Posted on

Pump & Dump (Draining Water From the Kayak)

Anyone who has pumped water out of a flooded cockpit knows that it can be difficult and time consuming to pump five or 10 gallons out of a kayak. With an assisted rescue, your partner can lift the bow of your kayak and, assuming it has bulkheads, drain most of the water in a matter of seconds. If you’re recovering from a capsize and wet exit on your own, just rolling the kayak over from a position near the cockpit will allow a lot of water aboard.

I use a wonderfully simple, straightforward method for draining water from the cockpit that requires neither fancy gadgets nor assistance.

It’s called the “pump and dump.” After a few practice sessions in safe, flat water, the pump-and-dump should become a fluid and efficient technique to add to your self-rescue repertoire.

The Method

After you have capsized and done a wet exit, work your way to the bow without losing contact with the kayak or your paddle. If you are right-handed, position yourself in front of the kayak so that your left shoulder is at the bow. Place your left hand under the bow against the forward end of the deck.

The best and most powerful position for the paddle is with the middle of the shaft on your shoulder. With your right hand, place the paddle over your right shoulder and hold it there with your knuckles up. The blade in front of you should be flat on the water to the right side of the kayak.

The beginning of the pump-and-dump is a lightning-quick combination of pulling down on the paddle, doing a scissors kick and lifting the bow as high out of the water as you can. The water will drain out of the cockpit as the bow rises.

At the apex of the lift, flip the kayak over to its right-side-up position. The cockpit should be close to fully drained, so you can work your way back to the middle of the kayak and set up for your preferred method of reentry.

Practice Makes Perfect

I have taught this maneuver to many people and have noticed that the crux of the sequence is typically in the wrist flip when the bow is at its highest above the water.

Some kayaks, especially those with upturned bows, will practically flip themselves; others take some coaxing. You may find it helpful to practice by splitting the technique into two exercises. To practice the kayak-flip part of the pump-and-dump, stand in chest-deep water and shove the bow of the upturned kayak as high above you as you can, and flick your wrist to push the kayak over.

Twist the kayak so that it rolls toward your thumb-it will be easier to keep your grip on the bow. If the kayak rolls in the opposite direction, you may lose your grip, so make sure the boat doesn’t get away from you. Keep working on the lift and wrist flick until the motion is fluid and consistent.

In deeper water, without the kayak, practice the scissors kick and paddle motion. Pull the paddle down firmly as you do a scissors kick. In no time, you should be able to lift yourself out of the water to waist level.

Applying the Technique

Once you have both of these components worked out, put them together in one fast and fluid motion to flip a capsized boat. You’ll have a righted kayak free of water, or very nearly so.

I should note that the closer the aft bulkhead is to the cockpit opening, the less water the cockpit will retain. If your bulkhead is several inches aft of the opening, expect to find a bit of water remaining in the cockpit.

Bjorn Olson is a sea kayak guide and instructor. He has been guiding in south coastal Alaska for nine years. He makes his home in Seward, Alaska.

Posted on

Technique: Rescues with a Skin-on-Frame Kayak

Performing a rescue in any type of kayak can be challenging, and a skin-on-frame kayak can present additional complications.

These kayaks consist of a series of wooden ribs that make up the frame and a nylon or canvas skin that wraps around the frame. Skin-on-frame kayaks do not have bulkheads and, as is the case with many Greenland kayaks, can be very low volume.

Most modern sea kayaks have bulkheads that create enclosed pockets of air to provide flotation in the event of a flooded cockpit. The bulkhead behind the cockpit also serves as a wall to make it easy to pour water out of the kayak during assisted rescues.

Skin-on-frame kayaks lack bulkheads, so in the event of a wet exit, the kayak floods from the bow to the stern. It is for this reason that standard rescues, such as the T-Rescue, cannot be performed.

Special techniques are needed to empty the kayak and flotation needs to be added to compensate for the lack of bulkheads. Without flotation, the kayak will sink when you put your weight on it.

A challenge that can arise is that manufactured float bags are often the wrong size or shape for homemade skin-on-frame kayaks. Although manufactured float bags, or even paddle floats, can be used, they certainly aren’t ideal.

If you use float bags, make sure that they are pushed deep into the frame of the kayak before inflating. The inflation tubes can be run under the ribs to keep them out of the way and to hold the bags in place.

In warm weather, the bags will expand, so it is best to release some air when not in use. Before launching, inflate the bags so that they are tight in the bow and stern. If inflated properly, they will grip to the ribs and seal securely between the hull and deck.

Another option is to pack pool noodles into the bow and stern of the kayak. If shaped and packed tightly enough, the pool noodles will stay in place and provide adequate flotation to keep the kayak afloat.

Here we will look at both assisted and unassisted skin-on-frame rescues, when they work and when they don’t.

SELF-RESCUES

There are a couple of options for self-rescues in a skin-on-frame kayak. The first is a paddle-float reentry and the second is a reenter and roll. Although these self-rescues are similar to how they are performed in a kayak with bulkheads, there are some differences.

After capsizing and exiting the kayak, prepare for a paddle-float reentry by keeping the kayak upside down to prevent additional water from flooding into the cockpit. It is important to remain in contact with the kayak, and a good way to do so is to leave a leg hooked in the cockpit while you float on your back.

Place a paddle float on one end of the paddle and inflate it tight enough to stay in place. Then place a second paddle float on the other end of the paddle and inflate that as well. (Self-rescues in skin-on-frame kayaks are easier with two paddle floats because entering a low-volume kayak with a small cockpit requires more balance than with the longer cockpits typically found on manufactured kayaks. The person entering will need to inch into the kayak from a sitting position on the back deck with both legs straight and entering at the same time.)

Place the paddle perpendicular to the kayak behind the cockpit coaming. Kick your legs and slither belly-down onto the back deck. Keep the paddle in place and inch forward until you are directly behind your paddle.

Sit up, keeping one leg in the water on each side of the kayak for stability, and move the paddle so that it is behind you. Grip it on both sides so that your hands are placed slightly wider than the back deck. Using the stability provided by the paddle floats, work your way into the kayak by placing your feet in the cockpit and scooting forward until you can drop into the seat.
Once in the kayak, put the paddle close to your waist and lean slightly forward to hold it in place.

This will give you support while you pump the water out of the kayak. In rough water, or with a very low-volume kayak, you may need to seal the spray skirt first to prevent water from splashing into the cockpit.

Lean on the paddle while you get the skirt secured on the aft end of the coaming. To finish getting the skirt on, keep leaning forward or rest your arms on the paddle. To pump, you can peel back a side of the spray skirt or slip the pump down the spray skirt’s body tube.

When the kayak is clear of water and your spray skirt is secured, carefully deflate the paddle floats and put them away, or attach them to a deck line and put them away once stable.

A second option for a self-rescue is a reenter and roll with or without a paddle float. After capsizing, keep the kayak upside down with one leg hooked in the cockpit to prevent it from drifting away. If using a paddle float, float on your back, inflate it and put it on one end of the paddle.

Hold the paddle parallel to the side of the kayak with the paddle float bow-side. Grab the cockpit coaming on both sides with the paddle trapped under your arm. Inch your way into the upside-down kayak as much as you can while your face is on the surface.

The kayak may float on its side while you are doing this; however, the more upside down it remains, the less water will enter.

Once you have gone as far as possible with your face on the surface, take a deep breath and commit, pulling your lower body into the kayak until you are in an upside-down seated position. Hold the paddle with your palms facing up, parallel to the side of the kayak.

Sweep the paddle out to the side in a wide arc, applying upward pressure to the recovery side knee. Keep your head floppy with your chin in the air and slide onto the back deck.

Once stable, sit upright, place the paddle in front of your waist and perpendicular to the kayak. Lean forward to hold the paddle in place with your waist and lean very slightly toward the paddle float for additional stability. The paddle float provides a stable outrigger while you pump the water out of the kayak as long as you keep your weight on the paddle.

If water is splashing into the kayak, seal the spray skirt first and peel back a corner to pump, or pump down the spray skirt’s body tube. Once the kayak is empty, put the paddle float inside or under a deck line, and seal the spray skirt.

ASSISTED RESCUE

When performing an assisted rescue in a skin-on-frame kayak, both the rescuer and the person in the water (the rescuee) play an active and important role. To begin, the rescuer moves the kayaks so that they are parallel to one another. Meanwhile, the rescuee carefully moves to the open side of the rescuer’s kayak, making sure to keep contact with one of the kayaks and their paddle the entire time.

The rescuer places the rescuee’s kayak on its side with the cockpit facing toward him and begins to pour the water out. As the kayak becomes lighter, the rescuer hooks his arm into the cockpit and begins a slow curl.

This can be a slow process, and the rescuee leans over the rescuer’s kayak to assist in keeping the unoccupied kayak level to prevent water from flowing into the bow or stern. Once the kayak is relatively empty, the rescuee moves to the front of the rescuer’s kayak.

A stable position for the rescuee is to float on her back with her legs and arms wrapped around the bow of the rescuer’s kayak. While in this position, the rescuer moves the empty kayak across his cockpit so that the kayaks are in an X configuration, as in the venerable T-X rescue.

The kayak is turned upside down and rocked back and forth to remove any excess water.

Once empty, the rescuer turns the kayak the right way up, keeping the kayaks in the X position and places the rescuee’s cockpit slightly forward of his own cockpit.

The kayaks are very stable in this position, as the empty kayak acts as a huge outrigger. Instead of sliding the emptied kayak back in the water, as was done in the T-X rescue, the kayak remains on the rescuer’s deck.

The rescuee climbs the bow of the rescuer’s kayak. It is most stable to do this with one leg on each side of the kayak with the legs in the water. The rescuee slithers forward on her stomach until she is close to the empty cockpit and able to sit up on the rescuer’s foredeck.

The rescuer takes the rescuee’s paddle, allowing the rescuee more dexterity to move her feet behind her and to get on her knees on the rescuer’s front deck and then onto the back deck of her kayak.

She can then enter the kayak, seal in and take back her paddle before the rescuer gently pushes her bow-first into the water.

A word of caution

After taking pictures for this article of both assisted and unassisted rescues in flat water, we decided to perform the same rescues in more dynamic conditions.

According to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), wind that day in Trinidad, California, was predicted at 10 knots, with wind waves of four to six feet and a west swell of four feet at six seconds.

We paddled to the back of Trinidad Head to a popular play spot called “Smack Wall,” located about a mile from the beach. This spot is known for its blowhole and reflected waves, and we hoped that these waves would create some chop for the rescues.

Michael Morris and I, with Bryant Burkhardt taking pictures, performed an assisted rescue and were happy to discover that it worked, and worked well. We both agreed that the same rescue could successfully be performed in much larger conditions, since we faced no immediate challenges.

What we discovered later, though, was that the antler deck fittings attached to the deck lines on the front of Michael’s kayak had put three one- to two-inch rips in the bottom of my kayak as it was dragged across his deck.

Not knowing about the rips in the kayak, I attempted a self-rescue in the same dynamic conditions and it soon became apparent  that I was not going to be able to get the water out of the kayak.

The cockpit had gone underwater, so no amount of pumping would help because if I pulled back the edge of my spray skirt a bit to put a pump in, water would pour in around the pump.

The kayak had fully inflated airbags in both the bow and stern, so it wasn’t going to sink, although I would not be able to empty it alone. I wet exited so that we could empty the kayak and Michael came in for an assisted rescue. Bryant noticed the holes in the bottom of the kayak when Michael pulled it across his deck.

We performed an assisted rescue to get me back aboard, knowing that the holes in the hull would soon swamp my kayak again. It only took seconds before it was once again barely afloat.

The beach was a mile away, and we tossed around ideas about how to handle the situation. Michael could raft up with me and Bryant could tow both of us to the harbor.

Once there, Michael could possibly patch the holes with duct tape. Instead I opted to paddle the swamped kayak to shore. During the one-mile paddle I had to throw in several strong braces, and if I slowed down the kayak would lose stability and fall over.

Considering the circumstances, travel speed for that mile was surprisingly quick. At one point I tried holding on to the back of Michael’s kayak for a contact tow, but keeping the bow of the flooded kayak lined up with the bow of his kayak required core strength that I didn’t have, so I opted to just keep paddling. We made it to shore safely and decided to head out the following day with a different skin-on-frame kayak to try the self-rescues again.

The next day had little to no wind, the swell had increased to 10 to 12 feet at 11 seconds and the wind waves had diminished to less than a foot. We went to the same place, the “Smack Wall,” and I capsized and prepared to get myself back in the kayak.

As I climbed onto the back deck using the same method that had worked well in flat water, I watched as the waves filled the cockpit and it gradually sank under the surface. I realized that, once again, I would not be able to empty it myself.

I also attempted a reenter and roll with a paddle float and was successful, but the same problem presented itself, the cockpit was flooded and had submerged below the surface. Michael and I performed an assisted rescue, being careful not to scrape the bottom of my kayak on his deck fittings.

For me, the sinking kayak was a scary realization. In conditions where waves are entering the cockpit, I am not able to remove the water from the kayak to perform a full self-rescue. The good news, though, is that with adequate flotation provided by airbags, a skin-on-frame kayak can be paddled fully flooded but with severe limitations.

The lesson, I think, is that it is important to remember that things can go wrong in any type of kayak and with any type of gear. It is important to practice rescues in all types of kayaks to see what works and what doesn’t and to have a dependable roll.

Airbags in a skin-on-frame are very important, because even though my kayak flooded, I was still able to paddle it. Without the airbags, the kayak would have been lost to the bottom of the ocean. Airbags should be checked before every paddle to make sure that they have sufficient air. It is of course safer to paddle with others, and without a strong roll and good bracing skills, it is probably best to not take a skin-on-frame kayak out alone.

Helen Wilson is a professional sea kayaker who lives in Arcata, CA. She instructs and performs rolling demonstrations and presentations worldwide. Helen competed in the 2008 and 2010 Greenland National Kayaking Championships, and she and her husband Mark Tozer returned to Greenland in 2012 to guide an expedition on the east coast.

Helen is also a certified yoga instructor, specializing in Vinyasa Flow. For more information, visit www.greenlandorbust.org.

Posted on

No Fear of Flying (A Kid in a Kayak)

This story was created by having Isabella tell me about the trip and then I supplemented by asking her questions. The words are hers (including the metaphors, which I found amazing) with very, very minimal editing. I have added some information in parentheses. -Brian Maxey

My name is Isabella Maxey and I am six years old. My mom and dad kayak a lot. I have wanted to go on a sleepover kayak trip for four or five years. This September, I got my wish.

My trip began with a ferry-boat ride to Orcas Island with my family. I had been on a ferry before when I was young, but I cried because I thought I was going to get to ride on a real fairy, not a boat.

My dad and I walked my mom and little brother down to Camp Orkila (YMCA camp on Orcas) and waved goodbye. Then we went on my first overnight kayak trip to Doe Island. I had been in a kayak before at the beach and in the Hudson River in New York City.

We were originally going to go to Sucia Island, but we didn’t have enough people to make it safely. My dad always talks about being safe in a kayak. My dad said that Doe Island was magic because there was a glade on the island where the fairies live.

We met Toby Brown and Desmond at the store. Toby is a grown-up like my dad. Desmond is in his teens. I bet a lot of people know Toby Brown. We went shopping for the food we would need. We bought juice boxes, marshmallows, apple sauce, a hot pepper, tortillas, pesto and milk boxes for my dad’s coffee. And then we drove over to Toby’s house where we were going to get in the water.

We got all our stuff and brought it down to the beach. We had sleeping bags, tools to cook with, tents, clothes, toothbrushes and toothpaste. I brought warm clothes. It was hard work taking the kayaks and the stuff down the trail to the beach. We had to make many trips.

Then I put wood for our fire into the bow of the boat. My dad said he wanted heavy things in the front.

My dad and I were in an orange kayak. I was in the front, which is called the bow. The right side is starboard but I forget what the left side is called. I was wearing pink and black sweatpants, a white rash guard with hearts on it, a purple fleece and my pink raincoat.

I was also wearing my red life jacket, which you always wear in a kayak. Before we got on the water my dad said that if we tipped over, I should hold on to the boat and if I was not holding on to the boat, I should swim to it. He said I should not swim to shore.

Then we paddled to Doe Island. Kayaking feels like flying and the paddle feels like a wing. I paddled the whole way. Paddling is like weaving—I pretended that the paddle was a needle and I threaded the needle back and forth and back and forth on the loom, which was the ocean.

We paddled near rocks looking for sea stars, but we didn’t see any on the way there. We did see seals looking at us. When we first started paddling it was cloudy and the sky was gray. By the time we got to Doe the clouds had moved away and there was a patch of blue.

When we got to Doe Island, we brought all our stuff up to where we were going to sleep that night. There was blue grass at our campsite. We saw a lot of yellow jackets—about 10,000 of them. Toby said that their queen had stopped feeding them and that they were hungry and looking for food.

My dad and I set up our tent. We could see the mountains over the water. There was a seal with a fish in its mouth and a pelican tried to get it from him. My dad and I went for a walk on the island and found the bathroom. The bathroom was wooden and didn’t flush and there was no place to wash our hands—just hand sanitizer. On the other side of the island we saw a great blue heron very close. The next day we also saw a lot of kingfishers and a bald eagle. On our walk we saw a place that had a lot of moss and three tree roots in a circle. I thought that might have been the fairy glade.

We had pesto noodles with pine nuts for dinner. I ate my tomatoes on the side and only Toby and Desmond had the hot pepper. Desmond and I went looking for good marshmallow sticks and then we roasted marshmallows over the campfire. Dad said it was good that my little brother Liam wasn’t with us because he would run off the cliff to see the seals and would be in the fire. That was so funny.

I wasn’t scared sleeping in the tent, but I did miss my mom and brother. We woke up early and I went down the trail by myself to the bathroom. That was brave.

For breakfast we had Toby Brown’s famous tortilla eggs. And I got more marshmallows for breakfast but I am not supposed to tell my mom. After a little while we packed up, kayaked around Doe Island and then headed back.

On the way back we saw a lot of sea stars. Toby picked a purple one up and put it on my lap. I touched it gently and talked to it. Then Toby put it back right where he found it so it would be back home. We also ate kelp candy, which is the pods off of bull kelp. I didn’t really like it. I dragged bull kelp for a while.

When we got back I was tired, but I had a very good time. Then we had to carry everything back up the hill to the car. That was hard work. I put on dry clothes and was warm and safe.

Then we said bye to Toby and Desmond and went to see my mom and brother. I still really want to go to Sucia, but that might not happen until next summer.

My favorite part of the trip was making a fire and roasting marshmallows. My favorite part of kayaking is the flying.

Isabella was born into a kayaking family—Mom and Dad got engaged paddling the Everglades. Her first swing was a whitewater boat hung in a tree. At three she was paddling the waters of New York Harbor with occasional trips upstate to explore lakes.

Now seven, she enjoys paddling on Puget Sound, Green Lake in Seattle, and has been working on her wet exits and hang time during winter rolling sessions. Next summer she hopes to do a longer trip on Vancouver Island and still needs to get to Sucia. She also loves to draw, sing, read and get into trouble with her three-year-old brother, Liam.

 

Posted on

Looksha IV by Necky Kayaks

Reviewers:
  • TS 5′ 10″, 165-pound male. Day trips in winds less than 10 knots, small waves, boat and ship wakes for surfing.
  • RS 6′ 2″, 185-pound male. Day trip in winds to 35 knots, seas 2 feet, confused chop with 6- to 8-foot ocean swell.
  • MH 5′ 10″, 190-pound male. 4-day trip, swell to 5 feet with clapotis and wind waves. Rock gardens and surge channels. 60 pounds of gear.

“The Looksha is one of the cleanest looking plastic boats on the market. Faux-granite plastic mixture seems to ease the ‘Tupperware’ look that many plastic boats suffer from” (TS). Like the Looksha II (SK August 96) it has a double chine.

The Looksha balances well for a solo carry. The 65-pound weight of the Looksha was not too difficult for our reviewers to manage. For a two-person carry the toggle placement is too far in from the ends for easy handling.

The placement of the stern toggle is required by the rudder, but the inboard placement of the bow toggle also causes the bow to “bump into your leg while you carry it” (RS). RS and TS thought placement of the grip at the tip of the bow would be an improvement.

The Looksha’s deck layout is “functional”(TS). Our reviewers especially liked the recessed deck fittings. The cockpit is “a nice size for easy entry and exit” (MH). RS would like a “snugger fit and a slightly lower deck” and both he and TS note the need for some custom padding.

The seat is comfortable and long enough to provide some good thigh support. The back rest was comfortable but is “quite high, sticking well above the cockpit, making laying back for a screw roll impossible” (RS).

There is an option for a lower seat back. The thigh bracing was usable but did not offer a secure grip: “They could stick out farther and offer more purchase” (RS) or be padded out by the owner.

The webbing/ladder lock slider system for the rudder pedals “is infinitely adjustable and works reasonably well though it does require a little patience to get it perfectly trued” (TS).

As with most rudder pedals the system has a “fair bit of give” (TS) when the rudder is retracted. The rudder seems “pretty indestructible” to TS, while RS thinks it could be a bit “beefier.” When deployed it works smoothly and drops back down after riding over obstructions.

On the water the Looksha IV “has a very comfortable stability range. Without being a barge, the initial and secondary stability are good” (TS). “Stable enough to fish from, yet it felt nimble and very responsive”(MH). “Stable enough for most beginners but it turned like a dream when I got it up on edge” (RS).

Although the Looksha has a rudder, our reviewers preferred paddling with it retracted. “Putting this baby up on edge was my favorite thing about the Looksha. It cranks surprisingly quick turns for a 17-foot touring kayak, pivoting like a shorty play boat” (RS).

“It was a blast in the rock gardens. Super maneuverable and fun” (MH). The Looksha also tracked well with the rudder retracted. Its quick response to carved turns makes it easy to hold a course.

Only MH noted the Looksha, without a gear load aboard, had slight tendency to weathercock in moderate winds, easily corrected by edging the boat. In the strong winds RS encountered “it handles as you might suspect: like most kayaks it was a struggle to keep on course in gusts of 30-plus knots.”

The Looksha has a dry ride in moderate conditions as its bow “has a moderate tendency to rise up over small chop. In bigger water the ride got much wetter” (RS). “It was dry until I got crazy in the rocks” (MH).While not exceptionally fast the Looksha “does accelerate and hold its speed well”(TS).

“I was able to sprint and catch swells easily” (MH). The Looksha handles well for surfing wind waves and boat wakes. “The boat’s maneuverability made it easy to [ride] wind waves without falling off into a broach” (RS). “Course correction on shorter steeper boat wakes was a breeze with the rudder in action” (TS). “Bow tends to plunge in large steeper waves. Side surfs smoothly for controlled broaches” (RS).

There is enough room for a week’s worth of gear in the bulkheaded compartments. The hatches consist of an unattached neoprene cover and a tethered plastic lid. None of the reviewers reported any leakage after rolling or rough-water paddling.

The bulkheads are made of foam glued in place. With a load aboard the Looksha IV had additional stability and kept its “excellent” (MH) handling qualities.”A very likable kayak. I would recommend it to anyone who wanted the advantages of cost, recyclability and impact resistance of a plastic boat that doesn’t compromise on greater touring performance” (TS).

“Beginners should be satisfied with its relative stability and solid cruising characteristics. This is a maneuverable and responsive kayak for skilled paddlers to play around in on day trips, and it’ll haul plenty of gear. All things considered, the Looksha is a good all-around touring boat” (RS).

“Often when testing kayaks I find myself wishing I were in something else. I didn’t want to get out of this thing. The best plastic kayak I’ve ever paddled” (MH).

Designer Response

First I would like to thank the anonymous testers for what I consider a very complimentary review. I would like to respond to some of their comments. Ideally we would like to fit a boat perfectly to everybody, but that is impossible, especially for ones designed for high production.

Our concern is that some paddlers, especially new ones, are afraid of being trapped in the boat, hence the loose fit. To get tighter fits it’s relatively easy to glue a layer of foam and shape it for the perfect customized fit Looksha IV was originally produced with a lower back rest, but the majority of our customers preferred a higher one.

The refit is easy, just ask your dealer. The placing of the handles is due to my concern of picking up some loose kelp or sea weed on the bow and not being able to get rid of it. After you use the Looksha a few times you will find that the best way to carry it is by holding it by the bow.

Your hand fits perfectly. When it comes to using a rudder or not, there is no doubt in my mind that it is more fun to play in the boat without the rudder. But what we are making is a touring boat, and sometimes you have to be plugging ahead in nasty conditions hour after hour and using a rudder can make things easier.

Mike Neckar

Options and Pricing (1996 design)

  • Standard Construction: Rotomolded, Super Linear Polymer, Metthalocene catalyst technology.
  • Standard Features: Hatches, deck lines, bulkheads, seat and back rest.
  • Approximate Weight: 65 pounds
  • Price: Plastic: $1320 with rudder, 1150 without rudder.
    Fiberglass: $2100. Kevlar: $2495 Kevlar. (MSRP in US dollars)
Posted on

Greenland-Style Tuiliqs

To seal themselves into the cockpits of their kayaks, the Native Greenland paddlers often use a tuiitsoq.

You’d recognize it as a sealskin version of a sprayskirt.

It cinches around the coaming and under the paddler’s armpits and is held up by a pair of shoulder straps. However, the tuiitsoq is “only meant for fair weather sailing in the spring and summer,” according to H.C. Petersen, author of Skinboats of Greenland.

When the weather turns cold and the seas rough, the Greenlanders don tuiliqs, paddling jackets that seal tightly around the face and wrists and attach directly to the cockpit coaming.

The tuiliq not only seals the kayaker into his kayak, it provides good protection from the cold, and unrestricted mobility for the broad range of Greenland bracing and rolling techniques. When I wear either my wetsuit or my dry suit and a neoprene hood, my neck is still exposed, and my neoprene hood may cover my ears-which are susceptible to injury by exposure to cold water, but it doesn’t protect them from water forced in by rolling.

The tuiliq has good protection for both of these areas, and eliminates the possibility of taking on water between a sprayskirt and a paddling jacket.

Brooks Wetsuits of British Columbia has been making neoprene tuiliqs for Greenland paddlers for about six years, but hasn’t marketed them here in North America. I didn’t know their tuiliq existed until I saw the one used by Greenland kayak champion Maligiaq Padilla.

The seams of the Brooks tuiliq are glued on the inside and sewn on the outside. Its hem has a rubber-side-out sleeve around a bungie cord that seals the tuiliq to the cockpit coaming.

While the cut of the tuiliq is designed for small Greenland cockpits, the extra-large tuiliq I tested fit cockpits in sizes ranging from the 22″ by 15″ cockpit of my traditional Greenland kayak to the 31″ by 16″ cockpit coaming of a typical North American fiberglass kayak with an adequate amount of stretch.

The sleeves fit snugly at the wrists and forearms to seal out water, yet they are generously cut around the elbow and shoulder to allow an unrestricted range of motion for paddling. Velcro straps at the cuffs provide additional compression for the neoprene at the wrists.

The hood has a long drawstring that runs in the hem around the face opening. Drawn tight, the string seals the opening around your face and the extra length wraps around the crown of your head to hold the hood in place.

The Brooks tuiliq is very well suited for rolling. Its loose mid-section provides unlimited flexibility for torso rotation and lay backs. The hood protects the ears and the neck, which can lose body heat quickly.

Even while I was doing rolls that call for capsizing face-first into the water, no water got past the face seal to my ears. After 10 or 15 minutes of rolling, I got some seepage of water in through the cuffs and face opening; enough to wet my skin, but not enough to chill me or collect in the cockpit. Nylon webbing suspenders support the “skirt” of the tuiliq and keep water from pushing the tuiliq into the cockpit opening.

Even though a wet exit is not compatible with the Greenland style, I was curious to know if the loose fit of the neoprene around my torso would provide any warmth if I were in the water. After a wet exit, I was surprised at how much air the tuiliq kept in it when I came to the surface. The air buoyed up around my chest and shoulders and provided a lot of flotation. By tucking the skirt of the tuiliq in between my legs, it provided some thermal protection for my groin and kept water from circulating around my torso.

With my legs crossed and hands folded over my chest, I floated comfortably in the water. The seal around my face let only a little air out if I worked my jaw around but, for the most part, the fit was airtight and maintained the air bubble. I’d still recommend wearing a thermal protective layer under the tuiliq, but I was surprised by how much warmth and buoyancy it provided while I was in the water.

While the Brooks tuiliq is too warm for cruising in the heat of summer, I think it is a great piece of apparel for paddling in cold weather and rough water, and it is excellent for rolling practice.

Superior Kayaks offers a tuiliq in Gore-Tex. The Superior tuiliq, according to the manufacturer, was designed as touring apparel-more for comfort while paddling than for immersion wear.

It does not have suspenders to hold the front of the skirt up, so a bit of water-not enough to worry about-can pool in the front of the tuiliq where the fabric sags into the cockpit. For the coaming of a modern recreational kayak, the hem of the tuiliq is drawn tight around the cockpit coaming with a bungie cord. For a traditional coaming without a flange, the tuiliq is secured with nylon cord. The cuffs fold to fit around the wrist and are secured with Velcro straps, while the face opening is drawn tight with a cord with a sliding cord-lock.

There is a hand-warming pocket on the chest. The seams are double stitched, but the fabric edges are not hemmed. In the hood and shoulder areas they are sealed with silicone sealant: It is not as fancy as using heat-sealed seam tape, but it does keep water from seeping in.

The Gore-Tex fabric doesn’t create the same airtight seal as neoprene and, during rolls, some water did trickle in around my face where the cloth puckers around the drawstring and through the cuffs where the fabric is folded back on itself. Even with the seepage, my ears and neck were still well protected from the water.

For cruising, I’d wear the Superior tuiliq under my PFD, if for no other reason than to have access to the equipment that I keep in my PFD’s pockets. Since it is cut full enough to fit over a PFD, you could carry the tuiliq in a deck bag and, if the weather took a turn for the worse, pull it over your PFD, paddling jacket and sprayskirt.

The breathabililty of the Gore-Tex is an advantage over the neoprene tuiliq for keeping the paddler dry in soggy weather and a bit cooler in warmer weather.
Although the wrist and face seals and the seams of the Superior tuiliq aren’t state-of-the-art, it is an economical and functional paddling garment for cold-weather cruising, and should appeal especially to aficionados of Greenland-style kayaks and equipment.

Both Brooks and Superior make mittens for their tuiliqs. The Brooks neoprene mittens seal well over the tuiliq sleeves and have plenty of finger room. Superior’s Gore-Tex mittens have wide openings that make them easy to put on. They’re meant for protection from wind and spray, not immersion.

Neither the Brooks nor the Superior mittens have enough friction to get a good grip on a slick, synthetic paddle shaft, but on the oiled wood shaft of a Greenland paddle they work fine. The Superior mitten also comes in a double-thumb version that can be turned around.

This feature helped Greenlanders get a fresh grip when one side of a sealskin mitten became soggy and slippery. Gore-Tex won’t get as slippery with use, so the double thumb is a bit of a novelty and a nod to its Greenland ancestry.

Tuiliq Length: Function not Fashion In keeping with the Greenland style, both of these contem-porary tuiliqs hang to about knee level. The length makes it possible to do extreme lay backs for rolling and, according to H.C Petersen, to push out of the seat without breaking the seal at the cockpit coaming. In Skinboats of Greenland, he relates the experience of Peter Petrussen who, as a young kayaker, was embarrassed by the length of the tuiliq sewn for him by his mother: “It looked too much like a girl’s skirt.” The latest fashion (in the early 1900s) had been toward shorter tuiliqs.

Petrussen went paddling with it and capsized. He had not yet learned to roll, “but, thanks to the long suit, I could push myself out of the cockpit without dislodging the suit from the coaming. In this way I could turn enough to raise my head to the surface and breathe.” Petrussen called for help and was rescued.

I tried this with both tuiliqs, first in a hard-shell boat with a small bulkheaded cockpit, and then in a traditionally built skin-on-frame Greenland kayak. In both cases I couldn’t get very far out of my seat-maybe two or three inches-before the vacuum created as I pushed away from the kayak pressed the tuiliq so hard against me that I couldn’t move away far enough to twist to the surface.

In the Greenland kayak there was less of a vacuum-perhaps because of the flexibility of its skin or the absence of bulkheads that reduce the volume of the cockpit-but I still could not overcome the vacuum holding me in the cockpit.

Although I couldn’t figure out how to do the maneuver Petrussen described, both tuiliqs tested are long enough for me to lean back and touch my head on the aft deck. I wouldn’t want either of them to be any shorter.

Posted on

The economics of safety

A group of friends from the Sea Kayaking Club were wrapping up a four-day trip in the Apostle Islands. They had successfully avoided a few isolated rain showers, but were caught off guard by the cold nights.

Their sleeping bags were simply not warm enough, and everyone was sleeping poorly. To make matters worse, they forgot to bring coffee, which made each morning a little rougher. As the sun came up on the last day of their trip, tempers were short, and while it had been nice to be out in the wilderness for a few days, everyone was ready to get back to the mainland.

The weather radio indicated a forecast that was near the limit of their skills, with rain expected for the afternoon and evening. Everyone was a bit edgy, and the decision to launch was made with minimal discussion since no one wanted to spend another day camping. Halfway through the crossing, they realized that they were in over their heads and wished they had stayed ashore.

Nearby, Adventure Kayaking Club paddlers had enjoyed a weekend out on the water. They had camped close to the group from the Sea Kayaking Club. As the sun rose on a crisp Sunday morning, the group started to move around, enjoying a hot cup of coffee and some breakfast to start the day.

A warm fire provided welcome relief against the cold. Enjoying breakfast together, they listened to the weather forecast. Conditions were within their abilities, but with a minimal safety margin.  Their campsite was in a protected cove with a nice view of the surrounding islands, so they were in no hurry to leave. After some discussion, they declared it a “wind day” and made plans to go hiking while the new weather front moved through the region. At midday, from a viewpoint at the apex of the island they saw that the water was quite rough and were glad to be ashore.

Economics of Decision Making

In these hypothetical examples, why did the Sea Kayaking Club launch while the Adventure Kayaking Club opted to stay ashore?  In most discussions of the mistakes kayakers make, the focus is on understanding the risks faced by the paddlers on the water and their ability to correctly evaluate and/or overcome them.

This line of inquiry is incomplete because it does not account for how risk is perceived and it fails to take into account how we actually make the decision to launch.

Most paddlers would agree that the efforts that go into getting ready for a trip are, in economic terms, an investment, and the pleasure of paddling is a return on that investment.

If you’ve spent a week getting ready for a big trip and then drive five hours to the launch site, you’re going to be very eager to get on the water—paddling is the return on your investment. During a long cruise, each successful launch during the trip brings you closer to your goals and improves the return on your investment.

If being out on the water seems like the best use of our time, we launch. Since every kayaking incident starts with the decision to launch, it follows that our safety on the water is influenced by the alternatives that are available to us at launch time.

While reading reports of kayaking incidents in the past few years, I became convinced that something fundamental was missing in how kayakers made decisions to launch in marginal circumstances.

Having recently completed my MBA, it occurred to me that concepts from economics and consumer behavior could be applied to better understand how we make our decision to launch. I realized that things we consider to be optional when preparing for a trip should actually be considered as playing an important role in safety.

It also became clear why many attempts at discouraging kayakers from launching into deteriorating conditions are unsuccessful, and how that can be improved.

There are some economic terms that you might be able to apply to decision making at the start of a paddling day:

Before their respective launch discussions, both groups had the same potential value (returning from the trip) and the same perceived risk (weather forecast and skill levels), so the perceived value of launching was the same.

The Sea Kayaking Club had a lower opportunity cost, so they stayed in the blue “launch” zone—their incremental value remained positive.The Adventure Kayaking Club had a higher opportunity cost, which moved them farther to the right into the tan “don’t launch” zone.

Their opportunity cost exceeded their perceived value, resulting in a negative incremental value. This meant they should forego the launch and stay on land, since that was the more valuable of the two options.

Potential value: The amount of enjoyment you might have or the goals that you’ll achieve by paddling today.

Perceived risk: The downsides of paddling today—the things you will not enjoy or that might harm you.

Perceived value = potential value minus perceived risk: Is the payoff worth the risk or effort you take on? If the potential value clearly outweighs the perceived risk, the perceived value is high.

Opportunity cost: What else could you be doing if you chose not to paddle today?  Could a day ashore be time well spent?

Incremental value = perceived value minus opportunity cost: How much more will you enjoy paddling over whatever else you could be doing? This is the difference between perceived value and opportunity cost.

Potential Value

The potential value is where we typically focus when deciding whether to launch. This includes both the experience of being out on the water—seeing cool sea caves, surfing in moderately sized waves—as well as what might be gained from achieving the day’s objective—getting to the campsite, completing the trip on time.

Economic theory says that the effort we put into getting ready for a trip should have no bearing on the launch decision. It is referred to as a “sunk cost,” meaning that we have already spent our time and resources in such a manner that it cannot be undone.

As paddlers, we often view the work of packing and getting to the put-in as an investment, which puts additional pressure on us to “protect” that investment when we arrive at the launch. This is a dangerous perspective. No matter how much we’ve invested in getting to the water, a bad launch decision is still a bad launch decision; it is in no way excused because we worked hard to make it possible.

Perceived Risk

When evaluating conditions, the skill level of the paddler is important because a heavy reliance is placed on previous experiences. Thus, risk assessment is subjective in nature because it is the perception of risk that drives our decision. There are two factors that affect how we perceive risk.

First, we are much more willing to accept a risk when it is voluntary.  Voluntary risk is why people believe they are safer driving cars versus flying in an airplane, even though the airplane is statistically much safer. It turns out we feel comfortable with  significantly higher risks when we feel in control of our fate.

This is important, since it distorts how we evaluate risk. I have happily launched in conditions when I felt it was my decision to make, but was opposed to launching in similar conditions when someone else was pressuring me to do so.

Next, we evaluate risk by comparing it to something we know, and extrapolating when it lies beyond the boundaries of what we have already experienced. Unfortunately, we tend to underestimate significantly the additional risk that lies outside of our experience.

Experienced paddlers know that key variables for paddling difficulty are wave height, wind speed and the paddling direction relative to the wind and waves. We listen to the weather forecast and try to extrapolate the conditions based on what we have already experienced.

When evaluating conditions, I might think, “Hmm, that’s kind of like a crossing I did last summer, but the winds are going to be a bit stronger so it will take longer.” The smaller the gap between what we have experienced and what we are considering, the more likely we are to correctly evaluate the new situation.

Since we underestimate risk when extrapolating, novices are especially bad at assessing the risk associated with adverse conditions they encounter for the first time.

Evaluating the additional risk when moving from paddling on a small city lake in calm conditions to making a two-mile crossing with 15-knot winds and three- to four-foot waves is a jump beginners simply cannot make. As a result, the weather forecast may have limited value because new paddlers cannot comprehend the associated risk.

Making matters worse, they may not be aware of their limitations, which can make it very difficult, at best, for a concerned paddler to have a conversation with them about the risks associated with launching in challenging conditions. The result may be an “I know what I am doing” response, since they may not even be aware of the fact they can’t fully understand the situation. In such a situation, the perceived risk associated with launching is low for the new paddler, since they lack the knowledge needed to correctly interpret what it will feel like on the water once they launch.

Note that I use the term “perceived risk” here to signify possible negatives associated with the trip. Large waves may not be a negative for everyone, but the possibility of having to call for a rescue certainly is.

Perceived Value

Perceived value starts with how much we might enjoy paddling today and accounts for the associated risk. The result is how much we reasonably expect to enjoy paddling today.

Bringing the components—potential value and perceived risk—into play makes it easier to bring our traditional kayak-focused discussion of risk into this economic framework.

Opportunity Cost

Although an accurate assessment of risk is a key step when deciding to launch, the opportunity cost is always considered—either explicitly or implicitly. This explicit discussion is often missing when discussing the launch decision at the beach.

As mentioned above, the opportunity cost is what the alternative use of our time will be if we don’t go paddling now. The higher the opportunity cost, the higher my requirements are for a fulfilling time paddling. The experience of staying on the beach has some level of value and the better prepared you are to enjoy the time you spend ashore, the higher that value is.

Giving up something that has a high value implies a high cost for the activity you choose. Good alternatives to paddling have a high opportunity cost.

In the example I created at the beginning of this article, the Sea Kayaking Club was cold and tired, and staying at their campsite to wait for better paddling weather was going to mean more of the same, creating a low opportunity cost. They could imaginebeing uncomfortably anxious paddling in marginal conditions, but they knew staying ashore surely meant even more discomfort because of the cold.

A few miles away, the Adventure Kayaking Club had a great campsite, where all were warm and well rested. They were quite happy, and staying in camp would continue to be enjoyable. For them, there was a high opportunity cost associated with launching, since they knew they would be leaving a good thing behind. Since the opportunity cost of staying (warm and happy) exceeded the low value they saw in launching (high degree of anxiety), it was easy for them to opt to stay on land for the day.

Incremental Value

Understanding perceived value and opportunity cost brings us to the idea of incremental value. A decision to launch goes through these steps:

How much are you going to enjoy or gain from going padding?

Weigh the negatives associated with the paddling (e.g., potential for strong winds and large waves, or the chance of rain).

Compare your experience if you go paddling to what else you might do instead.

The gain you might realize by going paddling versus doing something else is your incremental value. The larger the incremental value, the more likely you are to launch.

Consider when launching whether the incremental value is high for the right reasons. Is it high because the paddling conditions are great, or because your current situation is miserable and almost anything would be better than staying where you are? The incremental value should be high because the expected value is high—anything else is a red flag.

Wind Day at Pukaskwa National Park

A few years ago I was paddling with a group of friends at Pukaskwa National Park on Lake Superior. We were five days out and had not seen anyone since launching. Everyone in the group was an experienced paddler. The winds had come up overnight, and it was clear that there were significant waves (five to six feet) and whitecaps out past the protection of our cove.

We discussed the pros of launching—we wanted to make some miles to reach a specific point in the park in order to complete the entire trip within our allotted time. Paddling in big waves all day was going to be challenging and introduced some risk, but it was within our abilities (albeit with various individual safety margins).

Finally, we began to discuss the alternative. “If we stay here, what are we going to do today?”  The group grew quiet, since the opportunity cost was low. No one was excited by the prospect of spending the day just “sitting on the beach.”

One person in the group noted that the wind was blowing into the cove, so the waves were coming in as well. It would be an excellent day to go play, since in the event of a wet exit the waves at the mouth of the cove would simply push us back to the calm water inside.

Not moving camp would allow for some free time: an enjoyable happy hour later in the afternoon complete with freshly made guacamole by our resident gourmet chef. With those observations the opportunity cost increased dramatically, causing the incremental value of launching to become negative.

A few moments later, everyone enthusiastically agreed that staying at the campsite and playing in the cove was the right decision to make. The perceived risk of the situation never changed, only our awareness of the alternatives available to us if we did not launch. By considering those alternatives, the incremental value of paddling went from marginal to negative, making the smart choice clear.

The opportunity cost is important to keep in mind when planning a trip. Think of good food, an interesting book, and comfortable accommodations as your insurance policy. These “luxuries” will help protect you from being forced into unsafe decisions by a positive incremental value for paddling that is elevated simply by discomfort and/or boredom in camp.

Chain of Events

Safety on the water is important, but the situation off the water has a huge influence on our decision to be out on the water in the first place. The better the situation on land, the higher our opportunity cost. The higher our opportunity cost, the less likely we are to launch in marginal conditions.

A low opportunity cost at the time of launch is an often overlooked link in the chain of events that leads up to an incident. Too often the focus of accident analysis is on gear or skills that failed to meet the challenges that arose on the water. The decision to leave the beach is always at the root of an incident and the conditions we make for ourselves on land play a large part in that decision.

The following all contribute to the chain of events that lead to a low opportunity cost at the time of launch:

Good Planning and Preparation

Wind day options: What will everyone do on a wind day? No one should be itching to go because they’ve worked hard to get to the put-in or are bored after spending a day or two at the same campsite. While you are home making plans, be sure to investigate the alternatives available if conditions are poor when you arrive at the launch site, making it unwise to launch. Prepare yourself to spend your wind days comfortably in camp. A very experienced kayaker I know once told me that a good book is his most important piece of safety equipment, because it prevents him from launching in marginal conditions simply because he is bored.

Scheduling flexibility: A pressing reason to be back on the expected date of return skews the incremental value of launching before the kayaks are ever loaded. The perceived value of completing the outing at a certain time to meet family or work obligations dramatically inflates the perceived value of launching.

This frequently leads to trouble. Wind days must be accounted for, and a plan should be in place if the group is running a day or two late.
I was on a trip recently where seven- to nine-foot waves were forecast for Saturday night into Sunday morning.

The winds would subside Sunday around noon, but it was unclear when the seas would settle enough for safe paddling. We’d planned to spend that night at an island offshore, but because my friend had to be back at work on Monday, we opted to forgo camping on the island. It was a tough decision to make because the water was still flat late Saturday afternoon when we had to weigh our options.

We stayed on the mainland and did some day trips rather than force ourselves into a bad situation Sunday afternoon if the conditions were marginal.  This turned out to be the right choice when the wind began to blow that night.

Happy Group

Personalities: When the personalities get along well, everything else seems easy. When they don’t, your group has lowered the opportunity cost, since paddlers would rather be out on the water than stay in camp with people they don’t like.

Communication: Talking is the key to staying in sync as the trip evolves. I find that setting aside a time of day (at dinner, over the campfire) to talk about the day and expectations for tomorrow keeps everyone in tune with the situation. Poor communication can quickly create a situation with lots of drama, lowering the opportunity cost at launch time.

Good Campsite

Site: Avoid choosing a site where you have to move the next day simply because you can’t stomach the idea of spending an additional day there.

Explicit discussion: What will we do if we call a wind day tomorrow? Is this where we want to be, or is a different campsite the better choice? On a recent nine-day trip, the forecast indicated 12- to 15-foot waves with 40-knot winds for the next day. That afternoon, we specifically chose a campsite with those conditions in mind. It ended up being a great choice, since we were protected from the wind and had lots of room to move around.

Influencing the Launch Decision for Others

It’s one thing to make better decisions as a group, but what can you do when you come across other paddlers (especially those you don’t know) getting ready to launch in questionable conditions?

You might try to initiate a discussion that focuses solely on the risks involved. This is ineffective with new paddlers, because they lack the personal experiences required to assess risk correctly. A better approach is to influence the perception of risk, and the opportunity cost associated with launching.

My friend Dave came across a paddler getting ready to launch near Meyers Beach in the Apostle Islands.  Conditions were windy, and Dave knew that several paddlers have died exploring the sea caves in that area when their boats flipped and they found themselves in the water.

Dave tried to explain that capsizing in Lake Superior without at least a wetsuit is a bad idea—the 45˚F water quickly leads to hypothermia, making it nearly impossible to get back into the boat. The paddler was not convinced. Dave asked him to stand in water up to his knees while they continued their conversation.

After a minute, Dave asked if he could still feel his legs and was told “no.” Dave then asked him how effectively he would be able to get back into his boat if his whole body felt as numb.

The paddler now had a new personal experience that made the knowledge gap much smaller, allowing him to assess the risk more effectively. His potential value remained the same—the sea caves are cool—but his perceived risk just increased, resulting in a reduced perceived value.

In the example of the exchange between the experienced kayaker—Dave—and a novice, the conversation began with Dave’s effort to increase the novice’s existing perception of the risk (a to b) by discussing the dangers of falling into the water without a wetsuit.

The novice’s perceived risk increased slightly, resulting in a lower perceived value. The trip maintained a positive incremental value, so Dave had him stand in the cold water. This imparted a direct and personal understanding of what capsizing in those conditions would be like, raising the perceived risk more, which further lowered the perceived value (b to c).

Unless the opportunity cost is addressed, Dave faces a monumental task of increasing the perceived risk to a level high enough to eliminate all perceived value—he must convince the novice that launching will result in a rescue or worse. In practice, that’s not likely to happen because the novice simply cannot understand all of the risks involved.

Faced with the option of being bored, most people will downplay the risk and opt to launch. The novice may have considered sitting on the beach and watching the waves for a while, but that only shifted him partway to the “don’t launch” zone (c to d).

Dave provided a more attractive alternative to the proposed launch, which raised the opportunity cost enough (d to e) to convince the novice to abandon the original plan and launch in more protected waters. Although Dave’s focus was on the safety of the novice, explaining the risk was only part of the eventual solution.

The paddler was new to the area and had no idea what else he might spend the afternoon doing, so his opportunity cost was pretty low—just sitting on the beach was of little interest. The incremental value was still positive, but had become marginally so.

Dave next addressed the opportunity cost. He suggested checking out the Bark Bay Slough, about five miles down the road. It’s sheltered from the wind and an interesting place to explore via kayak. This sounded interesting, so the opportunity cost provided by the alternate destination went up.

The incremental value of exploring the caves became negative and not launching made the best sense. The alternative destination was now the better choice. The paddler decided to load his boat back onto the car and drive down to Bark Bay instead.

Conclusions

The decision to launch is the last decision in a chain that starts with trip planning at home and continues on to our environment at the time of the launch. By focusing on each step along the way to ensure we always have an enjoyable backup plan, we are more likely to avoid launching in marginal conditions.

Understanding the components of this process also enables us to be more effective at helping others understand the implications of launching in poor conditions.

Discussing risk is a good starting point, but the incremental value will be decreased more effectively by suggesting interesting alternatives. It is the awareness of those alternatives that may persuade both new and experienced kayakers to come back and paddle on a better day.

Posted on

Kayak Surfing Etiquette

In places where the waves are well suited to surfing, you’ll often find board surfers. Knowing their rules of etiquette will help you avoid collisions with them and keep the peace at the break.

Kayak surfing in the ocean is growing in popularity. For some kayakers, it has become a sport of its own, involving advanced maneuvers in highly specialized ocean surf kayaks.

For other kayakers, it’s a way to sharpen skills while providing a fun diversion. Unfortunately, many cruising kayakers come into conflict with surf boarders.

Many kayakers show up at the ocean with a whitewater kayak and find themselves among unfriendly, sometimes very unpleasant, board surfers. The problem is one of ignorance.

I believe many kayakers have no understanding of the rules associated with the sport of surfing. This is understandable. At Westport, Washington, I’ve seen kayakers literally bongo slide (trapped sideways in a high brace) over board surfers. I’ve seen kayakers drop in on surfers with no regard for wave etiquette.

What is not cool are the kayakers who say, “The waves are free; I can do what I want.” This attitude is common among kayakers, and it’s causing problems. But in some places, this ignorance will get you into serious trouble.

Kayakers would do well to know the rules, not only to avoid dangerous collisions, but also to show more respect for others. Following these rules has kept me out of trouble and allowed me to coexist with board surfers in California, Costa Rica, Canada and Washington.

1. When possible, surf places that are not popular with board surfers.

Surf boarders require a steep wave face for a drop-in take off. They typically have fewer wave choices than a kayak. Kayaks have the speed to catch waves early, while they are still steepening, and be on a wave before a surfer can drop in. This can be a problem, as the board surfers wait impatiently for a wave, only to see a goober in a kayak hopelessly out of control side surfing toward them. Not only have they lost the wave, they must avoid the kayaker who may have no idea they’re even there. This is worse if it’s a sea kayak that is prone to broaching and cuts a wide swath down the face of the wave.

2. Don’t drop in on surfers, board or kayak.

The person closest to the breaking shoulder of a wave (steepest part) has the right of way. Surfers actually line up and take turns grabbing waves at the break. Kayakers routinely take off away from the break on a building wave while a surf boarder is working across the peeling face, only to encounter a kayak that’s either stuck sideways or surfing straight ahead.

3. Be extra courteous around surfers.

Take some time to size up the situation. If they are working a peak (steep, building part of a wavetake off point), try to find another area. If it’s the only spot, wait your turn. Sometimes I’ll sit a bit in shore from the surfers and grab waves they miss. Other times, I’ll wait for my turn, take a late drop and enjoy the wave. It’s important, though, to have control if you play among surfers. If they see you competently working the wave, they’ll show respect.

If you appear out of control, they’ll get nervous and tell you to go away. Sometimes the wave is hollow and very fast, making it less suitable for all but the best kayak surfers in specialized surf boats. If I’m uncertain of my ability to maintain control on a given wave, I’ll wait until the crowd dies down so my inevitable wipeouts won’t harm anyone.

4. Paddle out in a manner that doesn’t put you in the way of an incoming surfer, and look for surfers paddling out when you’re surfing a wave.

5. If it’s a hot spot, arrive early and enjoy an hour or so of surfing before the board surfers arrive. If you arrive at a hot spot and find a great wave that is populated with board surfers, go elsewhere, come back later or ease your way in. In some areas, surfers sometimes feel they own the place and are just plain nasty.

However, my experience has been that this is rare, especially in the Northwest. It may seem as though I’m allowing board surfers to dictate my experience. Not so. I’m simply learning to respect a tradition that has evolved for a reason. A kayak out of control in crowded waters is a very real hazard.

Acquiring the right skills and playing by the rules will lead to more fun. You’ll learn a lot by being around the surfers, and most of them will appreciate what a kayak can do on a wave.

Posted on

Kayaking the Island of Antarctica

When my Danish friend Olaf Malver rang me up and asked me if I wanted to join a select group of paddlers going to Antarctica for an exploratory sea kayaking trip, I ran to pack my cold-weather paddling gear.

Olaf personifies the spirit of his Viking ancestors, having climbed over 200 mountains on three continents. In recent years he has turned to sea kayaking, with a special passion for leading trips to remote regions and extreme climates.

Any paddling adventure with him was bound to be fun. It had long been a dream of mine to explore the islands and the Southern Ocean surrounding the continent of Antarctica, yet the time, expense and logistical problems involved in reaching this remote wilderness had made this dream unreachable.

Where there were previously few options for transportation to Antarctica, the situation has now changed. With the end of the Cold War, many highly specialized resources have become available for scientific expeditions and adventure travel.

For example, the MS Academik Shuleykin, a 235-foot Russian research vessel with a hull strengthened for ice and an Arctic-seasoned crew, recently appeared in Argentinian waters and began offering its services to eco-travelers and research teams wishing to travel to Antarctica. This ship would provide the passage for our group to this previously nearly inaccessible landscape.

In January 1998, the midpoint of the austral summer, I joined a half-dozen paddling friends of Olaf in Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost city in the world. Jonathan Calvert came from Texas, Larry Rice from Illinois, Dana Isherwood, Lou Gibbs, Phil Rasori and I came from northern California, and Olaf’s old friend Jan Jantzen flew in from Copenhagen. Stowing our folding boats onboard the Russian ship, we set off down the rain-swept Beagle Channel, bound for Antarctica.

That night we entered Drakes Passage, long regarded by mariners as one of the most dangerous places in the world to sail a boat.

But in the steel-hulled Shuleykin, equipped with powerful twin engines and modern navigational equipment, we felt safe. We set a course toward South Georgia Island, 1125 nautical miles to the southeast.

We soon discovered that the stories we had all heard about this Southern Ocean were not exaggerated. These seas seemed charged with conditions more immense, more powerful than those through which any of us had ever drawn a kayak paddle.

Only here, between 50 and 60 degrees south latitude, does a continuous band of open water encircle the earth. Vast tropical seas stand face-to-face with the frigid polar ice, unrestrained by any land mass. To further intensify the situation, these winds and currents become constricted as they squeeze between the southern tip of South America and the north-thrusting Antarctic Peninsula.

The next morning I emerged on deck and gazed out over the tempestuous vista that surrounded us. A seemingly endless succession of ocean waves, some four or five stories high, raced along with us in an easterly direction. I wondered how the Shuleykin would handle these gigantic waves when it was time for us to return west and face the onslaught head-on.

The scene conjured up memories of rapids on a white-water river, on an oceanic scale. The words of explorer Robert Meithe came to mind, who once observed, “Cape Horn is the place where the devil made the biggest mess he could.”

For three and a half days and nights we surged along at 12 knots, the powerful wind, waves and currents at our backs. For those of us who were heading to Antarctica for the first time, the ocean around us seemed vast and utterly wild. From my favorite vantage deck at the bow, I gazed out over the ever-changing panorama of seething seas and sky for hours.

In the evenings I would go down to the lecture room on the second deck to learn more about this fascinating world from lectures and slide shows that the American and European naturalists and historians onboard presented. There was also an extraordinary series of videos, Life in the Freezer, that the British had produced about Antarctica.

Up on the bridge deck there was a library stuffed with books about natural history and the exploration of the area. When I could absorb no more information, there was a sauna back down on deck two that the crew kept super-heated, hotter than any sauna I had ever known.

There the Russians introduced me to their custom of rubbing honey on their perspiring bodies, claiming that it was great for the skin.

At about 54 S, we began to sense a drop in the air temperature, a sign that we were crossing the Antarctic Convergence. The naturalists explained that this is a region where deep currents from the north collide with frigid, denser polar ones, forcing the nutrient-laden waters to the surface.

The variety and concentration of aquatic and air-borne wildlife confirmed that we had entered one of the richest feeding grounds in the world. Pelagic birds, some of which I had never seen in the northern hemisphere, were much in evidence here: pintados, prions, southern giant petrels and royal albatrosses with a wingspan of up to 12 feet.

Three hundred sixty million birds of 20 to 30 species are estimated to migrate through or live fulltime in Antarctica, including six species of albatross and countless flocks of agile, swift-moving penguins.

The penguins displayed remarkable teamwork as they darted, dove and leapt along the surface of the sea in pursuit of prey. We also spotted fin and humpbacked whales, seagoing fur seals and pods of orcas and bottlenose dolphins that had come to join the feeding frenzy.

Paul Konrad, an editor from Wildbird magazine who was also a passenger on the Shuleykin, explained how the whales and dolphins came here to feed on the immense quantities of krill that swarmed invisibly through the water around us.

The day before we were due to arrive at South Georgia Island, Olaf announced, “It’s time to put our boats together!” But a 20-knot, near-freezing wind was whistling outside, so we tried assembling the first of our three folding kayaks inside the ship’s bar. Alas, the big doubles proved much too long for that cozy sanctuary.

We moved out onto the wind-swept deck, clutching the various pieces of our craft tightly to prevent them from being blown overboard. The ship had slowed down now, and big waves were rolling up and overtaking us from astern.

A Russian crewman cautioned us always to keep a firm grip on a guardrail whenever we moved near the edge of the rolling, pitching deck. A glance at the seething sea racing past and no one required a second warning. The aluminum pieces of the boat frames were a struggle to fit together with our numb fingers, but by nightfall our three kayaks, as well as a unique collapsible white-water canoe of Norwegian design that photojournalist Larry Rice had brought along, were all lashed down securely on the aft deck, ready for launching.

Later that night, I visited the bridge and found the officers on watch gathered around the ship’s radio, following the weather reports closely. A big cyclonic depression had developed 250 miles to the northwest, but it appeared to be moving away from us.

Small icebergs were scattered across the radar screen, and a sizable one loomed about six miles out at 2:00. At 12 knots and surging even faster in these following seas, even the Shuleykin with its hull strengthened for ice, could not risk a collision with something that size.

Back down in the lecture room, Russian-born naturalist Peter Ourusoff began briefing us about the wildlife we would encounter around South Georgia Island. “Leopard seals are widely regarded as the most dangerous killers of wildlife in Antarctica, yet it’s the big fur seal bulls in herds on the beaches that tend to be aggressive toward anything, including human beings, who wander into their territory.”

We would soon find out that he was not exaggerating.

By dawn the next morning, the Shuleykin was at anchor in Grytviken Bay at 54 17′ S, 36 30′ W, offshore from an historical Norwegian whaling station long since shut down.

Years of Antarctic storms had battered and crumbled the row of wooden structures ringing the little cove. Long before the seal hunters had come, the great British navigator Captain James Cook had anchored here when he discovered South Georgia Island in 1775.

The sky was overcast, but the wind was light and the weather seemed to be holding steady. At a signal from Olaf, we pulled on our dry suits and launched our kayaks from a landing platform that the crew had lowered down to the water.

We gathered into formation and began to paddle towards shore, where a jagged range of ice-clad mountains loomed above. A flock of swift macaroni penguins dove and leapt nearby, porpoising to get a better look at us. My paddling partner, Lou Gibbs, and I landed our kayak on a narrow strip of sandy beach near the crumbling remains of the whaling station, while the other paddlers explored the waterfront by kayak.

We knew that the legendary Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton was buried here somewhere. In 1915, after his ship the Endurance became ice-bound in the Weddell Sea and was ground into splinters, he and his men subsisted for months on pack ice.

When the pack ice finally broke up, they sailed their two lifeboats to uninhabited Elephant Island, where they found scant shelter from the Antarctic weather in a rocky cave. Shackleton then took a few of his men and sailed 800 miles in the most seaworthy of the two boats, through the storm- and iceberg-filled Southern Ocean.

Their long sea journey climaxed in a surf landing on the blustery west coast of South Georgia Island. Even then, however, their trials were not over. Protected only by the tattered rags that remained of their clothing, they climbed across the glacier-covered mountains to reach the whaling station at Grytviken. Incredibly, not one of the Endurance crew perished during the eighteen months they were lost in Antarctica.

When a journalist back in England asked Shackleton if he considered his expedition to be a success or a failure, he replied, “A successful expedition, sir, is one from which all hands return alive.”

Story and Photos by Michael Powers

Posted on

Maligiaq Makes Waves on His U.S. Visit

In Greenlandic, the word ‘maligiaq’ means “medium-sized wave.”

A seventeen-year old Greenlander with that name has made some very large waves in the kayaking world in the past two years.

Maligiaq Johnsen Padilla (pronounced muh-LIG-ee-ahk YOON-sen pa-DEE-uh) came to the U.S. for a year in September of 1998 to visit his father, Augusto “Geno” Padilla, in Colorado, and to improve his English.

Maligiaq was only 13 during the 1995 National Kayaking Championship meet, yet he won every event in his age group. In 1998, he became the Champion Kayaker of Greenland. At the age of 16, he had defeated all kayakers, even the best of the 20- to 34-year age group—the age group that usually produces the national champion—becoming the youngest Greenland kayaking champion ever.

Maligiaq’s heritage is deeply rooted in kayaking. His mother’s ancestors were from Vester Eyland, a small island near the mouth of Disko Bay that is noted for kayakers of exceptional skill. Living on a small island forces subsistence hunters to go out almost every day in all kinds of weather, or they face starvation. Kayak hunters either become skillful or die trying.

Yet, no matter how skillful a kayaking seal catcher becomes, hunting large sea mammals from a kayak is a dangerous occupation. Maligiaq’s great-grandfather lost his life in 1929 when a seal he had harpooned dragged him and his kayak so forcefully that his back was broken.

Maligiaq’s grandfather, Peter Johnsen, now 73, is a retired seal catcher. When Maligiaq was a small boy, he was riding in a rowboat with his grandfather when his grandfather’s gun accidentally discharged.

With his hand badly injured, Peter was unable to row the boat. Even though he was only four years old, Maligiaq managed to row the boat to shore. Maligiaq’s father says that ever since that incident, Maligiaq and Peter Johnsen have been “as close as two coats of paint.”

Over the years, Peter taught Maligiaq several special kayaking skills that he has added to those he learned in the Greenland National Kayak Association’s training program.

When Maligiaq came to the States, he brought a sealskin-covered kayak with him. Unfortunately, it was damaged in shipment.

One gunwale was badly cracked about a meter back from the bow, which caused the bow to hook to one side. Although Maligiaq performed in the damaged kayak at the 1998 Delmarva Paddler’s Retreat in Maryland and the Southwest Canoe Rendezvous in Huntsville, Texas, it tended to go in a circle when he paddled it upside-down.

To prevent further damage to the kayak, Maligiaq decided to build and use another kayak during his stay.

He built the new kayak in my garage in Houston. Several of his American friends donated the materials he needed and his new kayak quickly took shape. As he worked on the kayak, he listened to Danish rock music on his CD player.

In the two months my wife Jessie and I had Maligiaq as our house guest, members of the Houston Canoe Club took him kayaking, parents wanted him to meet their teenage sons and daughters, and he went cycling with Olympic hopefuls at a local velodrome.

The Honorary Vice Consul of Denmark took him jogging in a Houston park to explain to him in Danish the dangers and problems of exercising in the heat and humidity of the Houston area. Early in his stay it was not always possible to tell if he understood what we were saying to him in English.

During Maligiaq’s stay, I donated a rare 1904 Point Hope kayak that had been hanging in my workshop since 1958 to the Inupiat Heritage Center in Barrow, Alaska. When I mentioned Maligiaq’s visit, the center made arrangements for him to travel to Barrow to demonstrate Greenlandic rope gymnastics and kayak rolling at a large native celebration.

Maligiaq arrived in Barrow in February. Since the sea was frozen, Maligiaq borrowed a plastic kayak and demonstrated rolling in an indoor pool. His biggest thrill while in Barrow was to find native food that was like that at home.

He had been away from Greenland for four months, and he missed Greenlandic food. In the lower 48 states, he ate a lot of beef jerky, but it tasted quite different from dried seal meat. He brought a large supply of dried seal meat with him back to Colorado.

In the spring of 1999, Maligiaq traveled to Texas. Mark and Jennifer White, of Austin, wanted him to help them build Greenland kayak replicas at their home. Maligiaq covered his own kayak framework at their home, to show them the procedure.

Instead of sealskin, he covered his kayak with nylon fabric and a white Hypalon coating. He had to substitute cowhide for the bearded sealskin deck-strap line normally used; we found some narrow horse reins at a Houston saddle store that worked quite well. He completed his new kayak just in time for the 1999 symposium season.

Maligiaq often demonstrated his forward stroke at the kayaking events. Instead of holding the blade perpendicular to the water, he paddles with the top edge of his paddle blade tipped forward.

George Gronseth observed the same style of paddling at a training camp in South Greenland in 1990: “…Greenland paddle is held with the top edge tipped slightly forward”.

I have seen many paddlers in Greenland who appear to hold their paddles with the blade more or less at a right angle to the surface of the water. Maligiaq calls this a “beginner’s” way of paddling. His grandfather taught him a stroke that he had used as a seal catcher on Vester Eyland. This stroke is done with the top edge of the paddle tipped forward about 40 degrees from vertical, according to Maligiaq.

The angle is held more or less throughout the stroke, including the return phase. The drawing above  illustrates how the paddler would see the stroke if looking downward and to one side as he or she paddles.

The path followed by each blade for each stroke is somewhat teardrop shaped, except that the working part of the stroke appears to be more or less straight, as seen by the person doing the paddling. During the return part of the stroke, the blade moves forward as it is lifted out of the water, then it curves downward again as it goes into the water.

Some Americans who use Greenland-style paddles are skeptical of any stroke that does not position the blade face at right angles to the surface of the water.

Most of my use of Greenland-style paddles was in the ‘50s and ‘60s, and I don’t recall ever worrying about it. It was simply a matter of paddling in whatever seemed the most natural and comfortable way. However, when Greg Stamer, an enthusiast of Greenland kayaking from Orlando, Florida, used the “beginner’s” stroke while paddling alongside Maligiaq, Maligiaq was using the stroke his grandfather taught him, Maligiaq easily pulled ahead of Greg.

Greg felt that he tired more quickly than Maligiaq, even after making allowance for the fact that Maligiaq was younger and had trained harder. That made a convert out of Greg.

There might be a theoretical advantage in using a narrow-bladed paddle with the blades held tipped forward. A narrow-bladed paddle tends to flutter more than a wide-bladed one, especially when accelerating.

This is because of vortex shedding, which is more noticeable when one uses a narrow paddle. This phenomenon was discussed in my article entitled “The Narrow Blade,” When a narrow paddle enters the water with the working faces at right angles, the water tends to flow equally around each edge. It makes a vortex that looks like a miniature tornado, along each edge. The axis of each vortex is parallel to the edge.

However, if the top edge of the paddle blade is tipped forward throughout the stroke, the vortex will shed toward one edge all of the time. It becomes predictable, instead of alternating, and the paddler can compensate for and control it. This might be an important factor in the effectiveness of this paddle stroke.

To Greenlanders, the most important advantage of this stroke is that it makes it easier for the working blade to slip out of the water at the end of a stroke. The blade will climb out of a wave while the paddler maintains his form and cadence.

Several other Greenlanders have confirmed the advantages of this paddle stroke. All of them emphasized that they used this stroke to help free the blade as it started forward on the return phase.

Maligiaq used this stroke while racing against professional kayak racers in Montreal “World Championship” races in 1999. Using a Greenland paddle and a borrowed touring kayak with no rudder, he competed against kayakers who used racing kayaks and wing paddles. He made a respectable showing in the top ten, in spite of having to paddle a lot on one side to compensate for side winds.

Maligiaq demonstrated an ancient Inuit game during his U.S. kayaking exhibitions. While rope gymnastics are known in other parts of the Arctic, they are an important part of the annual kayaking championships in Greenland. Contestants perform as many of the 74 rope maneuvers as possible during 30 minutes.

Points are awarded for style and for the number of maneuvers performed. Maligiaq did 25 maneuvers in 30 minutes, and he did all of them well enough to win this category in the championship.

The rope exercises not only strengthen paddlers, they develop balance and train the paddlers to maneuver their bodies in the same way they would when rolling a kayak.

To build a rope gymnastics set-up, install three strong eight-foot-tall (2.4 meters) posts. The poles should be arranged in a straight line with two of them about six paces apart and the third about three paces beyond one end. You’ll need about 50 feet of 1/2-inch (12 cm) rope.

Fasten two lengths of rope securely about six feet (180 cm) from the ground to each of the poles that are farther apart. The ropes should hang side by side, and sag to about four feet (120 cm) off the ground midway between the poles. You’ll need around 50 feet (15 meters) of rope.

A shorter, single rope should be tied about seven feet (210 cm) above the ground between the poles that are three paces apart. This rope should be stretched so that it is taut, with almost no sag.

The spinning gymnastics performed on these ropes can help teach rolling control. For the starting position for the rope event, sit with your behind between the sagging side-by-side ropes, with your lower legs hanging over the ropes.

Your feet should cross each other to lock yourself in place. Grip both ropes firmly with each hand; one hand should be in front of you and the other behind. The hand grips and the locked legs will help keep your behind wedged between the ropes throughout the maneuvers.

The basic maneuver is to spin completely around by shifting your weight to “capsize” and then righting yourself, in one continuous motion. For a more complex maneuver, place a hat on the ground and pause while upside down, then reach down, pick up the hat, put it on, and roll back up. (This means that you must let go with one hand while upside down.)

Gripping the single rope will cut into your fingers; it can be very painful. In Greenland, single-rope gymnastics help toughen a kayaker for the rigorous life of a seal catcher.

Maneuvers performed on the single rope are all done in the hanging position, with the objective of raising your body to wriggle over the rope in various ways. The basic maneuver begins by hanging, with your hands facing opposite directions. Move the elbow on your hand facing forward up and over the rope; with the other hand, pull yourself over the top of the rope and slip over it to finish.

All of the rope maneuvers are difficult to perform. In one exercise, Maligiaq sits sideways on the double ropes with both feet hanging on one side. Then, without touching the ropes with his hands, he kicks one leg at a time over the rope, and turns completely around horizontally, returning to the starting position.

Maligiaq finished his year in the U.S. by paddling around the Statue of Liberty with some New York paddlers. In his wake, he left many paddlers inspired by his talent and knowledge of Greenland kayaking.

I, for one, was sad to see him go. So was the guy at the convenience store down the road where Maligiaq bought beef jerky.

Posted on

Maintaining a Cohesive Group: Procedures for Staying and Working Together

Our trio felt like a finely tuned machine, so we all agreed that we didn’t need to continue following our procedures for staying and working together as a group on the last day of the trip. After spending a week paddling and getting along great all the way around the island, all we had left was a twenty-mile crossing back to the mainland.

The weather was calm and the visibility was good. We could even see the point we were heading to across the channel. Naturally working together, we were just going to do the crossing.

Everything started fine, but soon I was struggling to keep up and bridge the quarter-mile-wide gap between my two friends. One was pulling left, and the other right.

They were also racing to get ahead so the other would have to follow. I saw them stealing glances at one another and imagined the thoughts running through their heads. I had my own disappointing thoughts. In less than half an hour, any cohesion between three best paddling buddies had broken down.

Like waving a white flag to surrender, I blew my whistle and raised my paddle in the air. As they paddled over, they shook their heads, letting me know they knew what happened. Being such good friends, they played it up by jokingly accusing each other of going the wrong way.

Then we all laughed about how our competitive natures kept us from staying and working together as a group even though we were going to the same place. For the rest of the crossing, we were happy to resume our procedures, allowing us to paddle together in the same direction and at the same speed.

I find nothing is more difficult in sea kayaking than maintaining a cohesive group. Tired of chasing fast paddlers, gathering up people left behind, and watching groups divide into different routes, I developed procedures to make things easier for everyone on the kayak outings I organize.

Not only are direction and speed handled, but everyone’s participation is maximized, all to keep the group staying and working together.

Direction

Every kayak tracks differently and every paddler drifts slightly left or right of the heading. If you tell everyone to steer by compass following a certain heading, soon the group will be spread out over hundreds of yards.

The same results happen even if they are heading to the same point visible on the horizon. Don’t think it won’t happen using a GPS,  either. We have an infamous case in our local kayak club where two friends steering GPS courses to the same place argued because they felt the other was going the wrong way.

The funny thing is that just about everyone is going the right way. For the most part, navigating by kayak is not difficult. As I like to say, it’s not like going to the moon.

Sure, the heading may not be perfect and the course may zigzag or have a hook at the end, but most everyone will arrive at the same place. It is more important for the group to stay and work together than for the navigation to be perfect.

The best way to keep a group traveling in the same direction is for someone to be the lead paddler up front and for everyone else to follow. The heading for the lead can be a compass bearing, a visible point of land, hugging the coast, or whatever is called for at that particular location.

So while the lead is following the heading, no one else is. Instead, they are following the lead. There is a big difference between the two. Everyone following a compass heading, GPS track or line of sight route will spread the group out, whereas everyone following the lead will keep together.

Speed

In any group someone will be the fastest and someone will be the slowest. This is true even among a group of well trained athletic kayakers. Soon their various paddling speeds will spread them out over a distance.

But once again, everyone may arrive in the same place, perhaps even within a few minutes of each other, but by spreading out, everyone is essentially paddling alone without the resources and safety margin offered by the group.

For a group to stay together, the speed has to be controlled, and that can be done only from the front, because the slowest paddler in the back can’t go any faster.

Whomever the group is following up front has to look back frequently to check on each paddler, especially the one farthest back. If you are the lead and someone is falling behind, your speed is too fast, and if all of the paddlers are right behind your stern, your speed is too slow.

Essentially, the lead paddler has the responsibility of the sweep, making sure no one is left behind. While a sweep paddler is most commonly used in the back of the group to help any stragglers, I have found using a sweep just invites the faster paddlers to leave the slower ones behind. I learned this lesson the hard way when I was assigned to sweep from the back and was left behind towing another paddler.

The rest of the group was far ahead with no idea of what was happening, and I had no one to share the work of towing. The lead has to control the speed of the group based on his or her observations of the slowest paddler.

Rotating Shifts Up Front

To maximize everyone’s participation, I like to have each paddler take a shift up front to steer the heading and control the speed for the group. With everyone knowing they’ll take a turn as the lead, they will be more likely to cooperate as a group.

The length of the shifts depends on the number of people in the group and the length of the outing. For example, if there are six paddlers in the group and the paddle is four hours long, everyone will get a forty-minute lead shift. The more paddlers who can share the lead, the easier it is for everyone.

Steering the heading and controlling the speed is hard work, and after a lead shift, it’s nice to sink back into the group, relax, and follow the next lead.

Tips

To set the example for frequently looking back to check on everyone and controlling the speed, I like to take the first lead shift. It’s best to have paddlers new at being the lead take an early shift before they are tired and save the more experienced leads for later in the day when everyone is tired and conditions on the water may be worse than they were at the start.

You may want to give the slower paddlers additional lead shifts to let them slow the speed down even more if necessary. Remarkably, the slower paddlers tend to paddle faster when they are the lead, so it’s also a good way to help keep them moving.

When you are the lead paddler, don’t forget to look back frequently to check on everyone. It’s important to emphasize looking back to see each and every paddler, even if it takes looking over both shoulders, because you shouldn’t assume that everyone is right behind you if you look back and see someone. Sure, one paddler may be right behind you, but the rest of the group could be left behind.

The frequency with which you should look back to check on everyone and the distance you should allow between yourself and the last paddler depend on a variety of factors.

The greater the risk of the group getting separated, the more often you should look back and the less distance you should allow between yourself and the last paddler.

For example, in thick fog I’ll typically look back to check on everyone at least every couple of minutes to keep everyone close together and not let the last paddler get back any farther than 25 yards. On a clear, calm day with everyone paddling well, looking back to check on everyone may be necessary only once every ten minutes, and to give the group some space, the last paddler can be back as far as 50 yards. Whatever the conditions, everyone should always be in voice range so anyone can stop the group if necessary.

If you are supposed to be following the lead, avoid what I call steering from behind, which is paddling far to one side to try to draw the group in your direction.

If you find yourself doing this, you are probably focusing on the heading rather than following the lead. Also avoid creeping up alongside the lead to try to get him or her to increase the speed.

An unspoken sort of race often develops with the lead trying to stay ahead of you, and the group will get stretched out. You don’t want someone doing these same things to you during your shift up front, so stay in the area behind the lead, who should be left free to concentrate on steering the heading and controlling the speed for the group.

Following these procedures takes practice on everyone’s part, but the time invested in practicing is well spent, because it doesn’t take long for most paddlers to get the hang of the procedures and become an effective member of the group.

It will always be necessary for someone to keep things in check or the group will fall apart. As the person who has organized the group, I take that responsibility.

Occasionally you will have to remind someone to follow the procedures. Usually it’s the lead getting too far ahead of the last paddler or someone paddling far to one side to try to draw the group in their direction. Most of the time, they don’t even realize they are doing it.

Breaks

It can be frustrating for a group to have to wait frequently for individuals randomly taking breaks on the water. Regularly scheduled breaks keep everyone moving and stopping at the same time.

The schedule I found that works best for groups is a five- to ten-minute break to drink, eat and relieve oneself at the top of each hour, and around a one-minute break for a quick drink at the bottom of each hour. But anyone can call for additional breaks if necessary.

For example, someone may not be able to wait until the next break to adjust some gear. No one starts paddling again until everyone is ready.

These regularly scheduled breaks may seem regimented, but on a long paddle it is good for everyone to know when the next break is going to be.

They provide something to look forward to, divide the paddle into more psychologically and physically manageable intervals, and keep everyone well fueled and hydrated. But sometimes flexibility is necessary with the breaks.

My groups have often taken breaks early or late to take advantage of a protective cove to get out of the wind and not lose ground while we were stopped.

With the group stopped, breaks are a great time for everyone to check on each other’s well-being. Just one paddler having difficulty can reduce a group’s effectiveness and progress on the water. It’s better to identify and resolve problems earlier rather than later.

For example, it would be much better to spend a few minutes early on helping someone adjust the trim of their load to avoid weathercocking than end up towing later because of a sore shoulder. Speak up about any problems you may have. If someone looks like they are having difficulty, they may be reluctant to bring it up, so you should ask how they are doing and offer to help.

Decision Making

When it comes to decision making for a group, diplomacy is usually the best policy. For example, if ferrying is necessary because of wind or current, a conversation about it usually results in agreement for the best angle for the heading and makes it a group decision, rather than one paddler being proven right or wrong.

That conversation could also be about who is the best paddler to lead and to adjust the ferry angle as needed. Whatever the decision, including the group in it will usually result in more cooperation, not to mention take advantage of the combined brainpower of the group.

You should also decide when staying and working together as a group isn’t necessary. Nothing is worse than a bunch of procedures implemented for no good reason. I usually reserve the procedures for crossings and difficult conditions, when everyone benefits from the safety of the group.

Someone not feeling confident or having a sore shoulder are other good reasons, among many, to stay and work together. But if the coast is calm and everyone feels good about it, we often agree to meet again at a certain time and place. Especially on multiday trips, there are times when we all like to have a break from the group and do our own thing.

One of the most important decisions in sea kayaking is choosing paddling partners. A group operates better when everyone is familiar paddling with each other, paddles at about the same speed, shares the goals for the trip, and most importantly, agrees to stay and work together as a group.

Everyone should express their expectations early, well before meeting on the water. Anytime I organize a trip, I explain my procedures for staying and working together to make sure everyone is fine with them. Fortunately, most of my friends like the procedures, because they make things easier for everyone.

But occasionally there has been someone who doesn’t like them and ends up disrupting or even endangering the group by acting independently. I’d recommend avoiding paddling with people like this, because they place their own interests above those of the group.

Despite the proven effectiveness of these procedures, sometimes I wonder if I’m imposing them on my friends. Then occasionally I hear they’ve used them on their own trips.

Once you experience a system that works well keeping everyone staying and working together, it’s hard to go back to the stress, discord and risk of a splintered group. The procedures really make paddling in a group safer, easier and more enjoyable for everyone.