Seven years into sea kayaking and I’m wondering, where do I go from here? It was my hope that I’d be able to push my skills ever forward—to move from the intermediate level to expert—along with like-minded club members. But halfway up the learning curve, I find myself alone on the hill.
Last year I attended the West Coast Sea Kayak Symposium in Washington for the third time. If you’re new to the sport the symposium is a wonderful event. There are lots of boats to demo, products to peruse and buy and, of course, fascinating seminars to attend.
During the three-day event I mined through the field of seminars. I found some I hadn’t attended before but, in the end, I left wondering if perhaps I had outgrown the symposium.
Granted, the speakers are world class and intermediate paddlers still have plenty to learn, but how many times can I listen to Reed Waite selling the virtues of the Washington Water Trails Association or Heather Nakamura telling me what I should eat for maximum performance? If I haven’t gotten it by now I never will.
It isn’t surprising that after three visits there would be a sameness to the seminars. What is surprising is how quickly I have begun to feel like I don’t fit an acceptable sea kayaking archetype. It feels like there isn’t a place, in symposiums or clubs, for paddlers of my credentials, or as some might say, lack of.
I didn’t come to this conclusion on my own. Over a beer on the first evening of the symposium an official from my club informed me that there was no support from the club for paddles I had been leading. It was strongly hinted that I should desist until I was “properly trained.”
During the past three years I’ve been organizing paddles for intermediate and advanced club members as well as a few non-members. Once or twice a week we spend the day paddling up to 25 kilometres, often in rough seas, along exposed shores, with few landing places. These paddles have a theme—harder, faster, further.
If we’re not being pushed by the elements, we try to push ourselves. I try to get wet at least once during every paddle. We’ve practiced everything from wrestling with flooded hatches in tidal channels to taking part in rescue operations with the local coast guard auxiliaries.
These paddles weren’t officially sanctioned by the club. I had never thought to ask for them to be included in the club program and now I see that if I had asked, the answer would have been no.
The club official explained that members were not being advised to join me paddling because I have no accredita- tion—and therefore no credibility. You see, I’m a level zero— a zero star—I’m a scout with no badges on my PFD.
This is not to say that I take learning lightly. After all, I had just dropped $400 on the symposium. I’ve also attended lots of seminars, rescue clinics, stroke improvement lessons, towing clinics and so on. I’ve been taught by one of the top instructors on the West Coast. My mentors are some of the most respected members of my club.
I’m going to stop leading the paddles. It had always been my intention and practice to pass on the knowledge and skills I had absorbed from my fellow club members to the next generation of kayakers, but I don’t want to cause any stress for the volunteers who run the club. Perhaps someone in the club with the proper resume will step forward. I’ve asked some to do so, but they seem more concerned with fulfilling the club’s mandate of introducing new paddlers to the sport.
If there is nothing in the club for intermediates, why be a member? Where do those paddlers go? I’m anxious to know because I seem destined to join them. I suspect this malaise affects other clubs. How do they handle the hol- lowing out of intermediates? Maybe that’s just the natural order of things.
That evening at the symposium I was encouraged by club members to take a national certification program, levels I through IV. Presumably these letters and numbers would make me a safer leader.
Seven years into the sport and I’m being prodded toward certification. Going down this channel will set me back about $1,300, more than the price of a breatheable dry suit. Will I take the courses? Maybe. Many of my friends tell me I’ll have no trouble passing them—all I’ll have to do is demonstrate my proficiency. Is the point of education to show off what you know or to learn things you don’t know? Even as an undecorated intermediate, I think I know the answer to that one.
Gordin Warner is also a zero-star golfer.
This article first appeared in the Early Summer 2005 issue of Adventure Kayak Magazine. For more great content, subscribe to Adventure Kayak’s print and digital editions here.
