof, your hatches become 250 litre suitcases. You can even pack for a trip in the convenience of your own backyard. Keep an eye on your gear when stopping at the grocery store for last minute items. Plastic automotive zip-ties zipped around the closure buckles work well to deter hatch snoopers from helping themselves. Keep a pair of wire cutters handy, so you can get them off.

Hitching Your Ride

There are few sicker feelings than seeing your trailer full of boats pass you on the highway. Ask around at kayak outfitters, it happens. Where I grew up, ensuring the trailer is properly hitched is the responsibility and pride (or humiliation) of the driver. Get out and check it yourself.

Ensure the tow ball and the coupler share the same size and the ball is secured to the vehicle. Ensure the coupler is fully around the ball, secure the latch and as a back up lock with a cotter pin or pad lock. Safety chains act as a backup in case your hitch lets go. The chains should be crossed to pre- vent the tongue from falling onto the road and so the trailer follows in a straight line. Be sure the safety chains are long enough so they do not come tight when cornering. Other things that will ruin your day are flat tires, bad wheel bearings or a ticket for a blown taillight bulb. Most kayaks extend well past the trailer, check your provincial or state laws to determine when a red flag or rear light is necessary.

When you are loading your boats ensure they are securely tied down and balanced on the trailer. After a change in weather (wet to dry or dry to wet) and at gas and food stops, check your tie-downs to ensure everything is snug before you head back on the road.

Get Your Motor Run’n, Head Out on the Highway

Towing a light utility or kayak trailer doesn’t require a Yosemite Sam tattoo or a Billy Ray Cyrus T-shirt, it’s just a matter of modifying a few driving habits to compensate for the extra load. Although kayaks, even loaded ones, don’t weight all that much, your vehicle’s stopping distance will be less. If you are not careful, you can be pushed into intersections or stuffed into someone’s bumper. The solution is easy, slow down sooner and leave yourself more following distance in traffic.

When you pull out to pass, consider that it will take longer to generate rocket speed and you will have to go further to fit your trailer back in ahead of Grandad. Swerving in and out of traffic Montreal style is contraindicated and could result in trailer swayage (new word) or fishtailing (real word). If swayage occurs, slow down. If it wasn’t aggressive driving that caused it, stop and get out to find the problem. Look for blown tires, hitching problems or an uneven load.

Drivers who tow powerboats and RVs typically add mirror extensions so they can see around their wide load. When towing smaller kayak or utility trailers we often have a different problem. The trailers are so small and narrow we can’t see them at all. Try taping a note to the inside of your sunglasses to remind yourself that you are pulling a trailer.

The cart always has a tighter turning radius than the horse, so you need to lead the turn wider to compensate. There is nothing more humiliating for a truck driver than scrubbing the trailer wheels on the curb—and where there is a curb there are pedestrians. Making wider than normal turns is one of the joys of hauling a trailer and a snap to master. Hog the road not the sidewalk! I’ve saved backing up to the end. The driving experts suggest placing your hand at the bottom of the wheel, then if you want the trailer to go left, move your hand to the left, if you want it to go right move your hand right. This technique works of course but takes some practice, ideally in an area where you can’t damage anything. If all else fails and you can’t possibly back up a trailer don’t let that stop you from trailering your kayaks to the water. A kayak trailer is so light you can simply unhook it and roll it away or as a wise truck driver once told me, don’t drive into any situations you can’t drive out of.

Our editor Scott MacGregor has miles of trailer hauling experience under his belt from the years he worked driving tanker trucks for his folks at their company Scotholme Liquid Transfer.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

The Edge of the Pacific

Stories

Photo: Rick Hudson — The Edge of the Pacific

The trouble with Canada’s well-known West Coast Trail is not simply that it’s being trampled to death, which it is. The problem goes deeper than that. It’s an eight day thrash through damp West Coast flora, squelching in and out of mud swamps, skinning knees and elbows on wet roots, suffering days of dripping fog, trudging hours across soft sand with a thirty kilogram pack, competing for moist tide line camp sites and avoiding copious amounts of unburied human waste, all in the name of wilderness recreation.

Folks, there has to be a better way to enjoy the highlights of this justifiably famous coastline, with its beach vistas, rolling Pacific swells and moss-draped forest edges but without all that rainforest hassle. Better yet, wouldn’t you like to experience the wild shore and get back to a hot tub in the evening?

It may take over a week to hike, slither, slide and climb those mud-encrusted ladders but, as the grey whale glides, it’s a mere two fair-weather days of paddling down the coast. Not only that, but the very reason you’re on the West Coast Trail (to see the beaches, headlands and inter-tidal zones) are all better seen from a kayak, than from the inside of a damp forest trail.

Starting this year, the luxurious Tyee Lodge in Bamfield is offering a fully supported sea kayaking package. It includes a twenty-six foot launch to whisk you rapidly along the shore to your chosen starting point and a certified paddling guide to help those who might otherwise be intimidated by the ubiquitous ocean swells.You then play all day among the cliffs and reefs and arches.Watch the surf burst and fly. Approach the sea lion colonies on their foamringed pull-out rocks. See whales spout and bald eagles hunt. And then in the evening that same launch brings you back to the lodge, with its hot tub, elaborate dinner and clean sheets. Can life get any better?

When is the wilderness not the wilderness?

In recent years the dramatic growth in outdoor and adventure sports has meant that more and more people are looking for wilderness. Individual definitions and expectations of wilderness vary, but any time the government declares a new park, the ink is barely dry in the Gazette before squads of wilderness groupies and adventure companies are swarming the place.

Just fifteen years ago, after a long struggle between environmentalists and logging companies, the Pacific Rim National Park on Vancouver Island’s extreme West Coast was created to preserve a string of spectacular sand beaches.At the time, amidst the euphoria about land saved and history preserved, there was little consideration of where the park was heading. In 1993 the land covering the West Coast Trail to the south was added to the park’s boundaries.

Less than a decade later the West Coast Trail hosts over 8,000 hikers during the official season between April 1st and September 30th. At any one time in the summer, there can be up to 400 people on the route, spread out over 77 kilometres. That means 5.3 hikers per kilometre. It’s a trail that draws trekkers from Europe and elsewhere in droves, and has been described in travel literature as one of the finest hikes in the world. That may be true, but the word wilderness should be used with caution.

Nor is this wilderness cheap. Why, I have to ask myself, would anyone want to line up to apply for a hiking quota ($25/person), then pay good money to the Parks to use the Trail ($70/person), to the ferry operators for the two water crossings ($25/person), and finally to the bus company to get back where you started ($55/person)?

Paddling outside the box

By contrast, a competent sea kayaker can start at Bamfield Village, take in Cape Beale as a bonus and finish at Port Renfrew in a long day, or two at the most, a distance of seventy-five kilometres. No long waits at the ferry crossings. No hassles at the cable car creek crossings and no mud.

Of course, there are always purists who say that part of the WCT’s pleasure is skinning your knees on logs, or falling off boardwalks into shrubbery. Camping in the rain is fun, they insist and watching the fog roll in is all part of the charm of the Trail. Sure, and removing devil’s club thorns builds character.

If it’s character you’re looking for, the Tyee Lodge sits atop the headland at the mouth of Bamfield Inlet. From the rhododendron-splashed hot tub, perched on the cliff’s edge, there’s a panoramic view that’s hard to equal. On the right, the village boat traffic is a constant source of interest. In front of you, ocean-going ships throb down the Alberni Channel, bound for foreign ports.

On the other side of the Channel, the Deer Group and the famous Broken Chain are archipelagos sprinkled in a tranquil sea, backed by late spring, snow-capped peaks. Both are popular destinations for those wishing to experience a sea kayak adventure in calm waters. Paddling those channels brings you to white beaches, rocky coves and islets crowded with tall trees.

To the left of the hot tub, a series of sand beaches and rocky headlands lead towards Cape Beale Lighthouse. Can there be a bet- ter place to call home, when paddling the rugged West Coast Trail?

Each morning after a civilized breakfast we descend to the Lodge docks, where skipper John Johnston loads a 26-foot launch with kayaks and gear, and we’re off into the wilderness (complete with all the creature comforts). The shoreline spins past at a magical speed. Two hours in the launch is the equivalent of eight days on foot. Hikers, believe it and weep.

One of the great blessings of being this mobile is we can choose our daily destination based on the weather. If it’s blowing a westerly, the swells off the WCT are large, the breaks awesome and it’s suitable only for experienced paddlers. Even climbing down into a bobbing kayak from the deck of the rocking launch can be tense.

Instead, we can tuck into the Deer Group or run out to the Broken Chain. But if it’s calm we can paddle some, or all, of the WCT coastline. How much is enough? Perhaps the morning is great but the afternoon gets up a blow. No problem. This is the age of communication; our guide calls up the launch and we move to a different area.

Is this the wilderness in its truest sense? Of course not. But then neither are cable cars, ladders and designated campsites. Remember, the Trail itself is there because the wilderness was too rugged. Shipwrecked sailors needed a route south to 19th century civilization in Victoria. And when paddling, we don’t encounter 5.3 people per kilometer. Plus the flexibility of the guide and launch allow us to experience the best of the West Coast Trail al fresco, while dining each evening a la carte.

All the literature on hiking the West Coast Trail stresses it’s not for the novice.The trail is long and hard, and wet at times.You need to be experienced.The same is true of paddling the coastline. It’s a rugged shore, where rocky capes and sea cliffs offer few landing points, even on calm days. There’s 10,000 km of fetch between Japan and BC’s West Coast and the swells are endless.Watching the surf curl and break on the shoreline gives you just a glimmer of an appreciation why this coast was known as the graveyard of the Pacific—the resting place of over 80 ships between 1850 and 1980.

Today, there are still numerous wrecks visible. The rusting iron boiler of the Michigan, which ran aground in 1893, lies exposed at low tide near Pachena Point. Parts of the 1943 wreck Uzbekistan can be seen at Darling Creek. Elsewhere, modern fishing vessels, obvious from their aluminum and fibreglass fragments, are wedged at impossible heights above the tide line, thrown there by an unforgiving sea.

But what makes the coast so dangerous in winter, also makes it come alive for the paddler in summer. One moment you’re in a valley of green water; the next you’re on a crest so high you can see for miles along the shoreline. Offshore breaks swirl as a wave top passes, then the level drops, exposing huge mussels, starfish, giant barnacles and bull kelp, clamped to an anchoring reef. Water pours off exposed rocks until the trough passes. Then the basalt disappears beneath another green surge. In a kayak you can stand off a few metres in perfect safety. As a mariner, it would send the fear of Beelzebub up your spine to watch those teeth appear and vanish in the restless swells.

And then there’s Plan B

As any back packer will tell you, the West Coast weather, even in summer, can be variable. If you’re out for a week and it turns wet, you don’t have a lot of options, apart from just keeping on going. Not so, if you have launch support and a home base.

If it dawns foggy or windy, a good way to spend the day is to slip across Alberni Channel (25 minutes in a kayak, 5 in the launch), and play in the Deer Group of islands. Several of these forest-capped out- crops are limestone, with arches, sea tunnels and deep sea caves.

There are surge channels so narrow you have to deck your paddles and push yourself through using your hands.

Inside these dark places it’s cool and quiet, even on hot summer days. The Pacific swells barely reach the twilight zones. The kayaks lift and fall gently, as though the ocean itself is breathing in some deep, dark rhythm. Brilliant sea anemones and purple starfish cling to the sheltering walls. At the back of the caves, gentle swells curl and break in diminutive surf, submerging polished marble boulders. Water drips from high ceilings, making loud plopping sounds. It’s a magical world, where visitors tend to whisper, as though they’re somehow intruding on a sacred place. Perhaps they are.

On a more urbane level, we’ll pass through the aptly named Robber’s Channel, where the burned out hulk of Greenpeace’s famous Rainbow Warrior lies at anchor. Still blackened from the bombing and subsequent fire that sent her to the bottom of a New Zealand harbour (courtesy of the French Secret Service), her rusting bow shows the marks of her trade.And on the bridge, smoke-grimed but still visible are the flags of ships rammed and sunk, during an age when environmental militarism was still in its infancy.

Getting the balance right

While the days are filled with the salt water and damp air of the West Coast Trail, the evenings don’t have to be more of the same. After a long hard soak in the hot tub at Tyee Lodge, we emerge to greet the sous-chef, who is bringing appetizers—nachos smothered in melted cheese and black olives, oysters baked in Cinzano and herbs and filo pastry rolls stuffed with BBQ chicken. To retain balance, it’s best to wash them down with Canadian beer and Australian shiraz. Hey, it’s a global village.

Later, a three-course dinner is served at the long table, while the sun sets into a blazing sea, sprinkled with island silhouettes. Between the steak and the dessert, a log-carrier passes slowly down- channel, carrying douglas fir, sitka spruce and jobs to foreign ports. Someone promises to write to Ottawa about the whole sad softwood mess here on the West Coast.Then the cheesecake takes our minds off such matters and an after-dinner liqueur at the bar puts the whole thing into better perspective.

We are indeed a global village. Out on the Trail, hikers from around the world are snuggling down into damp sleeping bags and saying good night in a dozen languages. Now more than ever before, the wilderness, the country, the whole planet itself belongs to everyone. Are those our jobs going out to sea? Is the WCT reserved for eco-purists only? Can we truly appreciate the beauty of this wild coast without experiencing the discomfort?

There are no easy answers, only compromises. Right now, it’s time for a last nightcap, a final coffee, and bed between clean crisp linen.

Rick Hudson started paddling whitewater in 1976. Age, injuries and common sense have turned him into a sea kayaker where accidents happen more slowly. He now lives next to the ocean on Vancouver Island, BC.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Dunes of Kouchibouguac: Family Paddling with Common Terns and Grey Seals

Stories

Photo: Nicole Daigle — Dunes of Kouchibouguac: Family Paddling with Common Terns and Grey Seals

Brilliant white sea swallows, with their black caps and orange bills, dive for stickleback fish, tossing them into the air, and setting them up to swallow whole—head first.

It is the month of August and it is prime time for seeing shorebirds. We drift in our kayaks along the shore of Tern Island, entertained by the 6,000 hungry birds. A few paddle strokes fills the sky with a white cloud of flapping wings as they rise up in sheets. The birds’ agility in flight and precision when diving for food provides us with a continuous aerial spectacle. The sound of their cawing voices floods our ears. This flock is only a fraction of the 30,000 that make the banana-shaped barrier island at Kouchibouguac National Park, New Brunswick their home.

Tern Island has the largest common tern colony in eastern Canada and the second largest along the North American eastern seaboard. Results of an annual count suggest there are approximately 6600 tern nests in the Atlantic Canadian park. The common tern numbers have been declining in the Atlantic provinces since the middle of the century, primarily due to the tremendous increase in gull populations. The gulls compete with the terns for nesting habitat, usually winning, and prey heavily on tern chicks. But here on Kouchibouguac’s protected strands of islands, the terns are alive and well.

Kouchibouguac National Park is located on the northeast shore of New Brunswick in the Northumberland Strait of the Atlantic Ocean. Kouchibouguac was established as a reserve in 1969 and was given official nation- al park status in 1979. The 238 square kilometers of the Maritime Lowlands ecological region is 80 kilometres north of Moncton and 50 kilometres southeast of Miramichi. One of the characteristics of these rich fertile lowlands, making up the eastern half of New Brunswick, are rivers with tides that travel inland for many miles.A mix of deciduous leaf forest and boreal coniferous forest

surrounds the lowlands and is identified as an Acadian forest. The Maritime Lowlands is also known for its coastal sand dunes and extensive beaches—the main attraction at Kouchibouguac. This family-oriented park contains 35 kilometres of bike trails and 315 sites in their modern campground on the mainland.

Off the mainland there are three main barrier islands and a few tiny islands called Tern Island I and Tern Island II. Tern Island III has eroded down to a sandbar and this is where the terns and grey seals congregate.

Up to five hundred grey seals arrive in Kouchibouguac in June when the ice breaks in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and stay until early November. They are the largest of the four species of seals living in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with males reaching 900 pounds and females up to 500 pounds.There are only a few places to see these uncommon seals called marine wolves for their night-time barking and howling. Sable Island, off the coast of Nova Scotia is also a good place to see them where up to 10,000 have been known to winter. The entire Gulf of St. Lawrence has approximately 200,000, which is a small population compared to most species of seals. As special as this sight is, less than 1% of all park visitors venture off the mainland to these islands. This weekend with the help of a sea kayak touring company, Kayakouch Inc., my family and I have come to this little-known paddling destination to live with the terns and the seals and we have the place all to ourselves.

Owners, Victor Savoie and Nicole Daigle, base their trips from their kayak shop on Main Street of Saint-Louis-de-Kent, New Brunswick.Victor is the assistant head her- itage interpreter at Kouchibouguac National Park and Nicole is a national park interpreter. For three consecutive years Victor and Nicole have won the Savvy Traveller Award for their guided sea kayaking adventures in seal country. Most of Kayakouch’s customers opt for an early morning departure with a half-day tour of the Tern Islands and the grey seals. Only a handful choose our multi-day tour.

We begin our trip this morning by paddling eight kilometres down the Kouchibouguasis River from Kayakouch Outdoor Adventure Shop. At the end of our day, we will end up at a primitive campground at Pointe-a-Maxime located at the mouth of the Kouchibouguasis River, which means Little Sister of Kouchibouguac.The national park has set aside half a dozen campsites for paddlers with an outhouse, fire pit, and picnic table. All potable water and supplies must be boated in. Paddlers use these narrow Saint-Louis Lagoon.The wind has picked up to 35 knots so we stay put and call it an early day of paddling. Our evening trip out to the sandbar and the seals will have to wait until tomorrow. Victor checks his weather radio numerous times a day to get the latest weather conditions and plan the best time to see the seals.“Wind is practically the only factor for cancelling trips,”Victor tells us.“If it’s blowing more than twenty knots it’s a small craft advisory and unless paddlers are very experienced, a trip won’t go.”

We never paddle in more than five feet of water and in the summer the water temperature hovers between seventy and ninety degrees. The most the tide changes in Kouchibouguac is four feet, unlike in the Bay of Fundy where tides fluctuate as much as forty feet. Fog rarely forms on the lagoons so finding your way is nearly always possible with your naked eye. All these factors make Kouchibouguac a very comfortable and safe paddle for families.Victor assures us that early morning is usually the best time to paddle, with less wind, little boat traffic and the seals undisturbed.

I bring my children on kayak trips for many reasons. Every paddling experience opens another world of learning and the first in-camp activity is digging for soft-shell clams, which Victor secured a permit for. The kids excitedly try their hand at it hoping to make a contribution to supper. They crawl in the shallow water on all fours and shout with joy when they’ve found one.

“The trick is to look for two air holes in the sand,” Victor informs us. “You’ll find the clams about six inches underneath.” My 11-year-old daughter, Sierra, devises a way to plunge her index finger quickly into the hole and get a head start before the clam detects it is being harvested and starts to move away.

The Micmac First Nations people inhabited this area and fished these waters for 3,000 years. For over eight months of the year, they subsisted on four main types of food: shellfish, like these clams; marine mammals, like walruses and seals; bird eggs on the dunes; and fish, with the American Eel being their favourite. Only ten percent of the Micmac population survived the European diseases.Two hundred years later, the families of those who survived the measles and small pox were forced to leave when Kouchibouguac became a national park. Big Cove Reserve on the Richibucto River, eight kilometres south of the park, is New Brunswick’s largest native reserve with 2500 resident Micmacs.

For their next lesson,Victor shows the kids how to handle a jellyfish without being stung.Victor grabs the floating mass with his bare hand and flips it over into the palm of his other hand.

“As long as you only touch it with this tough inner part of your hand, you won’t get stung,” he tells them. He shows us where to insert our index finger so we can feel its harmless muscular mouth. He tells us some species of jellyfish in the Atlantic Maritime waters reach eight feet wide with thirty-metre long tentacles!

Lobster season just opened in New Brunswick. As we paddled along the mainland this morning, we stopped to watch the lobstermen unload their catch while the women sized the crawling grey-green crustaceans. Lobstering is still one of the main sources of economy in this Acadian region. One hundred and fifty families use the wharf in the park for the two short months the lobsters are in season and each boat can have up to 250 traps in them.

The traps are much more sophisticated than the phantom traps from years ago. Storms can render lobster traps lost at sea by moving them far from their original spots. New, coated metal traps have doors with biodegradable hinges that will decompose within a year, opening the traps if they become lost. Lobstermen also use Global Positioning Systems to help pinpoint their traps.

Lobsters are scavengers and are attracted to the bait in the traps. When another lobster enters the trap, the larger one will frequently eat the smaller one.The blood and scent trails from the cage, sending tasty messages to other lobsters that a good meal is available. In this way, the cannibal lobsters will eat forever if the traps aren’t retrieved.

“How much pain will they feel when you drop them in that boiling water?” my empathetic children want to know when Victor asks for their assistance in cooking the lobsters. To them, the crawling active creatures seem to possess more feeling than the clams they caught, but they happily indulge anyway.

The lagoon is as still as glass in the early morning as we head out in search of seals.The children bend over their cockpits mes- merized by the open book beneath them.The clear shallow water shows fish, crabs and Moon Snails creeping along, and all sorts of delicate sea greens undulating gently in the tide.

In the distance, we begin to see the seals beached on a sandbar, so many hunkered on top of each other that it looks like a sizeable piece of island.

“As we approach them,” Victor warns, “the children should stop paddling altogether and you and Todd paddle very low on the side away from them. The more movement there is, the more they can get spooked. ”Victor hands Sierra his binoculars and they become glued to her eyes.

Through the lens we can see the seals’ whiskers, and the mist snorting through their nostrils. The males have larger heads, pointier noses and look horse-like. Victor tells us grey seals have only one off-spring or pup born in mid-January to mid-February. The mothers nurse for three to four weeks and their milk is some of the richest on the planet—comparable to whales. We stop paddling and allow our boats to drift towards them.

With binoculars we can study individual seals and watch them open their mouths, raise their heads and howl.We laid in our sleep- ing bags and listened to them last night, completely in awe.

Over at their sandbar, forty more seals lumber into the water, looking so ungainly and awkward as they scrape themselves along by contracting their strong belly muscles. Once in the water, they swim with fluidity and grace that defies their huge bulk.

The children are mesmerized by the seals’ presence. Victor whispers to them,“What do you think?”And all they can do is nod their approval and give him the thumbs-up sign.

Perhaps the seals that did move off the sandbar are the inquisitive ones. Some swim to within fifteen metres of our boats.The low morning sunlight spots their heads a brilliant white. They surface so close to our boats—popping out of the water with a snort through their nostrils—we can actually smell their pungent fishy odour. After bobbing for awhile, studying us, they dive down with a slap and a splash.

We are right smack in the middle of the tide change and the sea is incredibly still. For half an hour we float peacefully, content to be in each other’s presence. Not a single boat has passed on its way out to the Northumberland Strait in the time we visit the seals. It is Sunday and the lobstermen have the day off.

We are all reluctant to head back. After a good half a mile we turn around to see half a dozen seals still following us. They too want us to stay and play a little longer. We feel connected both floating out there—us in our kayaks, them swimming and bobbing. There aren’t many experiences in life that come close to this type of communion with the natural world…a world only revealed through the power of your kayak paddle.

Cindy Ross is a freelance writer and photographer.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Urban Adventures: Kingston, Ontario

Trips

Few places in Ontario are able to meld the world of kayaking with the continuous presence of history. Kingston is located at the southern end of Lake Ontario and is the meeting place for the St. Lawrence River and the historic Rideau Canal. This area is riddled with history, stories, scenery and great paddling.

Kingston and Lake Ontario

The best place to enter the waters of Lake Ontario is at Ahoy Rentals located on the water- front in Kingston, Ontario. This small one room business provides kayak, sailboat and bike rentals. There is ample parking with a great boat launch and a low wooden dock ideal for paddlers.

As you enter the clear waters of Lake Ontario fronting the Limestone City you can see many reminders of Eastern Ontario’s past. Kingston is a city mixed with a sense of history and modern growth. Paddling north, the city of Kingston rises on your left. The shoreline has been reinforced with large boulders to protect it from erosion by the prevailing and sometimes strong, southerly winds sweeping in from Lake Ontario. Crossing along the lake to the east, be careful to avoid the Wolfe Island Ferry. This large car carrying ferry travels regularly between Kingston and Wolfe Island. As you approach the point opposite

Kingston, a monumental work from Upper Canada’s military past looms up from the water.

Fort Henry was completed in 1839 following the War of 1812 with the United States. This national historic site rises on a barren, desolate hill overlooking Lake Ontario, guarding the entrance to the Rideau Canal and the St. Lawrence River. This impregnable star-shaped fort is complete with working cannon, uniformed sol- diers and a fife and drum corp. Fort Henry brings to life our military past with daily re-enactments and guided tours. Paddle along the shoreline dot- ted with scruff vegetation to Navy Bay where a Martello tower rises from the cool waters. On the point is a rough beach area great for landing on a calm day to stretch your legs and view the fort more closely. After paddling around this area per- haps a visit within the walls will enhance your day of paddling.

To the east of the fort lies Deadman’s Bay. Within the shallow waters of this bay is a similar shoreline to Navy Bay complete with a second

looming tower. In the depths of the bay you can float above wooden warships that were scuttled following the War of 1812. On a calm day you can see these ships of the past peering towards the blue sky from the lake’s rocky bottom. Similarly, a few miles across the lake at Garden Island, other wrecks can be viewed. The paddle to Garden Island is about two miles and requires a strong and experienced paddler in the event the winds pick up.

Across the bay lies Cedar Island. This small island is part of St. Lawrence Islands National Park, Canada’s oldest and smallest national park stretching from Cedar Island to Brockville through a series of islands protecting a unique natural environment on the Frontenac Axis. This narrow geological area connects the Canadian Shield to the Adirondack Mountains in New York State. This strip of land acts as a corridor for animals and plants to move north and south. These islands are home to plants and animals not usually found in this area but in areas further to the south or north. Cedar Island makes an excellent place for a picnic lunch, complete with a hiking trail, a Martello tower and ghosts. Perhaps, you will see Elizabeth who mysteriously disappeared on the island and is still waiting for her beloved Robert James to return. She never believed he drowned on September 12, 1846 and has waited endlessly for his return.

The Rideau Canal

Lake Ontario’s weather may not always be conducive to a relaxing paddle. With high winds, this Great Lake is for a strong and experienced paddler. If you’re leary about the winds on the lake and are looking for a quiet paddle while maintaining a sense of history combined with Canadian Shield scenery, the Rideau Canal is a great option.

The Rideau Canal is really not a canal. It is a 202 kilometre waterway extending from Kingston to Ottawa comprised of 24 lockstations, 47 locks and numerous lakes and rivers. This waterway only consists of 19 kilometres of man-made canal and structures. The native peoples of this area used these waters for hundreds of years prior to its construction.

Following the War of 1812, the British government wanted a safer and more efficient method of moving men and supplies from Montreal to Kingston and beyond. It was feared that if the St. Lawrence River fell under the control of the Americans, Upper Canada would be cut off from the rest of the British Empire. The British fears were nearly realized when it was discovered following the completion of the war in 1815 that the U.S. Secretary of War, James Madison, had developed such a plan. Just think, if the war had not ended at this time, Kingston could very well be part of the United States today!

In charge of building the canal was Lt. Colonel John By, a Royal Engineer. From the wilderness, using natural lakes, rivers and beaver meadows, By cre- ated a series of stone locks to move men and supplies quickly from Bytown (present day Ottawa) to Kingston and beyond. Although plagued by malar- ia, a lack of infrastructure and harsh working conditions, the Rideau Canal was completed in only six years! Today the locks are maintained as By built them between 1826 and 1832.

Instead of locking through military boats and barges, the canal is now used for pleasure boats of varying sizes. For a $60.00 transit pass you can paddle the entire 202 kilometre distance without ever having to portage. Within the lock chamber, casually hold one of the plastic cables running along the lock wall to float gracefully from one level to the next. If you prefer to portage or need to get out for a stretch, many lockstations have signs indicating a portage route and log rafts to allow paddlers to easily exit or enter their kayak.

Lake Ontario to Kingston Mills

The Rideau Canal from Lake Ontario to Kingston Mills makes an excellent 6.9 kilometre morning paddle. Enter the canal from Lake Ontario by passing north under the Lasalle Causeway. The landscape is transformed from a cityscape to a narrowing river that becomes reed-lined forming the Cataraqui Marsh. The Kingston Mills lockstation is carved from granite rock on the edge of the Cataraqui River and features three locks in flight; a turning basin, a detached lock and one of four defensible blockhouses built on the Rideau Canal. This stone and wood blockhouse is open to the public and is furnished to the period. A great place for lunch.

For a different canal flavour, drive 24 kilometres from Kingston to the Upper Brewers Lockstation. This lockstation is unique as it melds two distinct geological areas. Downstream from the lock the limestone plains of Kingston dominate. Upstream, the Frontenac Axis rises to the foreground.

The put-in is easy at the top of the lockstation on a grass embankment. Paddling north through a winding narrows you can picture the once plummeting Cataraqui River. As the first bend approaches, lilac bushes and mixed bush push their way out over the calm blue waters. On the hill to the right is the now vacant defensible lockmasters house that was built after the Oregon Crisis and the Upper Canada Rebellions.

Paddling toward Cranberry Lake, the right shoreline rises forming what is known as the Court of the Duke. A short distance ahead on an outcrop is the Profile of the Duke. It resembles a facial profile. It is said to be named after the Duke of Wellington who was instrumental in the building of the Rideau as the Minister of Defence in England at the time.

Once on the lake, Beaupre Island offers its natural beauty with mixed trees and birds singing in chorus. This nationally owned island is now uninhabit- ed. At the turn of the century a clubhouse was built on the southern end of the island and a farm was homesteaded in the middle. These buildings are now shadows of a bygone era on the Rideau Canal as the natural growth of the area reclaims the land. Today, this island is being examined as part of a Black Rat Snake study in conjunction with St. Lawrence Islands National Park.

Whether paddling Lake Ontario or the more protected waters of the Rideau Canal, kayaking in this region is steep in a vibrant history accented by fantastic scenery bracketed by the evening and morning sun.

Don MacKay is an avid kayaker and canoeist who works as a heritage blacksmith and historical interpreter for Parks Canada on the Rideau Canal National Historic Site of Canada. He also represents the Rideau Canal on paddling issues.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Trip Photography: Going Wide

Photo: flickr.com/sfagogo — Trip Photography: Going Wide

Have you been using the telephoto zoom lens that came packaged with your camera for all of your photography? Although this lens allows you to shoot around camp and draw in elusive wildlife, it tends to produce a certain sameness or lack of variety. A wide angle lens can be a great addition to your camera bag to expand your horizons (pun intended) and open up a whole new world of creativity. Wide angle lenses offer an increased field of view and an increased depth of field, however, as with anything in life, you need to know how to use these features in order to maximize performance and obtain the best possible results.

Before discussing techniques, let’s talk tools. A 50mm lens, often called a normal lens, takes in about the same field of view and magnification as normal eyesight. Technically speaking any lens with a focal length less than 50mm is a wide angle lens. Technically this is true, but most photographers consider wide angle to be anywhere from 35mm all the way down to the super-wide angle 15 or 16 mm lenses. These lenses are available as fixed focal lengths, which are usually less expensive, but not as versatile as zoom lens combina- tions such as 18-35 mm. Generally speaking, the 24 to 28 mm range is commonly used for landscapes, providing a wide range of view with little distortion at the edges of the frame (more on that later). Moving down to lenses in the 17 to 21 mm range offers a huge jump in the amount of land- scape included in the frame, but the likelihood of distortion of the image increases.

The most common reason people buy wide angle lenses is to simply jam a whole lot more scenery into the frame. While it’s true you can get most of the Grand Canyon in one image, there is a more effective way of getting the most from these lenses. Wide angle lenses emphasize large sweeping panoramas and therefore you desper- ately need subject matter in the immediate fore- ground to draw the viewer into the frame. Because wide angle lenses have such a large field of view, any subject in the middle foreground tends to look pushed back towards the horizon. To overcome this and make your photos more interesting, get really close to your subject and then get even one step closer!

Let’s look at the kayaker shot. Although I am only two to three feet from the paddler, using a 20mm lens, I can include most of the boat, the sur- rounding reeds, and the lake spreading out to the horizon. This is a good example of getting much closer to your subject than would normally feel comfortable. If I had been 10 or 15 ft away, the kayak would have been pushed into the back- ground; it would have lost its effectiveness as a design element (drawing you into the scene) and the foreground would have been empty and uninteresting. It will take some getting used to, but the fun in using a wide angle lens is getting up close and personal.

Another great advantage of wide angle lenses is the amazing depth of field. Depth of field is camera speak meaning how much of the photo is in focus. For example, the large telephoto lenses used in sports photography have a very shallow depth of field. This means that only the focal point, say the athlete’s face, and a very small area in front and behind are in focus—6 to 12 inches with a 600mm lens. Conversely, using wide angle lens- es would give you 3 to 4 feet of sharp focus. Combine this inherent depth of field advantage with an ƒstop of ƒ11 or ƒ16 and you will have photos that are in focus from the near foreground all the way to the horizon.

Notice in the meadow and mountain image, the wildflowers only two feet from the camera are in focus as well as Mt. Robson several kilometres away. With everything in focus it allowed me to use the line of colour of the flowers to lead the eye across the meadow to the distant peak.

The incredible depth of field offered by wide angle lenses brings almost the entire frame into focus and produces an image that is more restful for the human eye. The natural tendency for our eyes is to quickly search for areas of sharpness to rest upon. Once the brain realizes that everything is in focus it relaxes and is free to wander through the frame.

With this enhanced sharpness notice how you are able to see detail in the red kayak as well as the sweeping expanse of the red granite of Georgian Bay in the distance. Also notice how easy it is for your eyes to move comfortably back and forth from foreground to background taking in all the details of the scene.

Try thinking of your lenses as tools to construct your photos. Your telephoto lens is great for focusing on only the subject, eliminating much of the surroundings. A wide angle excels at inclusion and gives your subject a sense of place in its natural surroundings. By adding a wide angle lens to your toolbox and using good technique you will add a new dynamic to your images.

Wide Angle Lens Tips:

Due to the optics of the lens, straight-line objects such as paddles, fence posts and telephone poles on the edge of the viewfinder may get warped or distorted. Try to keep these objects away from the edges of the frame when composing the shot. Although, sometimes a lit- tle warpage can make some scenes more interesting.
Ensure your flash will cover a wide angle field of view. Many built-in pop up flash units will only cover a field of view for a 28mm lens.
The front lens element or glass of a wide angle is quite large so it is crucial that you use the proper lens hood to avoid lens flare in your photos. On 20 mm and lower lenses, the front element protrudes slightly so attaching a UV fil- ter will provide some protection against scratches.
Go to a good camera shop and play with different lenses on your camera before you buy. This gives you a sense of how close to your subject you have to be and shows you how great an area these lenses take in. Even better, borrow or rent a few different wide angle lenses for your next paddling trip to see which provides the most pleasing results.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

S@#%-Put: Ocean Bathroom Advice

Stories

Illustration: Scott Van de Sande — S@#%-Put: Ocean Bathroom Advice

I woke up after a dozen hours in the sack with a familiar sense of urgency. I know some folks who would have alerted their friends with some sort of a rude announcement about turtles’ heads or the like, but I just lumbered silently past Dave’s tent to the other side of the island. I had planned carefully, auguring this moment last night when I was stuffing myself with refried bean and ground soy burritos after a day of typical west coast rain in Desolation Sound. So when I’d spotted the fine flat dish of bark by our unloading site, I’d picked it up and stashed it in my vestibule for this moment.

Don’t ever try this in fresh water, but a great way to dispose of human waste on the coast is the shit-put, recommended by Peter McGee in Kayak Routes of the Pacific Northwest Coast. This is a good way to speed the breakdown of waste in the marine environment and avoid the contamination of shellfish beds and beaches in popular paddling areas. McGee advises, “Find something such as a large, flat rock to serve as a platter to launch the feces into the water. Then do your business a comfortable distance from the water, take the rock to the water’s edge and throw it as far as you can into the ocean. It may not be pretty but it works.”

It can also be surprisingly entertaining. Now I took the bark and admired it’s flat, slightly concave surface and football size. “Perfect,” I thought, smiling in the chill air of a February morning. The rocky point I’d cased out the day before, on the other side of the small island, provided a perfect launching point into the deep water of an open channel—the best possible disposal site on the heavily used Curme Islands—and the best view from a low squatting position one could possibly dream of.

Low clouds of a breezeless morning draped over the peaks of the sound, melding with the winter white amidst the trees high on the slopes of East Redonda Island and majestic Mount Denman behind. The crowds of summer sailors were slumbering back in the city or enacting their own morning rituals over warm porcelain hundreds of kilometers away as I felt the bite of cold air and settled down to enjoy one of life’s great unsung pleasures before the deserted tableau of God’s own bathroom.

Then I gingerly carried the bark to the edge of the rocky promontory with the fruit of my labours painstakingly coiled atop it. I should note that such scatological intimacy is a great opportunity to assess the efficiency of the trip diet. I resolved then and there that there are certain seeds I won’t bother adding to my next batch of trail mix.

I wound up for the launch and then paused. There’s always a limit to how much energy you can safely apply at this moment. Too much force and the enterprise can go badly awry, and this is not something you ought to mess around with in a place where there are no hot showers. Not enough force, however, and the whole point of the shit-put is defeated. Pondering this delicate calculus – EUREKA! I had a moment of semi-divine inspiration.

I set the bark carefully afloat at the water’s edge. And there drifted my pride and joy, an impressive three-burrito-sized, dirt-hued monument capped by burnt toilet paper, still smoking like a pyre and lazily spinning on the limpid sur- face of the morning tide. I was tempted to christen it with champagne! But I had another, eco-friendly plan.

I would throw rocks just short of my barque of bark, allowing the ripples to push it farther adrift until – in a bittersweet finale – I would sink it with a direct hit. I had lofty visions of a new kayaking sport. Fun for the whole group! The rocks and trash talk would fly until a winner could gleefully declare, “I sunk your battleshit!”

But the sport was pre-demonstration phase, and my partners were still asleep. So I began lob- bing rocks until the target was a healthy distance toward international waters. Then I remembered that my environmental ethics are a good deal bet- ter than my throwing arm. Try as I might, my efforts fell short and pushed the fecal barge further out into the channel, where it was succumbing to the pull of the ebbing tide out toward the Georgia Strait. It listed slightly to port – or was that starboard? Water gently lapped at the cargo, but the bark nevertheless sailed true and showed no sign of capsizing.

I threw until my shoulder ached and my empty stomach urged me back to the campsite. With feelings of defeat mixed with an odd sense of mis- chievous pride, I saluted and turned my back on what was fast becoming but a speck on the still sea, like just another piece of driftwood riding the tides of fate to its own peculiar destiny. “What if…,” an absurd hope crossed my mind. But then I dismissed it and walked across the island to eat breakfast and share my morning tale.

Never underestimate the entertainment value of a good shit story in the bush. I launched a debate about the trajectories and speeds of tides, driftwood and homeward-bound kayaks, and soon there was a sealed bet against the odds of a rendezvous with my morning creation. Wilderness ethics had become a business venture.

A couple of hours later we packed up the campsite and aimed our bows away from Desolation Sound, following the tide toward the put-in. I was the first to spot the Unidentified Floating Object.

“That couldn’t be it,” said Dave. “There’s no way. No way!” But the speck floating unevenly on the water a kilometer away from camp looked familiar.

“I think it is!” I proclaimed with mounting excitement. The cadence of spinning paddles increased as we raced to see who could be the first to confirm the sighting, and then back-paddled furiously as the verdict became undeniable.

I pulled gingerly alongside the floating bark and scooped it onto my paddle, while Dave stifled hysterics long enough to capture the moment without capsizing, camera and all.

“You, my friend, owe me ten bucks!” I said. “That’s enough to buy three more burritos.” I may finally have figured out how to make a career out of sea kayaking.

Before paddling away, I carefully inverted my paddle blade and finished what I’d begun.

Rolling: Evil Exercise or Reliable Rescue?

Stories

Photo: flickr.com/StefanSchmitz — Rolling: Evil Exercise or Reliable Rescue?

Many sea kayakers will still knowledgeably expound on how the notion of rolling a fully loaded sea kayak is just plain silly. These self-proclaimed experts will even say that learning to roll is dangerous to your health screaming, “It takes only twelve pounds of pressure to dislocate a shoul- der!” Yeah, and it only takes about three pounds of hot air to push many sea kayakers over.

The origins of the you can’t roll a sea kayak attitude grew from the very pos- itive and inclusive approach taken to marketing the sport in North America. Kayak touring has been promoted as an activity that anyone can do.And that’s true.Almost everyone loves to get out on the water and skills like the roll should never be a prerequisite. The sport should never become elitist in the way that it has in some places, nor however, should the skill set available to paddlers be misrepresented in an attempt to foster growth of the industry.

In the U.K. for instance, the sport of sea kayaking is promoted quite differently. It is a far more exclusive affair governed by the British Canoe Union (BCU). Ostensibly set up as a club, aspiring paddlers work their way through a rigorous testing system and are judged by accredited coaches in order to improve their skill rating. To its credit, paddlers do typically have a very good skill set under this system but it also discourages many potential paddlers.

In America, promoters of sea kayaking say it is available to all: the old, the young, the wounded and infirm. As long as you have the cash for a Kevlar sea kayak they will encourage you to paddle it. Of course you’ll also need a veritable mountain of res- cue accessories. And no, you don’t have to learn any pesky skills or even get wet. Rolling? That’s much too difficult. Damn near impossible really. It’s not necessary and besides you’ll get cold and wet… Brrrr. But here, buy this fleece and dry top just in case. And instead of learning to roll, buy a paddle float, it will look really technical on the deck of your new boat!

Isay learn to roll dependably and it will immediately replace all other self-rescues as your primary choice for righting your capsized kayak. A dependable roll is the ultimate self-rescue technique, period. End of story.

Surely, you are thinking to yourself, this guy can’t be suggesting that rolling is a substitute for the much loved and cherished paddle float rescue, not to mention the myriad of other solo rescue procedures filling the how-to books over-flowing your kayak hatches? Yup, that’s exactly what I’m proposing; rolling is the first and best option. This does not mean that I do not carry a paddle float as a back-up. And what is this obsession with the paddle float anyway? Beginners insist that they need one with their rental boat and they tell me it is unsafe and dangerous to be without one. But when asked, their blank looks reveal a beautifully humbling moment of realization,“Umm, no. How do I use it?”

Sorry to keep kicking a sacred cow, but rolling means staying in the boat, reducing immersion time to seconds instead of minutes. It also reduces what gets immersed by about fifty percent, keeping the lower body relatively dry. Seconds after the capsize, you are upright in an active position to continue paddling, not wallowing around surrounded by gear, wrestling a beach ball float onto your paddle to perform a manoeuvre created by Spiderman and made famous by some bearded old windbag in a Tilley hat.

Afriend of mine has been known to refer to a day out in flat, calm, sunny conditions as,“the sort of paddling that gives sea kayaking a bad name.”What she’s on about is the joy of paddling in wind and waves, catching surf rides and, yes, occasionally even getting knocked over. For too many otherwise capable paddlers, it is the fear of capsizing that limits them to flat, boring conditions. Just one good surf ride will hook many paddlers and launch them on a quest to build the skills needed to play in the surf zone or enjoy following seas and big swells. If that’s not enough, knowing that you won’t have to exit your boat unexpectedly means that you can paddle nude.

Despite what a few anointed gurus might wish you to believe there is no hocus pocus, magic beans or philosopher’s stone required to learn to roll a kayak. If you are relatively fit and have the desire, chances are you are a roller waiting to happen. Give it a bash. Be good to yourself, get qualified instruction and be patient with your progress. Even if you decide that rolling isn’t for you, you’ll have learned more about your sport and become more comfortable upside down in your boat.The ability to roll will change the whole way you paddle and give you the confidence to play in your boat like never before.

And if you happen to do a roll in front of boats self-righting?” Nod vigorously and say one of your buddies who’s in a kayak for the yes.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Editorial: No Batteries Required

Stories

Photo: flickr.com/rain0975 — Editorial: No Batteries Required

I don’t have kids, but I think we can learn plenty from them. I like the way they just go ahead and do things without asking for instructions. Parents may not see this individualism as a selling feature, nevertheless hand a kid a kayak and she can find water in the middle of the Sahara (or any other dry place for that matter). If I had to choose between an old bearded local with a wishbone shaped piece of alder witching around like some gregorian chanting Ray Charles and a twelve year old in flip-flops dragging a recreational kayak, I’d be drilling my well wherever she said there was water.

I live in a small town where the locals drive pick-up trucks to church, bingo is still played with chips and you can run a tab at the general store. It’s not a kayaking town. Bobby owns a skidder and works in the bush; Darcy’s dad owns the garage but he works for a local carpenter, and Glen is from here but drives into the city to work. As unlikely as it may seem, I’ve had many a foot-on-the-bumper conversations with Bobby, Darcy and Glen about getting their kids kayaks for the lake, camp or beach.

Kids in my town started cutting grass at ten and most have their own ATVs before high school.Yet somehow the kayaks we haul around with us not only appeal to these kids, they know more about kayaks than we do.

They tell me about how cool kayaks would be for floating down the river after meeting and escaping a bloody battle with pirates.The bungie deck rigging that I thought ideal for charts and bilge pumps is apparently really good for stowing plywood swords.The Hula sit-on-top we reviewed in this issue is the perfect deep-sea diving platform. And the bow com- partment of the Silhouette is best suited for live bait with the larger stern hatch to be kept for the fish, of course.

Kids are smarter these days. They have compressed curriculums, computers in their bedrooms and organized solar car rallies as part of grade three science class. Even with the new math and GPS chipped Lego, plop a kayak down in front of kids and they will show you to the water—no bat- teries or solar panels required.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.

Editorial: Having Spirit and your Aerial Blunt Too

Stories

Photo: courtesy Flickr.com/StefanSchmitz

This was a fun issue of Rapid Mag to put together, although it was not without much contemplating and head scratching. We’ve been thinking lately that we might be editorially missing the boat, so to speak. We wondered why we were running four aerial how-to articles teaching moves done only by kayaking’s elite. What are we doing for the average weekend paddler?

Thinking about it a little longer we realized if we were in this situation five or ten years ago we’d be wondering if we should be running articles about spinning and cartwheeling or enders and side surfing. At the time, these were moves done only by the pros but are now well within the realm of first year paddlers.

Just about the time we had firmed-up our editorial schedule and were feeling pretty good about our intentions of progressing the sport, we received a letter to the editor. Ralf Meyer of Rockland, Ontario wrote: “Rapid is growing up with the sport, moving its coverage, opinions and features up towards an elite level at roughly the same pace as paddling expertise would for a paddler who was a novice when you were in your infancy as a fledgling magazine… The spirit of paddling is lost as expertise and proficiency increase and technique replaces nature.”

RIVER RUNNING BOATS ARE THE FUTURE

I don’t think aerial kayaking is any less spiritual than tandem canoeing a class III wilderness river; but Ralf’s letter did remind us that paddling can be many different things to different people.As boats become even more specialized, paddlers will realize what boat designers have been battling with for the past few years—it is damn near impossible to combine a river running boat with a modern day freestyle machine. So why bother? Because we don’t have the history of other sports such as windsurfing and skiing, we as paddlers are just coming to terms with the concept and investment of owning at least two boats to do it all.

After putting together our “Rapid Insider” boat reviews for the fall issue we should be equally pleased with Liquidlogic for pushing the freestyle envelope with their Skip and Pop as with Wave Sport and Dagger. The Super EZ and GT are designs for the huge number of freeboaters—paddlers like Ralf for whom the spirit lies in the river, not in the air.

Despite the lack of industry hype, river running boats are the future. They are boats people can paddle; they are the boats that are growing paddling and making it accessible. As the line between river runner and full-on play-boat widens, your river runner may have to share garage space with your new aerial spud boat.We suspect soon even intermediates will be hucking huge aerial moves, just like we learned to pirouette.

This article first appeared in the Fall 2002 issue of Rapid Magazine.

Open Boat Review: Pyranha Prelude

Photo: Rapid Staff — Boat Review: Pyranha's Prelude

For the ’93 World Freestyle Championships, guys like Mark Scriver and Paul Mason were taking knives to perfectly good Dagger Ocoees. It was a dodgy process of cutting out the most stable, middle foot of the boat and then bonding the two ends back together, hoping to get the rocker profile just right. Even with a coat of paint the boats looked brutal. Although not pretty, the “cut downs” were a work of art. Scriver and Mason had taken a Franky Hubbard/Dagger-designed Ocoee and turned it into a boat that reacted quickly, initiated more easily and could run tighter stuff. They had created the backwoods version of the new Pyranha Prelude.

[ Paddling Buyer’s Guide: View all whitewater canoes ]

The hull story

The most significant difference between the hull of the Prelude and any other “real” open boat is that it’s made of kayak plastic—polyethylene—like the more rodeo-specific canoes such as the Pyranha Spanish Fly and the now defunct Dagger Quake and Aftershock. Open canoeists can now seal-launch and rock 360 with the same carefree attitude as kayakers.

The Ocoee is most similar to the Prelude and is a good starting point for a comparison. The Prelude measures almost two feet shorter at 9’5”. Much like the earlier cut-down Ocoees the length was taken out of the middle rather than the bow and stern. What you are left with is a super-short, extremely rockered little craft—we haven’t seen continuous rocker like this since the Dagger Profit. Pyranha narrowed the Prelude to about 27 inches, but the most significant measurement is the bottom between the chines. A stock Ocoee is about 26.5 inches wide, flat-bottomed ending in a hard chine; the Prelude’s bottom is only 23 inches wide and rounder with softer chines and more flare. The mathematical differences result is a much livelier boat.

Pyranha Prelude Specs

Length: 290cm / 9.5 ft

Width: 68cm / 27 in

Weight: 22kg / 48.4lbs

MSRP: $2,085 CDN

pyranha.com

Climbing in

The Prelude initially feels very unstable, especially while getting into Pyranha’s foam pillar bulkhead system. Once settled, you realize that your knees are closer together than you’re used to and the boat is much more nimble. You may want to carve out the foam-padded walls locating your knees further apart for more control. The Prelude snaps from tilt to tilt catching its secondary stability just below the gunwales.

A few strokes forward and you’ll notice its short length, but more so its extreme rocker. If you’re not smooth with your forward strokes—using torso rotation—it’s easy to rock the Prelude front to back instead of driving it forward. Play around with the seat placement before you commit to its location—try slightly forward of the traditional seven inches behind centre. Set the seat too far back in the Prelude and it tends to wheelie with every forward stroke. Outfitted properly, the Prelude’s quick edge-to-edge transfer and nimbleness is both inspiring and unnerving.

Down river

At just over nine feet, the Prelude still paddles like a real open canoe. It shines in tight and technical rivers and creeks where one or two strokes is enough to boost you out of an eddy for a short ferry and then over a drop. It is quite a bit slower than a full-sized Ocoee, which is more noticeable in the flat stretches than in the whitewater. It surfs well, so you can compensate for the lack of hull speed by strategically using the water, surfing the troughs.

The Prelude’s hard chines will carve a nice turn but to keep it carving without spinning you need to fight the spin momentum with a stern draw or cross bow stern draw. The Prelude spins so quickly, you seldom need to stick an eddy turn with an offside tilt. If you must, the semi-hard chine will engage and stop you dead in your tracks. Offside tilts are more useful for quick mid-current changes in direction.

The Prelude’s extreme rocker makes it a boofing machine. With a strong forward stroke, a bit of a hip thrust and knee lift, this boat sails over drops and across small holes. The bow rides up and over crashing waves and holes as the flare sheds a good deal of the water, keeping you fairly dry.

Rolling from your offside is a bit tricky. When upside down, the Prelude tends to rest to one side or the other. If you happen to go over on your offside you’ll have to resort to the underwater ballet of getting it to turtle to your rolling side. Once you’re set up, the Prelude snaps upright far more quickly than a full-sized open canoe. After a roll, the Prelude’s included full-length bags, saddle and foam walls displace enough water that it is almost a pleasure to paddle to shore, not to mention quite a bit more stable.

[ Further reading: DIY Whitewater Canoe Outfitting ]

Prelude to fun

Open boaters who are bored with their existing boats and are willing to venture into a sportier package should climb into a Prelude. It paddles like a real open canoe but takes advantage of polyethylene, so we can scuff it up without tearing into layers of ABS. The Prelude is extremely responsive, quick turning and still tracks reasonably well, but unlike with the cut-down Ocoees the only cutting and pasting you need to do is fine tuning and anchoring the outfitting.

This article originally appeared in Rapid‘s Winter 2002 issue. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions here, or browse the archives here.

Trailering Your Boats

Towing Your Boat

Hitching Your Ride

Get Your Motor Run’n, Head Out on the Highway

The Edge of the Pacific

When is the wilderness not the wilderness?

Paddling outside the box

And then there’s Plan B

Getting the balance right

Dunes of Kouchibouguac: Family Paddling with Common Terns and Grey Seals

Urban Adventures: Kingston, Ontario

Kingston and Lake Ontario

The Rideau Canal

Lake Ontario to Kingston Mills

Trip Photography: Going Wide

Wide Angle Lens Tips:

S@#%-Put: Ocean Bathroom Advice

Rolling: Evil Exercise or Reliable Rescue?

Editorial: No Batteries Required

Editorial: Having Spirit and your Aerial Blunt Too

RIVER RUNNING BOATS ARE THE FUTURE

Open Boat Review: Pyranha Prelude

The hull story

Pyranha Prelude Specs

Length: 290cm / 9.5 ft

Width: 68cm / 27 in

Weight: 22kg / 48.4lbs

MSRP: $2,085 CDN

pyranha.com

Climbing in

Down river

Prelude to fun