If there is one thing groups like the Neptune Rangers have shown us, it’s that the image of sea kayaking isn’t just paddling bays in your ball cap watching birds and marine mammals. The Neptune Rangers, born of the lineage of sea kayak rock gardening groups such as the Tsunami Rangers, have spent a solid decade posting their exploits to YouTube.
The result, is a classic treasure trove of timelessly gnarly videos serving as inspiration for the kind of playground the whitewater of the sea can be. Not to mention plenty of cringe-inducing beatdowns.
Here are five classics from the Neptune Rangers:
1. Insane Fun in Mendocino
The Northern California coast of Mendocino is a rock gardening heaven. In Bill Vonnegut’s summary he mentions he wasn’t planning to bring the camera this day. Fortunately for us he did. Insane Fun In Mendocino features one of the biggest coastal drops we’ve seen.
2. Trapped Inside at Devil’s Slide
When the swell period increases from 12 to 21 seconds, the Neptune Rangers are in for some serious swell. Half Moon Bay is home to the notorious big wave surfing break Mavericks, so there is plenty of power to the ocean in these parts. The Neptune Rangers get a slice of unpredicted outside sets in Trapped Inside at Devil’s Slide.
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3. Om Mani Padme OMG!
A compilation of slot moves, drops, and carnage. Om Mani Padme OMG! is a compilation of greatest hits from the goods off Mendocino and Big Sur.
4. Bad Reputation
What does a typical day of riding with the Neptune Rangers look like? Bad Reputation captures the disorderly fun of the paddling crew.
5. IDH – Rocking The Ages
Plenty of action, and a bit of ecology studies thrown in the mix. The only question is whether the disturbance is happening at an intermediate or frequent rate in the Neptune Ranger’s IDH- Rocking The Ages.
“Hey, man—can I catch a ride?” A tick reaches out its front legs, questing for its next blood meal. | Feature photo: iStock
I discovered a tick embedded in my crotch. Where? I was on day five of a 10-day canoe trip across Quetico Provincial Park. Ticks love to attach themselves to dark, moist places where the tissue is soft and thin. Think armpits, behind ears and knees, and, you guessed it, the vulnerable groin.
Of course, I panicked and gave it a yank instead of gingerly removing it with tweezers. My hastiness left half the tick under my skin. Yuck.
Worried about infection and catching potentially debilitating Lyme disease, I asked my long-suffering canoe buddy, Andy, to have a look at the wound. He politely refused. I used the mirror on my forestry compass to dig out the remainder of the arachnid.
For the rest of the trip, I suffered from phantom tick syndrome. You know what I mean. My skin crawled as I imagined ticks creeping silently on their eight tiny legs across my body. Every itch and tickle was heightened, making me yank up my shirt and pantlegs to inspect my unblemished skin underneath.
Expert tips to deal with the great tick invasion
Most backcountry paddlers can manage ravenous mosquitos and blackflies, no problem. But ticks are freaky. And over the last few years, I’ve heard more complaints from canoeists about ticks invading their favorite paddling paradises—ticks thriving where there were no ticks before.
That’s because the range of several species of ticks has increased dramatically throughout North America. Fortunately, of the 200 species of ticks in America, only a handful spread bacterial or viral pathogens. They vary by region. The mid-West has Rocky Mountain spotted fever spread by dog ticks. The Heartland virus, spread by Lone Star ticks, made headlines this spring in the southeastern states. In the northeastern states and parts of Canada, Lyme disease spread by blacklegged ticks has everyone talking. The U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention estimates nearly half a million Americans get Lyme disease each year.
Don’t get ticked off. | Photo: Marino Linic/Unsplash
It wasn’t always this way. In the past two decades, the number of U.S. counties with an established blacklegged tick population has more than doubled. In addition, the blacklegged tick’s range expands north at a rate of 25 to 50 miles a year. In the ‘70s, there was just one known colony of blacklegged ticks in Canada, located on the north shore of Lake Erie. However, by the 2000s, blacklegged ticks were found all over southern Ontario, Quebec, Manitoba, and the Atlantic provinces, and huge swaths of those provinces are now considered Lyme disease risk areas. According to scientists, the increase of ticks and their expanding range is partly due to milder winters.
How to handle ticks on trip
The good news, if there is any, is that even with the expansion of the ticks’ ranges, the methods to prevent a bite remain the same. Long, light-colored pants with socks tucked in and long sleeves will help protect paddlers, as will applying bug juice with DEET around the ankles. Some paddlers prefer clothing impregnated with the pesticide permethrin.
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Even with those precautions, I still recommend performing tick checks every night in camp. It’s crucial in heavily tick-infested areas. It’s best to use the buddy system. Just make sure to choose a paddling partner who has your, erm, backside.
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
“Hey, man—can I catch a ride?” A tick reaches out its front legs, questing for its next blood meal. | Feature photo: iStock
Accessories give the edge to specialty stores with sales staff who know the sport. | Feature photo: Mark Hemmings
There’s a mantra in sports that says you don’t become a champion overnight. The idea has gained a lot of press thanks to British cycling coach Dave Brailsford, who coined the term marginal gains for the process of incremental improvement he used to guide the British cycling team to 16 gold medals over two Olympics and seven Tour de France wins in eight years.
Brailsford famously had his team’s shop floor painted white so no errant speck of dust would find its way into an athlete’s bike. While some critics have suggested his famous attention to detail paid even bigger dividends in the field of pharmaceutical enhancement, the point is Brailsford didn’t try to grab the golden ring with one all-in, high-stakes gamble.
The difference between red ink and black often comes down to the margins. And nothing returns margins like accessories, says YakAttack Marketing Manager John Hipsher.
“A kayak has maybe 30 points of margin after—or sometimes even before—shipping costs,” Hipsher says. “I offer retailers a base margin of 40. That’s even before any preseason discounts, so you can get most accessories with free shipping and closer to 50 percent margin.”
Accessories give the edge to specialty stores with sales staff who know the sport. | Feature photo: Mark Hemmings
Don’t Sell Naked
When Sawyer Paddles and Oars opened its retail store, Member/Manager Zac Kauffman recognized the company’s signature products are, in essence, high-end accessories. Sawyer Station does a brisk business in rafts, kayaks and standup paddleboards, as well as the paddles and oars the 40-year-old parent company makes just up the road. But those big ticket items are only the start, Kauffman says.
“We pretty much approach our whole concept as, ’Let’s get something out the door that we can accessorize,’” he says. “If we’re going to sell someone a river SUP paddle, let’s also sell them a board and everything else to go with it: The leash, the life jacket, the helmet, the shoes. We don’t sell anything naked.”
Leverage Your Knowledge
Accessory sales offer an edge to specialty stores whose staff can articulate the need for particular items. If a shop caters to a variety of paddlesports customers, it can try to bring in staff with expertise in each area.
“Back in my retail days, I’d hear my climbing guy or my trail running guy try to sell an East Tennessee bubba fisherman a Jackson Big Rig, and it just didn’t work,” Hipsher says. “They don’t speak the same language.”
Equally important is keeping the door open to all customers even if they make their big purchase elsewhere, says John Warta, owner of Paddler’s Cove in Washington, New Jersey. That’s true even if the customer made a bad purchase, such as the plus-sized gent who stopped by Warta’s store after buying a box store kayak that wasn’t even rated to hold his weight.
“I don’t ever say, ‘Hey, you got the wrong one.’ Instead, I try to show them the differences and see if I can turn on a light bulb,” Warta says. “He may go back and pick up the next bigger kayak, and that’s okay. We’ll get some business from him later, or we’ll get his neighbor’s business.”
Some Assembly Required
Hipsher is the first to say kayak fishing is a different retail environment. “I wouldn’t say touring kayakers and canoeists aren’t gear minded, but fishing guys are on a whole different level,” he says. “They’re total gear whores.”
Modern fishing kayaks are frequently equipped with sophisticated fish finding electronics. Still, not everyone is comfortable running electrical wires in their kayaks, let alone grabbing a drill and augering holes in the deck. That’s where installation has become both a source of revenue and a powerful sales tool, Hipsher says.
At the Dugout Bait and Tackle in Marietta, Georgia, the average out-the-door cost for a fully equipped Hobie or Jackson is nearly double the base kayak price, Hipsher says.
While touring boats present less opportunity for dealer accessory sales and wrenching, there is still a market for kayak rudder installations, canoe spraydecks and other custom modifications better performed by experts.
The term accessory is as broad as you want it to be. A life jacket is a paddling accessory, albeit a mandatory one. So is a roof rack. Sunglasses? Sure, if you say so. It all comes down to floor space.
“We don’t have a huge sales floor, so we basically draw the line at clothing,” says Kauffman, noting plenty of nearby stores specialize in outdoor apparel. “We identify as hard goods and hard good accessories—all the essentials you need to have with you for paddling and safety.”
This article was first published in the 2023 issue of Paddling Business. Inside you’ll find the year’s hottest gear for canoeing, kayaking, whitewater and paddleboarding. Plus: Industry leaders on the post-pandemic landscape, 50 years of paddlesports, the rise and fall of ACK and more. READ IT NOW »
Accessories give the edge to specialty stores with sales staff who know the sport. | Feature photo: Mark Hemmings
Each spring, a flock of whitewater athletes migrate to the rivers of Eastern Canada, in pursuit of the massive water flooding Ontario and Quebec as snow and ice thaw. What started as an unofficial gathering, has morphed into an annual expectation known as the Stakeout.
A decade ago it may have seemed every Canadian wave rideable by kayak had been found. Every freestyle maneuver revealed. But in the years since, the athletes of the Stakeout continue to discover monstrous big waves and push the progression of whitewater kayaking.
Dane Jackson’s short film is an ode to what the world’s elite whitewater athletes await in anticipation the moment the first snowflakes hit the ground in fall.
The Rackham Aero 12’4” features a puncture-resistant, military-grade PVC skin and composite drop stitch construction, plus three fins aid tracking and directional control. | Feature photo: Virginia Marshall
BOTE describes their redesigned Rackham Aero 12’4” as an even more versatile and capable evolution of their go-to inflatable board for adventurous paddlers. Great news for fans of the original Rackham Aero 12’4”, among them anglers, families, dog owners and expedition paddlers who prized its 400-pound carrying capacity and superb stability.
How did BOTE boost the capability of their highest capacity, most heavy-duty inflatable paddleboard? The longtime paddleboard manufacturer borrowed from their emerging line of inflatable kayaks and added two significant upgrades to the Rackham Aero 12’4”: the addition of APEX Pedal Drive compatibility and the inclusion of a removable Aero SUP Paddle Seat. The result is an inflatable standup paddleboard that can transform into a sit-down, paddle- or pedal-driven watercraft in just a couple of minutes.
In other words, it’s perfect for paddlers seeking the stand-or-sit versatility of a hybrid SUP-kayak, along with the portability of an inflatable and the hands-free efficiency of a pedal drive. Whew, that’s a lot of options.
Design and outfitting
Our demo Rackham Aero 12’4” arrived by courier on a sunny spring morning in what I can best describe as a formidably large and heavy box. Inside, the board came neatly stowed away in its rolling travel bag. Once I manage to heft it free of its cardboard embrace, comfortable handles and sturdy wheels make it easy to roll the bag across smooth terrain. Lifting and transporting over uneven ground is another story. At nearly 80 pounds and with no shoulder straps, the fully loaded bag is not something you’ll be slinging across your back for a jaunt to the beach.
Everything packs up neat and tidy in BOTE’s sturdy rolling bag for hassle-free transport or airline travel. | Photo: Virginia Marshall
For anglers and other users accustomed to hauling around hard-shell pedal drive kayaks, transporting the Rackham Aero 12’4” is a breeze. Out of the bag and ready to paddle, our demo board tips the scales at 50 pounds. Add the seven-pound seat and 20-pound pedal drive, and the Rackham still feels nimble on the water compared to the average fishing pedal craft.
BOTE sells all of its inflatable boards in ready-to-ride packages, which is especially great for new paddlers. Inside the bag, you’ll find the Rackham Aero 12’4”, three-piece adjustable SUP paddle, Aero paddle seat, center fin, removable pedal port, repair kit and dual-action hand pump. Depending on which of the four available Rackham color schemes you choose, you’ll receive matching accessories for a snazzy, coordinating look. What else do you need? Just a matchy-matchy life jacket, of course.
BOTE has the accessories game dialed in. A quick glance at the topside of the Rackham Aero 12’4” reveals a constellation of accessory and gear mounts for easy add-ons and custom deck layouts. A paddle sheath, stakeout pole sheath and a pair of slide-in Aero Rac receivers ship with the board. Anglers can invest in one (or more) of BOTE’s nifty, easy-to-install racks—the standing height Tackle Rac or Power Rac, codeveloped with Yak-Power, or the low-profile Bucket Rac, which holds a five-gallon bucket and has four vertical rod holders.
Of course, if you buy the Bucket Rac, why not pick up one of BOTE’s matching KULA five-gallon bucket coolers? The padded lid makes a comfortable seat, and the cooler doubles as a baitwell or equipment storage, keeps ice for days, and is incredibly tough. In fact, the KULA is certified alligator-proof, which could come in handy if you paddle in BOTE’s home state of Florida.
Rackham Aero setup
Back to the Rackham Aero 12’4” paddleboard. First, the set up. Using the supplied hand pump, it took me just seven minutes to inflate the dual chambers to the recommended inflation pressure of 10 to 15 psi. One valve inflates the nose and rails, while the second valve inflates the floor. The result is a high-capacity, rigid-feeling board with a recessed deck for a lower center of gravity. This is an important design feature, given the Rackham’s generous rails and seven-inch thickness. Recessing the standing and sitting area keeps it supremely stable without compromising the board’s expedition-ready capacity.
It’s a long reach from the luxuriously lofty seat to the water. BOTE recommends a 235- to 260-centimeter kayak paddle for use with the Aero Seat. | Photo: Virginia Marshall
The Rackham’s unobtrusive pedal drive porthole becomes a discreet, watertight window when rigged for paddling. | Photo: Virginia Marshall
Partway through inflation, the see-through pedal port is nested in the corresponding hole just ahead of the paddler. If you’re using BOTE’s APEX Pedal Drive (sold separately for an additional $899), this porthole becomes the interface between the pedal mechanism and the propeller.
Regrettably, I didn’t have the opportunity to test-drive the Rackham Aero 12’4” with the APEX PD installed. Having seen it in action, however, I was impressed by the ease with which the user can switch between paddling and pedaling. In shallow water or approaching shore, the whole mechanism can be pivoted out of the water and tucked on the deck under the forward bungees. The propeller features a 10:1 gear ratio for smooth and efficient pedaling, and intuitive forward and reverse. Steering is accomplished via a spring-loaded, kick-up rudder installed on the board’s tail and operated by a simple hand control that can be mounted on either side of the seat.
Given the added expense and complexity, not every Rackham Aero 12’4” owner will invest in the APEX Pedal Drive. Or at least, not straight away. The obvious target market is dedicated anglers who want to keep their hands free for fishing and cover ground more quickly with less effort. But recreational and fitness users will also enjoy the versatility and full-body workout a pedal drive adds to the paddling experience.
The Rackham Aero 12’4” features a puncture-resistant, military-grade PVC skin and composite drop stitch construction, plus three fins aid tracking and directional control. | Feature photo: Virginia Marshall
On-water performance
Paddling my local waters, I start first on my feet. At 38 inches wide, the Rackham Aero 12’4” is a rock-solid platform for standing, moving around and even sharing the wide-open deck with a large-breed, four-legged friend. The board also tracks well, aided by the removable center fin and two built-in side fins.
Converting to kayaking mode is a simple matter of clipping the Aero seat’s four webbing straps to the corresponding loops on the Rackham’s deck. Voila! Now I’m ensconced in the comfort of an inflatable throne, resting my dogs and dipping a double blade.
BOTE’s Rackham Aero is a do-it-all inflatable
If you are a purist paddleboarder, or you’re looking for a lightweight inflatable to haul into remote waters, the Rackham Aero 12’4” is probably not the board for you. Minimalist, this board is not. Instead, it’s an adaptable, feature-rich, fish-all-day heavy hitter with stand, sit or pedal functionality. Or, as one fan put it, “It’s a workhorse without the work.”
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
The Rackham Aero 12’4” features a puncture-resistant, military-grade PVC skin and composite drop stitch construction, plusThree fins aid tracking and directional control. | Feature photo: Virginia Marshall
According to the Oxford Dictionary, moxie means a force of character, determination or nerve. Nia Burtchael-Norman drops Salto Blanco Sur in Chile. | Feature photo: Kalob Grady
In 2022, it feels good to paddle like a girl. Over the past year, we’ve seen an uptick in female participation at major whitewater races, enjoyed the release of the first woman-centered whitewater feature film, Wild Waters, and witnessed the re-emergence of all-girl paddling crews.
It’s been a journey to get here. Whitewater’s male-dominated participation has always shone through in its media. Successful feature-length films like Steve Fisher’s Halo Effect (2012) and Grand Inga Project (2013), as well as River Roots’ River Runner (2021) reached huge audiences outside of paddlesports. Still, you’d be lucky to catch a glimpse of a woman running a challenging rapid.
There have been attempts to buck the trend. At the 2012 Green Race, extreme racer Katrina Van Wijk—up to her nipples in water above the infamous class V Gorilla rapid—yelled, “This is TITS DEEP!” The catchy slogan evolved into a symbol of female empowerment.
Back then, Van Wijk was told, “there’s certain whitewater girls just don’t run.” A decade later, this notion is being proven wrong, yet female participation in whitewater remains stagnant. According to the Outdoor Foundation’s 2019 Special Report on Paddlesports, women make up just 36 percent of whitewater paddlers. And that percentage is even lower at the extreme end of the sport.
A new generation of female shredders is picking up where Van Wijk left off. Here are three of our favorite crews leading the charge.
According to the Oxford Dictionary, moxie means a force of character, determination or nerve. Nia Burtchael-Norman drops Salto Blanco Sur in Chile. | Feature photo: Kalob Grady
3 badass female paddling crews to follow
1 Team Moxie
Team Moxie is the brainchild of a sendy group of high school teens. The crew, consisting of Hanna Gazzard, Maddie Kimmel, Sophie Gilfillan, Nia Burtchaell-Norman, Victoria Levi and Anya Sachs met through World Class Academy, a traveling school for students who earn credits while paddling around the world.
The mission, says 17-year-old Kimmel, is to close whitewater kayaking’s gender gap and improve its representation of women. Kimmel has already made her mark in the whitewater community by winning the Potomac River’s Great Falls Race in 2020, being the first female to land a cobra flip, and taking the title of Female Grom Of The Year at the recent Whitewater Awards. Team Moxie aims to prove “ladies are just as steezy in a boat as anyone else.”
2 Team Tittiez
The goal for Team Tittiez is simple: have fun every day. After meeting while working at a paddlesports outfitter in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the girls—Laura Macchiavello, Sarina Chalmers, Greta Durbin and Carli Beisel—created a space where they could crush stereotypes like they do boofs. “Growing up, we didn’t see many female kayaking videos or teams that embodied feminine strength and style, so we created Team Tittiez to change that,” they said.
At World Class Academy, Biesel coaches youth on some of the world’s most technical whitewater. Fellow teammate, Chalmers, hucks herself off waterfall giants like 55-foot Lower Mesa Falls and the stacked South Fork of Silver Creek, California.
3 Babes In Boats
Babes In Boats started as a group chat by Montana-based Madison Dapcevich to bring women paddlers together. Four others–Tenneson Lewis, Ellian Kiselica, Caitlin Sutton and Abby Volkmann–make up the core crew.
The mission, Dapcevich said, is “to empower babes worldwide to get on the water.” The group has raised money to support Crux Adventures, a kids kayak club, and covered the competition entrance fees for a Missoula-based female paddler to compete in the Gallatin Whitewater Festival. Dapcevich says the goal is to register as a nonprofit to support womxn on the water and help remove barriers to entry.
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
According to the Oxford Dictionary, moxie means a force of character, determination or nerve. Nia Burtchael-Norman drops Salto Blanco Sur in Chile. | Feature photo: Kalob Grady
Get ready,” I tell the girls. It’s 7:29 a.m. My eyes are fixed on the official boat, where a flag will signal the race start any second, sending us on an 18-mile trek down the Kona coast. Birds fly overhead, probably curious about the 128 forty-foot-long canoes lined up like colorful matchsticks on the brilliant, aquamarine sea. The clock changes to 7:30, but the personal watercrafts in front of us continue to zip back and forth, drawing a whitewater boundary with their wake.
My crew of six has three first-timers, and I can sense their nervousness as we wait. “This is the hardest part,” I call out, only half-kidding.
The excitement started building long ago, group texts fluttering as we booked flights and organized practice on O‘ahu’s north shore, home to our canoe club Manu O Ke Kai. We arrived the day before to 1,500 paddlers rigging their canoes on the grounds of the King Kamehameha Hotel. At sunrise, we became part of the mix of teams in matching jerseys duct-taping water systems and power gels to their canoes, tying on bailers and spare paddles, and posing for pre-race selfies.
Muscle and endurance being equal, the crew that can paddle together most efficiently in the Queen Lili‘uokalani Canoe Race—the world’s largest long-distance outrigger canoe race—will prevail.
Lining Up At The Start of the Queen Lili‘uokalani Outrigger Canoe Race
We’re floating right beside Outrigger Canoe Club’s indomitable first crew. “Good luck, ladies!” I holler, and they echo our goodwill. Their energy, our energy, and the energy from the women in all 128 canoes is about to collide with the primal energy of Hawai‘i Island, where the volcanoes Kilauea and Kama‘ehuakanaloa are actively producing new earth above ground and undersea.
The yellow flag goes up, and then the green. The air horn blasts, and the race is on. The paddles hit the water simultaneously on alternating sides. The boats sprint forward.
Individual Tasks For A Common Goal
As the steerswoman in seat six, my job is part navigator, part cheerleader. Whether you’re paddling a traditional koa canoe, a fiberglass “spec” boat, or an ultra-light (a little over 200 pounds) “unlimited” canoe, each person has a job.
Every twelve or so strokes, Michele Sales in seat two calls, “Hut!” That’s the cue to switch the paddle to the other side. After a few minutes, we hit our stride. Some boats—including Outrigger—pull ahead as we battle with a red-and-yellow canoe from Kihei, Maui.
The Outrigger Canoe Club. The winning women’s team of the 2022 Queen Lili‘uokalani Canoe Race. Feature Image: Charla Thompson Photography
“While we paddled, I focused on keeping a consistent cadence of stroke and feeling how the canoe reacted,” our stroker and pace-setter Jennifer Ignacio shares. “I thought about how far we’d gone and how much more was in front of us.”
“Timing. Timing. Technique.” These mantras were fused in the mind of Bree Thuston, our seat four. Seats three and four are known as the “pit,” the canoe’s engine. Jackie Reiser, a powerhouse in seat three, adds, “I thought about so much but also nothing. It was almost meditative. When my mind wandered, I’d bring it back to the present.”
“Hut!” yells Michele, a veteran whose consistency in matching the stroker is invaluable. She concentrates on taking advantage of every little swell in this typically hot, flat race, timing her “huts” after bursts of acceleration so we don’t disturb the glide. We paddle, we hydrate, we paddle. Inevitably, the going starts to get tough.
Honoring Hawai‘i And Queen Lili‘uokalani
Image: Catharine Lo Griffin
We pass many significant cultural sites on our journey to Hōnaunau. Kona was once the center of the Hawaiian kingdom, and this race honors Queen Lili‘uokalani, Hawai‘i’s last reigning monarch. The race centers around her birthday, September 2. As we approach Kuamo‘o, the battleground where the defenders of the Hawaiian religion fell, I suggest, “None of us are here without someone else’s sacrifice. Paddle for someone you love.”
“Hut!” calls Michele. I feel the canoe lift. The miles start to merge, like hours on a road trip. I marvel at the diversity of crews, hailing from the U.S. mainland, Tahiti, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and Great Britain.
As we round Kealakekua Bay, where Captain Cook met his fateful end, I spot the volcanic outcropping where we’ll turn into the finish. “This is it,” I tell the crew.
“On cue, we dug into whatever we had left in our tanks, and our boat took off. We walked past the boat we’d been gunning for,” says Molly O’Keefe in seat five, who can help steer the canoe in rough water. “It was incredible to feel the strength we shared.”
Image: Catharine Lo Griffin
The orange triangle buoy—the finish line—comes into view and our boat soon enters the sacred refuge of Pu‘uhonua o Hōnaunau. Our 18-mile competitive voyage honoring Queen Lili’uokalani is complete with a ninth-place finish in 2 hours, 39 minutes, and 3 seconds.
We maneuver to the lava rock shoreline and carefully climb out of our canoe, another challenging task on this Hawai‘i coastline. “I managed to not step on wana (spiny sea urchins), and somehow find my family in the crowd,” said Bree. Her daughter congratulated each of us with an orchid lei.
“The coastline is still wide open and in this natural state,” race director Mike Atwood said, describing Pu‘uhonua o Hōnaunau. “From the shore looking out, and from the ocean looking in, you can visualize what canoes were doing a hundred years ago. It’s still being perpetuated. It’s being carried on.”
After two years of pandemic pause, the race committee was thrilled to bring everyone back—and is already preparing for next year, the 50th annual Queen Lili’uokalani Race in 2023. None of us say it out loud, but we already know we will be there.
What do you call a morning paddle with friends? Priceless. | Feature photo: Michael Connor
The text from my girlfriend arrived: “Really? Another one?” I didn’t need an emoji to feel her eyes rolling. We’d been strategizing about how to store our kayak fleet—which is really my kayak fleet and her one all-purpose Romany. The “do we need six kayaks between us?” had just become seven because I’d just picked up a $100 repaired plastic touring boat we could loan out to visitors and bounce off rocks. Heck, I tell my girlfriend and myself: storing seven kayaks isn’t any different from storing six.
Of course, now would be the time to sell, not buy. Kayaks have been flying off the shelves. Boats are sold and paid for in full while they’re still in Conex boxes on the decks of post-Panamax container ships somewhere on the way to North America. The pandemic has driven folks into outdoor recreation and gear of all kinds is scarce. With new boats still trapped in the anvil between high demand and broken supply chains, used kayaks are commanding a premium, even at the end of the paddling season. Whitewater boats with bow pitons and plastic welds are going for $800. A 20-year-old outdated touring kayak is for sale for $2,000—the same as when it was purchased new in 2002.
With new boats still trapped in the anvil between high demand and broken supply chains, used kayaks are commanding a premium. | Photo: Nicholas Spooner
The sensible move would be to sell a few of the less-used portions of the fleet, pocket the money for other things, and pay less for a replacement when things settle down. I could sell my heavy, battle-scarred 22-year-old NDK Explorer and, when the cost of a kayak drops, buy something a bit less worn and lighter. Or sell my play-the-sea crossover that’s great for specialized rock hopping and self-supported class II trips but grueling to paddle on the flats.
I could also sell my older-but-in-good-condition whitewater boat until the market slides a little. Then I could pick up something more cutting-edge when some of the folks who dove into the sport during Covid decide they don’t like paddling and sell cheap. Or I could free up space and money for a better bike, invest in pork bellies, cryptocurrency or NFTs, or go on an awesome trip.
But no, instead, I just picked up a welded tourer for less than it would cost to replace its hatch covers. Let’s face it, if you spend an inordinate amount of time dreaming about all the possible ways you could get on the water or editing photos from past trips, getting rid of boats is hard. It’s not like selling stocks to get into bonds because the Federal Reserve raises the interest rate. I’m a paddler and an environmentalist, not a Wall Street quant. I don’t use a Bloomberg Terminal to figure out what boats should be in the garage. Kayaks are not assets to be liquidated when the spreadsheet says so.
That crossover boat in the garage will be the perfect craft for a multiday trip down my favorite desert river next spring. That heavy, scratched-up Explorer? It’s already outfitted just how I like it.
Or was. It’s not in my garage anymore. That’s not because I sold it, though. It’s because some jerk stole it off the roof of my car. So now I’m filing an insurance claim and scanning Craigslist to see if the thief is dumb enough to try and sell it online at a marked up price. If they do, I’m a buyer. Of course, I’m also bringing along my friendly local sheriff’s deputy to help load it on my car.
What do you call a morning paddle with friends? Priceless. | Feature photo: Michael Connor
Kayak prices now & then
New kayaks are a hot commodity thanks to increased participation and supply chain disruptions. With many retailers’ fleets sold out for the summer season, prospective buyers turned to the used market to get on the water as soon as possible. And some sellers have cashed in on the heightened demand.
Paddling Magazine has always contended kayaks are an excellent long-term investment, but the industry hasn’t seen used boat prices like this before. Though the used kayak market hasn’t experienced quite the same value spike as the used car market—which shot up an astonishing 38 percent in 2021, according to cargurus.com—kayaks have retained, and sometimes even increased, their value. And we’re not just talking about premium models and materials anymore.
We went trolling through Craigslist, Kijiji and Facebook Marketplace. At the time of writing, most good-condition kayaks manufactured a decade ago are being advertised at roughly their original purchase price. And, because many manufacturers have only moderately increased prices during that time, a decade-old kayak might be within 15 percent of what the same model costs new today.
NDK Explorer
2012 MSRP
$3,906
2022 MSRP
$4,385
USED
$3,800
Eddyline Fathom
2012 MSRP
$2,699
2022 MSRP
$2,999
USED
$2,200–$2,500
Stellar 16 Advantage
2012 MSRP
$2,330
2022 MSRP
$2,984
USED
$2,700
Wilderness Systems Pungo 120
2012 MSRP
$829
2022 MSRP
$1,189
USED
$800–$1,400
P&H Scorpio
2012 MSRP
$2,099
2022 MSRP
$2,379
USED
$2,000
Delta 17
2012 MSRP
$2,495
2022 MSRP
$2,550
USED
$2,100–$2,500
Neil Schulman stores and paddles his kayaks in Portland, Oregon.
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
What do you call a morning paddle with friends? Priceless. | Feature photo: Michael Connor
When Remi Anri Doi, a member of the Japanese national handball team, posted a video to TikTok earlier in October of himself kayaking while holding a 360-camera in his teeth the views soared. The lens of the Insta360 X3 produces a warped, fish-eye like perspective. The result of Doi’s inward looking video angle? An entertaining, unreal-looking character that’s hard to resist replaying.
How A TikTok Trend Influenced A 360-Camera Kayak Video
It turns out, Doi’s point of view is part of an ongoing TikTok trend, one using 360-cameras to create videos striking a resemblance to the characters of an animated TV series, Attack On Titan. Fans of the show, either by accident or inspiration, noticed a 360-camera held in your mouth while moving at a fast pace mimicked the animated characters on the show.
Thanks to Doi, the Attack On Titan trend has now found its way to paddling. Doi has a knack for making some entertaining videos. We have to say, although the intention of the kayaking video is humor, the athlete’s paddling cadence is looking quite strong.
Meteorologists have weighed rainbows and found out…they’re pretty light. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
In 1995, I hit the beach in Vancouver after spending 171 days in a canoe. In a moment, it dawned on me: I was ruined for life. The goal—the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—was to be the first to paddle across Canada in a single season. Once we succeeded in our mission though, returning from our long-distance expedition was more of a letdown than a victory. The simple and singular day-to-day existence of moving forward through an ever-changing landscape had come to a screeching halt. My purpose evaporated like water particles reflecting and refracting the sun.
My epiphany was the journey itself was fulfillment, and its completion was just the beginning of an emptiness that wouldn’t subside until I set off again. I was a junkie—I’d had a taste and now I would chase this feeling to my grave.
Since then, I’ve taken extensive wilderness journeys every year, traveling thousands of kilometers by kayak, canoe, bike, ski, foot and rowboat through far-flung corners of the globe. The journeys are low-key, simple and cheap—esoteric routes I’ve put together that aren’t on anyone’s tick list. Sometimes these trips revolve around a greater environmental issue, like an oil pipeline or climate change. If a focus doesn’t rise out of the ether, I just figure out a way to explore somewhere new.
Meteorologists have weighed rainbows and found out…they’re pretty light. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
No matter what, I never repeat a route. For me, without that essence of personal discovery and newness to fill my senses, it would fall short of the fleeting, all-immersive state of being I crave.
[ Plan your next long-distance expedition with the Paddling Trip Guide ]
I’ve been asked by those curious about my urban malaise, “Well, why don’t you just keep on adventuring forever, 365 days per year?” The mad answer is an eternal expedition would just normalize into the everyday. These journeys need to be clearly defined with a start and finish point. Their finite nature makes every moment precious and present.
Embracing a life of adventure
I don’t regret this life, but I don’t wish it on anyone else either. There’s no nest egg, no kids, no typical career. Something must be lost for something to be gained. If you’re creative, passionate and lucky, I think you can do at least one long expedition every year you’re on this planet. Though I’ve had dozens of different trip partners join me on these excursions and share my reality throughout the years, they eventually follow a different path while I remain on mine.
I bided my time through the darkness of another winter, toiling at my job demolishing yachts salvaged from the sea. With the long days my yearning grows to a crescendo. The spring and summer beckon me into their bright embrace with a pair of fresh journeys. There is no gold waiting at the end of these quests, but I’ll certainly find some along the way.
Frank Wolf took this photo in 2021 near the village of Kyuquot during a 1,320-kilometer kayak circumnavigation of Vancouver Island. Combined with a previous 900-kilometer expedition around Haida Gwaii and 1,000 kilometers along the Inside Passage, he’s now completed British Columbia’s sea kayaking triple crown. This summer, he set out on a 300-kilometer ski-and-sled trip in the Arctic, followed by a 1,300-kilometer canoe trip through the Yukon and Northwest Territories.
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
Meteorologists have weighed rainbows and found out…they’re pretty light. | Feature photo: Frank Wolf
This article was first published in the Summer 2022 issue of Paddling Magazine. 
This article was first published in the 2023 issue of Paddling Business. Inside you’ll find the year’s hottest gear for canoeing, kayaking, whitewater and paddleboarding. Plus: Industry leaders on the post-pandemic landscape, 50 years of paddlesports, the rise and fall of ACK and more. 
