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The Triangle, located on the east coast of Georgia’s Tybee Island just north of Little Tybee, is a shoal at the meeting point of Tybee Creek, the Atlantic current and strong prevailing winds. When a strong onshore breeze coincides with the spring tides, the central core of the Triangle is a washing machine of crossing, spilling and dumping waves. Outside the central core is a calmer zone lined with sandy beaches and safe landing areas. It’s a challenging kayaking playground with a wide margin of safety.

On my way back from a week in Florida paddling the Everglades with a group of fellow instructors and guides, my friend Mick and I stopped for a day on Tybee Island. The January weather had turned colder, but we were itching to get on the water to play in the Triangle. We ate a good breakfast, gathered our gear and headed out the door around 10:30 A.M.

The day was cool (high of 50˚F) with water temperature in the low 60s. The sky was overcast with low cloud cover and visibility in excess of three miles. The northeast wind was blowing between 25 and 35 knots, and high tide was to be around noon with low tide around 6:30 P.M. Mick and I decided it was the perfect day to get the biggest waves we’ve experienced to date and to see how well our skills and rescue drills would work.

As we headed to the launch site, we performed our routine risk assessment. We talked about everything that wasn’t perfect in regard to safety and how we should adjust our plans. Our list included: being only two paddlers instead of the preferred three; Mick paddling an unfamiliar borrowed boat that was a little bit small for him; cold water (I had a full dry suit, Mick had a wetsuit bottom but just a semi-dry top) and strong winds.

We reviewed mitigating factors. Mick and I had often paddled together and trusted each other implicitly. I had paddled the area on 10 previous occasions. We had reviewed the weather forecast and knew what to expect. We had flares, a VHF radio, a cell phone, water, food, spare clothing, an emergency shelter, a vacuum flask with hot water, spare paddles (one each), pumps (two hand and one foot), compasses (deck and hand) and a chart. We were in good physical and mental condition.

The wind was blowing somewhat toward land, so the worst-case scenario was that we’d end up south on Little Tybee and just have a long delay getting home. There was no apparent life-threatening danger to us. Our plan was to find many different conditions in which to test our paddling and rescue skills. I called Marsha at a nearby outfitter and filed our float plan. Marsha had become a familiar and welcome face at a weeklong symposium I had attended earlier, and I knew she’d take care of us.

Punching Out
Around 11:30 A.M., we prepared to launch into six-foot surf, the biggest we had attempted to date. After our first few attempts, we figured out that we needed to keep our kayaks precisely aligned while getting in or we would quickly be stranded sideways on the beach. We finally launched and paddled into some nice surf—some spilling, some dumping. Paddling at 10 degrees off of perpendicular to the waves proved ideal for getting through big dumping surf. It’s close enough to straight to avoid broaching yet just enough off perpendicular to allow smoother rise and fall. We managed to avoid being pitchpoled backward. Our basic skills worked well in the rough water.

On my front deck were a hand pump, a chart, a slim mesh bag holding my cell phone, a foghorn and some energy snacks. Mick’s front deck had his spare paddles. His first attempt through the breakers drove one of his spare paddles into his torso with such force that he figured he’d have a hole there if not for the PFD. Mine were fine on my back deck, and after Mick put his on his aft deck, everything stayed aboard as we got through the breakers. (Note: I now carry my spare paddle on the front deck secured in a paddle holder that prevents loss even in big breakers. On the foredeck, my spare doesn’t interfere with towing or reentries.)

Out in the rollers, we practiced our first T-rescue, and it went well. The water temperature was not too cold, and we were dressed appropriately for long immersions. The wind was definitely too strong to paddle against—we were blowing south toward the pier at a good clip. We paddled around the pier and enjoyed riding four- to six-foot following seas.

This was our first experience with such strong winds and waves big enough to hide us from each other half the time. Conversations were taking longer because we had to yell from the crests and pause when in troughs. We had enough experience together to communicate reliably with just a few shouted words. It was also reassuring that I knew Mick handled adversity calmly and realistically. I also knew we’d work well together to solve any problems.

Following Seas
At noon, as we drifted toward the Triangle, I saw some huge waves and knew from my previous experience that we should take care in our approach. We decided to head toward the inlet known as the Back River to get in some great surfing. The chart showed some submerged objects, so we angled to avoid them. I knew from some BCU surfing classes that a kayak has to be moving when big waves approach so it can accelerate ahead at the base of the waves and avoid getting lifted up by the steep wave faces.

After getting a great ride, I took it easy and tried to hold my position so Mick could catch up to me, but I reduced my forward speed too much to get ahead of the waves coming up directly astern. They were well over eight feet. The first wave lifted my stern rapidly. I slipped downward on the face of the wave, and my bow plowed a couple of feet under water. While the bow was stuck in the trough, the wave pushed the stern. As my boat angled past 45 degrees, I executed a fast intentional capsize to avoid getting pitchpoled. It worked beautifully, and putting my body into the wave kept me from getting tossed end over end and allowed the submerged bow to pop free.

All In
I let the wave pass and decided to wet exit to give Mick a chance to rescue me. Unfortunately, a big wave hit him about the same time, and he bailed out too. We got to do our first all-in rescue. We started 35 feet apart in waves that were over six feet high, but managed to swim our kayaks together. Our all-in rescue worked just as well as it did when we practiced in calmer water. We knew just what to do and did it without letting any of our gear get away from us.

By now we were in the middle of the Triangle and pleased our skills were holding up well. It was around 12:30 P.M., and for the next three hours, the wind, current and river ebb counteracted each other and held us nearly in the same position. We practiced dozens of rolls and just about every kind of rescue. We pumped out the cockpits repeatedly and even experimented with day hatch access. All of this was taking place in eight-foot breaking waves.

While doing some T-rescues, we succeeded in emptying Mick’s boat, but by the time he was back in and ready to paddle, all the water had returned. Each wave put gallons of water back in. We finally decided to just get the boat upright, put the paddler back in, and then stabilize each other and pump. Two hand pumps made the job a bit faster.

During the T-rescues in those conditions, raising the bow to empty a boat worked very well since the waves basically did all the work of lifting the cockpit above water to drain. Depressing the stern of an inverted boat to empty it failed because the boat was too hard to control, and on a slippery hull, the swimmer could easily get washed away.

I was thankful to have a paddle leash. I tried just holding our paddles during some of the reentries, and it was very difficult to do. We needed most of our effort focused on avoiding capsize (not that it didn’t happen a few times anyway), and the extra effort to keep paddles from being yanked out of our grip by the ocean was often too much. Stowing them under deck lines or bungees was only marginally successful, as they still often came free. One portion of the back of Mick’s borrowed kayak was lacking a deck line. As we were finishing one rescue, and I was stabilizing the stern of his kayak, that lack of line cost me a grip and Mick a second dunking. There’s a value of deck lines running completely around the perimeter.

Rescue Practice
I had previously practiced hand-of-god rescues on Mick until I could do it quickly. It paid off in the Triangle. When Mick capsized just as we pushed away from a completed rescue, I had a chance to use it for real. A short time later, and in some significant waves, he did a great one on me too. We tried some bow-presentation rescues, which went well too, and we executed them without overshooting or crashing into each other. To practice scoop rescues, we took turns simulating an injured paddler. The technique was challenging in waves, but it worked as designed.

In the middle of the Triangle, the churning water was making it tough to time a roll. Fortunately, we had practiced rolls often in a variety of conditions, and both of us have solid rolls on both sides. If a roll isn’t bombproof on both sides in all conditions, then it isn’t good enough.

Ballast
For best handling and quickest acceleration in big water, your kayak should be as lightly loaded as possible. Mick had placed a number of jugs of water in his day hatch, hoping to simulate an expedition load with water ballast, but it wasn’t working as he had intended, and his kayak was feeling fairly twitchy. The cargo may have been shifting slightly, which can definitely compromise stability, but in retrospect, Mick was simply too big for the boat. He has lots of upper body muscle and needed a higher volume kayak for the conditions in which we were paddling. He was tiring from handling the extra weight of the ballast, so we decided to dump the water out of the jugs.

Accessing a day hatch in big water is a chore. Because kayaks tend to orient themselves parallel to waves, we had to use our paddles to keep faced into the waves while trying to get something out of the hatch and not letting much water in. We had packed our day compartments so the items we might need could be quickly accessed. It was proving to be enough of a struggle just keeping the boats together and stabilized during this operation. The boat with the open day hatch had to be kept almost level to avoid water just pouring into the hatch. Trying to access the day hatch solo would have certainly meant capsizing.

Solo Rescues
After several T-rescues and bow rescues, we decided it was time for some solo rescues. We tried cowboy reentries but soon realized that we had no chance of getting back aboard without recapsizing, so we abandoned the idea. We also skipped attempting a paddle-float reentry because even if we could have gotten the float and paddle set up properly, it was obviously going to be nearly impossible. We would have been especially vulnerable to capsizing again when trying to stow the float and remove the paddle from the back deck. The only solo self-rescue that was feasible was the reentry and roll. We both found it worked well, although being hit repeatedly by clapotis just made it a bit more awkward and required a bit of patience and determination.

Stray Gear
We practiced retrieving kayaks and paddles that got away from the kayaker. We quickly confirmed that chasing a wind-blown paddle or boat while trying to keep visual contact with a swimmer in the water is nearly impossible. Going for the worst-case scenario, I had Mick capsize and release both paddle and kayak. Chasing the paddle wasn’t so bad, as it didn’t go far, but it was hard to see in the waves. (Note that in a life and death scenario, a paddle is expendable, especially with a spare on hand, and the priority is always to get the paddler back in the boat. In this case, Mick and I were playing and didn’t really want to lose a paddle. We were worried that if we lost sight of it, it could easily be swept away in the waves. We also weren’t terribly concerned with the speed of getting the paddler back into the boat, as we’d been in the water half the day anyway.)

By the time I got the paddle back to Mick, his boat was flying away. I raced after it, finally caught it, attached a contact tow and began the very long paddle back to Mick. He had raised his paddle high into the air so I had a chance to spot him in the waves. He was just a small dot in the water, and it was easy to see the possibility of our being separated. Mick later told me he could barely see me and began considering what it would be like to spend the rest of the day drifting alone off Little Tybee.

For my contact tow, I used a paddle carabiner to connect my deck bungees to the deck line on Mick’s boat. I couldn’t have used a towline in these conditions—even a short pigtail or webbing a couple of feet long would have resulted in the towed boat rolling frequently and jerking me all over the place. It would have added enough drag to make returning to Mick impossible.

Just as I was about to reconnect with Mick to complete this rescue drill, a big dumping wave approached me broadside. I saw it coming and put my full weight on the towed boat to use it as an outrigger to prevent capsize. No such luck. Both boats were rolled over each other and ended up inverted. My paddle was yanked from my hands as was the towed kayak I was trying to use for support. Fortunately, I was wearing a helmet, as the roll included at least one solid impact to my head.

While submerged, I thought how fortunate it was that my paddle was secured with a paddle leash, although it was tangled somehow with the kayaks and couldn’t be used for a recovery roll. I found the bungee that the contact carabiner was attached to and pulled until I retrieved the carabiner, then I found the bow of the towed kayak and used it to right myself in a somewhat self-applied bow-presentation rescue. I retrieved my paddle by its leash and resumed the long battle back to Mick.

During the paddle back, the kayaks were free to move independently but remained loosely connected. Had I attached the carabiner to a less shock-absorbing point, such as another deck line, most likely one or both boats would have been damaged and quite possibly separated. The bungee and deck lines held. (I replace mine every few years just to make sure I can always rely on them. UV degradation and fatigue can lead to deck-line failure under the strain of towing in rough water.)

Lost Gear
Finally, I made it to Mick. He’d gotten a bit cold, and I was rather tired, so the rescue was a bit more of a struggle than those we’d done earlier in the day. It was around 3:30 P.M.—the peak of the tidal flow—and we were hit by some more big dumpers while Mick was climbing back in and I was lying across his deck for support. We avoided getting rolled over each other more than once, but the force of the waves ripped Mick’s paddle out of its stout leash. We couldn’t retrieve it until Mick was back in his boat.

As we hurried to get him back aboard, I noted the dry bag that had been secured tightly inside the bailout pack on the back of my PFD was also floating out to sea. Inside it were a multipurpose tool, a signal mirror and some other survival items. As our possessions disappeared in the waves, I noticed my chart slowly releasing itself from my front deck. This was getting to be an expensive day.

With Mick back in his boat and his spare paddle in his hands, we searched for our lost items. No such luck—they were long gone. We decided we were ready for a break, so we tried to paddle back to shore. We tried staying close to each other to make any necessary rescues easier, but our fatigue was causing more frequent capsizes, and we were tired of practicing rescues. Mick also discovered that the cheap but handy spare paddle we grabbed for the day was useless in these conditions. I gave him my spare, which was as good as my primary paddle.

Towing Each Other
We took turns contact towing while the other stabilized and rested (if you can call keeping two kayaks upright in waves resting). At this point, it was clear that any form of contact tow that relies only on the towed kayaker holding the boat of the towing kayaker would be useless. Only a secure physical connection of a carabiner or a cord could keep us together and upright.

We were almost clear of the washing machine, but with the tide still running out and the wind blowing us south, drifting wasn’t an option, as that would take us to the south end of Little Tybee if not beyond. Since we had lost the chart and wanted some advice on what course to take, I used the cell phone I’d kept in a dry case to call Marsha. It was about 4:00 P.M. We discussed our options and what to expect as the ebb subsided. Her knowledge of the area provided even better insight than the chart. I made a mental note to ask for more detail next time from local sources before a launch.

We continued taking turns paddling and stabilizing. Mick was the stronger paddler, and I was pretty tired by this point; however, hanging onto his deck while he paddled was threatening to make me seasick even with my anti-seasickness wristbands. So Mick kindly let me share in the paddling and suffered some deck-holding time too. It’s a long, slow paddle, but finally around 5:00 P.M., we had one last surfing run to take us onto the Little Tybee beach well south of where the Back River meets the Atlantic.

Ashore at Last
We dragged our kayaks up the sand and pulled out the thermos and some food. Although we had the fixings for coffee, tea, hot cocoa or soup, we just drank hot water. It was amazingly refreshing and tasty. So were the dried fruit and nut snacks. We had burned quite a few calories during the day. Another call to Marsha ruled out taking a shortcut through a marsh, so we began a shoreline trudge back to the river mouth towing our kayaks behind us. We could have waited for slack tide and paddled, but wanted to make some progress instead of sitting for an hour.

When we reached the mouth of the river, the tide had slowed enough that the paddle upriver and across to a landing would be easy. I called Marsha to tell her our status, and she agreed to drive out to pick us up. I noticed I had lots of messages on my cell phone. Our friends had called during the day to see how we were doing and were concerned when they didn’t get answers. My cell phone had been on my deck, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind and waves; even if I could, there were few times I could have picked up the phone. I should have mentioned this to them at the beginning of the day.

The Welcoming Committee
We enjoyed the relatively calm paddle up and across the river. The wind was relenting a bit as it neared dusk, and the almost slack tide made the river easy to handle even with our fatigue. As we neared the landing around 6:30 P.M., we saw Marsha and some of our friends waiting for us. (When our friends couldn’t reach us on my cell phone, they wisely called the outfitter, and Marsha told them that we were OK and where we were meeting.)

Some U.S. Coast Guardsmen were there too. Someone on the beach had called them about half an hour after we started our paddle, probably when we were doing our first rescue drill. I vaguely recalled hearing someone mention something about “crazy kayakers” on my VHF but just wrote it off as another boater. Had I realized it was a Coast Guard communication about us, I would have replied and told them of our plans and that we were fine.

They had mounted a search and rescue operation that involved a rescue helicopter and boat attempting to reach us for over four hours. In hindsight, we think we heard the helicopter, but the cloud ceiling was too low for us to see it. We didn’t see any other boats, but that’s not surprising considering that our attention was focused on each other and the tasks at hand.

Finally, the Coast Guard contacted the outfitter where our float plan was being held. They had probably realized we were OK and just met us at the landing to complete their report. Next time, I’ll contact the local authorities first and tell them what we plan to do—that it might look like trouble, and that we have a marine radio and cell phone to contact them if a true need arises.

The Coast Guardsmen told us that at one point their helicopter spotted us but then lost us. Although the Triangle isn’t that big, they couldn’t establish our position well enough to effect a rescue or even make contact. A USCG boat was sent out, but the conditions near the Triangle were too rough and would have made a rescue difficult. As well-trained as rescuers might be, you can’t expect to be rescued everywhere, even when right next to a populated island with coast guard rescue crews on hand. It’s important to have the skills and the equipment to be self-sufficient.

Aftermath
Mick, the kayaks and I came through in pretty good shape. I discovered that I had a cut on my neck that looked like it was made by the edge of a paddle blade. We surmised that it occurred during some of our early rescue practice. I recall being smacked by the paddle a few times but didn’t realize it had done any damage. The deck lines and bungees on both kayaks had been damaged. We replaced them with a number of independent lines to avoid losing all function if a single continuous perimeter line or a single crisscrossed bungee were to break. With multiple shorter lines, if one section fails, an alternate is not far away.

Our paddle leashes were essential. A good leash will have quick-releases on both ends that could easily be operated by feel. Although we hadn’t needed it that day, a knife accessible by either hand at any angle would have been essential if an entanglement with the paddle leash or other cordage couldn’t have been undone without cutting. After our Triangle experience, I now always carry one on the front of my PFD that I can reach with either hand.

I have an extensive history of motion sickness, so I wear anti-seasickness wristbands whenever I expect any rough water. I was pleased with the success of these simple acupressure bands. If you might not normally have trouble with motion sickness, focusing on the deck of a heaving boat for extended periods of time can take you into totally new and debilitating territory.

The Voice of Experience
Plan for the worst. If you’re separated from your boat and paddle, you’ll have only what you’re wearing and carrying on your body. Any critical safety gear securely stowed in the kayak or on deck is useless if you aren’t with the boat. And you need your own gear. You can’t rely on your buddy’s. Secure everything and carry spares of anything essential.

Know your gear. If you have the possibility of challenging conditions, don’t add new gear into the mix unless testing it is your intent. When learning to paddle a new boat, increase your difficulty of conditions gradually so whatever surprises it might hold are manageable.

Know your paddling partners. It’s important to know the limitations of your buddies and how they react under stress. Had either Mick or I panicked or even just quit trying, our day would have turned out much differently.

A Useful Adventure
We lost an expensive carbon-fiber paddle, a chart and a dry bag of emergency gear, and the deck rigging on both boats was damaged. And yet this was the best day of paddling I’ve ever had. I learned more about myself and paddling in one day than in the several years since I had taken up sea kayaking. I was able to enjoy it because I’d been rational and realistic in my pursuit of adventure. Mick and I chose to kayak wisely but not be overly conservative. We both learned a lot by pushing our limits a bit. Our day in the Triangle was not only a great adventure, it provided us with a wealth of experience to help us improve our gear and our techniques.

I had decided to go kayaking after work one day, and that morning, I’d carefully loaded my kayak onto my cartop racks, strapped it down and tied bow and stern lines to the car. I had driven 15 miles, including several miles on the freeway, and I was only one stoplight away from work. As I pulled forward in the line of waiting cars, I heard what sounded like a horrific automobile crash. The front of my boat lurched down toward the hood of my car, and small pieces of fiberglass floated down like falling snow sprinkling my -windshield.

I quickly realized what had happened: The cheap bow tie-down strap I got at the hardware store had come loose from the car, and the car’s front tire had run over it. My six-month-old sea kayak had broken in four places. The smallest crack was five inches long; the largest break was a nine-inch open gap bridged by the sheer extrusion.
I got the bowline out of the way and very slowly drove the last quarter mile to work feeling very sick. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. As I stood in the parking lot, I suddenly thought that my car insurance would cover my kayak, as I had been driving at the time of the accident. Isn’t that what insurance is for? Feeling a little better, I grabbed my insurance card out the glove box, headed to my office and called the 800 number on the card.

I told the agent what happened and asked if I could make a claim through my automobile insurance. She told me that this sort of thing was covered by homeowner’s insurance. I have both policies covered by the same company, so I was transferred to the claims department to initiate a claim. When she got back to me, she informed me that my homeowner’s policy had a $1,000 limit of coverage on watercraft, whether it’s a kayak, rowboat, canoe, powerboat or sailboat. This $1,000 limit applied as well to watercraft equipment: trailers, furnishings, equipment and outboard engines or motors. At first, that seemed like more than enough to cover the damage.
I started calling around to get some estimates for repairs. I found a shop that could do the work, but they couldn’t guarantee a time frame. My kayak could be “shelved” if more important work came up, and it could take up to three months to get it back.

Meanwhile, I learned from my insurance agent that kayaks, as watercraft, are regarded by insurers as a higher liability than other types of recreational equipment and are not as well covered. My agent also speculated that my home-owner’s policy rates would go up if I made this claim. I had been receiving a 15 percent annual discount from this particular company because I’d made no claims in nine years. I had to weigh if it was even worth it to make the claim, pay my deductible of $250 and face increased premiums for however long it would take to earn back the lower rate for being claim free.
Fortunately, I have a good friend who has quite a bit of experience building and repairing fiberglass kayaks. Together we did most of the repairs in a weekend, and my kayak was scarred but seaworthy. These days when I transport my kayak, I use a bow tie-down that’s just long enough to tie to the bumper but not long enough to get caught under a front tire.

My kayak was salvageable, but if the damage had been beyond repair, my insurance policy would not have come close to covering the cost of replacing it. Even carbon-fiber paddles, dry suits and PFDs carrying VHF radios and GPS units can be costly to replace, so it’s a good idea to find out how your insurance covers your kayak and your equipment before you need to make a claim.
Each insurance company may cover watercraft and related equipment differently. Don’t assume your existing home or auto policy covers any loss you might suffer. On a homeowner’s policy, a kayak would only be covered for the “named perils”—fire, theft, etc.—listed in the policy. Damage or loss suffered while you’re on the water would not be covered. A separate boat policy would include a different set of “named perils” appropriate to boats, but it would still be important to review the extent of the coverage.

Homeowners and renters with insurance policies can include specific items on their existing policies and have them insured for exact replacement cost. A special listing can cover your loss if someone steals your car with your kayak on the rack or steals your kayak from your garage. You’re also covered if your kayak comes off the car and injures bystanders or passengers in another car. It even covers you if you drive over your bowline. It won’t cover damage due to wear and tear, gradual deterioration, manufacturing defects or damage intentionally caused by the policy holder.

If you have any specific items you’d like to make sure are adequately insured, call your agent. With my kayak and all my paddling gear now included in an addendum to my policy, everything is covered at its replacement cost for just about any type of loss for around 30 dollars per year with no deductible to be paid. It’s reassuring to know that if I have another bit of bad luck, it won’t cost me a fortune to get back on the -water.

Jon Hansen is an Intake Counselor for the Oregon Department of Corrections. He learned to paddle on the north Oregon coastal waters of Tillamook County and recently did an 80-mile tour of Lake Chelan in Washington State.

Learning to roll a kayak requires a bit of practice. For a few paddlers, it may take only 15 minutes of in-water experience and drilling before they successfully roll up on their own. More often it takes weeks, sometimes months, of steady practice to do those first rolls without assistance. For many paddling enthusiasts, learning to roll would be a lot easier if there was a way to avoid hanging upside down underwater. I have developed some exercises using the Swiss (or stability) ball that will improve range of motion and strengthen the muscle groups involved in the kayak roll.

The Swiss ball has recently become a popular tool for health and fitness enthusiasts to improve overall musculoskeletal fitness. If you don’t have one, they’re easy enough to find in sports and fitness stores and are very affordable. The exercises here are not intended to take the place of a good instructor and logical progression of on-water drills, but should be considered as introductory exercises for rolling. Also, it’s best to combine these exercises with a safe fitness program. (The following exercises are recommended for healthy individuals. If you have any orthopedic injuries or other problems, consult your physician before starting this or any other exercise program.)

In the kinesiology class I teach at Montana Tech, I conduct a three-part kayak-rolling lesson that consists of viewing a rolling video, dry-land exercises using the Swiss ball, and a pool session. I offer the following “kayak challenge” to the students: If they can successfully complete an on-the-water roll on their first attempt (meaning no preliminary in-boat exercises) after studying the biomechanics of the roll and practicing with the Swiss ball, they receive an A for the final exam. If it takes two attempts, they get a B; three attempts, a C; four attempts, a D; and five attempts or beyond, they receive an F for the final. Last year, only two students accepted the challenge. Both rolled up the very first time in the kayak, much to the awe and envy of the other students. They continued to roll about 50 more times on both sides throughout a two-hour pool session. The students who didn’t accept the challenge all eventually succeeded in rolling, which suggests that the Swiss ball exercises create a useful step in learning to roll a kayak.

The Swiss ball exercises, like the C-to-C roll they are aimed at, can be broken down into three phases: the set-up, the sweep and the hip snap. The three-dimensional nature of the exercises allows each of these phases to be mimicked. Your body position will not be exactly as it is in the boat and may feel a little awkward as a result. An in-water roll will cause the boat to roll upright underneath you with your pelvic girdle rotating underneath your relatively stationary torso. In contrast, this land-based exercise results in your torso moving to the upright position over the more stationary pelvic girdle, so visualizing where the surface of the water is during the Swiss ball exercise can be difficult. The surface doesn’t remain stationary—it moves as you move through the hip snap. At the beginning, you’ll find it easier to focus just on the body mechanics and the curving of the spine, first one way, then the other.

The Set-Up
As shown in photo 1, sit on the Swiss ball facing the wall with the balls of your feet pressed into the angle between the floor and the wall. You can use a length of dowel to simulate a paddle shaft, or just hold your hands in front of you as if you were holding a paddle.

Rotate 90 degrees to the wall and imagine yourself sitting in a kayak oriented parallel to the wall. This position, shown in photo 2, approximates the position you’d be in while seated upright in a kayak (even though your legs are twisted sideways toward the wall). It also approximates the relaxed position upside down after a capsize. The paddler in the photo is shown turning to the left, but you should practice the exercise turning to the right as well.

Imagine yourself capsized and setting up for the roll. Move the paddle parallel to the side of your imaginary kayak. Stabilize yourself with your feet where the wall and floor meet, and let the Swiss ball roll under you and support you as you twist. Your shoulders should be turned down toward the floor.

Push the dowel toward the floor, imagining you’re pushing the paddle skyward through the surface of the water. The working blade of the paddle—the blade you’d roll up with—would be pointing forward, toward the bow of your imaginary kayak.

This position can be used as a stretching exercise to help kayakers who lack flexibility to achieve the optimal position prior to starting the sweep. It will also help maintain flexibility of some of the muscles of the hip, the obliques and the low back and make them less prone to injury.

The Sweep
During the sweep phase, the paddle swings to a 90-degree angle to the kayak, or nearly so, and the hand on the “working” side of the paddle moves away from the wall. (See -photos 4 and 4a.) One forearm is positioned near the forehead while the other pushes up and across the hull of the kayak. Keep the top of your head pointing toward the floor while rotating so that your chest and face now face forward toward the bow of the imaginary kayak. Feel free to hang out in this position, using it to stretch the abdominals, the erector spinae (the large muscles that run along the spine) and the hips.

Hip Snap
During the hip snap of the C-to-C roll, the erector spinae on the high side of the spine (the right side in the photos) work together with the rectus abdominis and the obliques on that same side to rotate the boat to an upright position underneath the boater. On the Swiss ball, raise your head while facing forward, as shown in photo 5. At the end of this movement, the top of your head should be pointing toward the wall rather than up toward the ceiling. (See photo 6.) This posture mimics the head-down position at the end of the hip snap. From here, straighten up on the ball, starting with your lower back and bringing the spine to vertical from the bottom up. Keep your head pushed toward your wall-side shoulder until your back is upright and only then bring your head to a vertical position.

The motion here is the same as it is during an actual roll, but because your body—instead of your kayak—is rotating, the surface of the water is not a fixed reference point. Instead of thinking about flipping the kayak from upside down to right-side up, think about prying the plane of the water’s surface from upside down, pulling it up from one side of the Swiss ball as if it were stuck to the top of your head and flicking down to the floor on the other side.

To train for a sweep roll, simply combine the sweep and hip-snap moves that are done sequentially in the C-to-C exercise. Instead of sweeping and hip snapping in two separate phases, you’ll be sweeping and hip snapping all in one phase.

Offshore winds rank high as one of the greatest threats to a paddler. A minute or two of inattention can mean the differnce between getting to safety in the lee of the land and fighting a losing battle while being blown out to sea…..

Mark Seltzer, a 40-year-old computer consultant, and Marilyn Chan, a 43-year-old management specialist, were both passionate globetrotters. Savvy and cautious, the Canadian couple had traveled to nearly every corner of the planet. Mark had a vast collection of travel literature and had transformed his love for travel into an Internet business. Both shared a fascination for aboriginal culture, which had led them north to the Canadian Eastern Arctic a number of times. They wanted their long-time friends and travel companions, Phil King and Rosemary Waterston, to accompany them to a particularly special place in the new Canadian territory of Nunavut.

The two Toronto couples flew from Ontario during mid-July of 1998, and arrived at Pond Inlet, a town of 1100 residents on the rugged northern tip of Baffin Island (72° 41′ N, 77° 58′ W) 644 kilometers above the Arctic Circle. With its seasonal profusion of flora and fauna, spectacular scenery and affordable accessibility, the town of Pond Inlet had become a popular summertime destination for paddlers and hikers alike. The ice had broken up by the time they had arrived, so the four, deliberating whether they should hike or paddle, decided that kayaking was the easier option to get from Pond Inlet to Mt. Herodier close by.

Mark knew the local outfitter from a similar previous trip to Pond Inlet in the summer of 1996. They had kept up a friendship from a distance and had made arrangements for this trip to borrow either two double kayaks, or trekking gear. Mark, the driving force for the trip, was a little disappointed when the outfitter left to lead an expedition prior to making final lending arrangements, and the employee left in charge of the outfitter’s operation informed Mark the next day that only single kayaks remained. Mark was a little reluctant to discuss his concerns with the employee, so he settled for borrowing four Current Designs Solstice single kayaks.

The other three paddlers also had been looking forward to double kayaks, according to Phil. It was an important consideration given the imbalance of strength between the women and the men. Rosemary and Phil in particular had understood they were supposed to be in a double if they had opted to go kayaking instead of hiking, and had even rented a double only a few weeks prior in order to train in Toronto Harbour.

The group also borrowed four one-piece exposure suits, the standard apparel used by many boaters in the north. The suits offer flotation, warmth, and protection from salt spray or light rain but are not designed as immersion apparel for cold water. Other than paddles and skirts, no other rescue gear or electronic communication equipment was requested or offered. No one felt that the trip was of a level that required charts for navigation: Mt. Herodier was within easy walking distance of town. According to Phil, for anything more difficult the group would have hired licensed guides or simply opted not to kayak.

The paddlers didn’t ask to be apprised of any relevant weather information during this time and no forecast details were discussed or sought as the group took the kayaks.

Mark and Marilyn had paddled the exact same route on their previous trip, without incident, and would have shared with the group any route concerns they were aware of.

Mark was an advanced-level scuba diver, water-wise, and had always demonstrated good awareness and leadership in the out-of-doors. He had been paddling with Marilyn for two to three years. Phil and Rosemary’s only wilderness paddling had been one previous camping trip in an Ontario provincial park, but the two new paddlers were under no illusion about their experience levels. Nevertheless, everyone was satisfied at departure time that the trip was to be a safe, self-guided paddle in fairly sheltered waters during the brief window of prime paddling weather for Pond Inlet. The four paddlers would deal with deteriorating weather simply by getting off the water and staying ashore until conditions improved.

None of the paddlers thought their plan was foolhardy or would put them at risk. With enough gear loaded into the single kayaks for one to two nights, the four paddlers slipped away at about 11:00 on Thursday morning, July 16, from the pebble beach fronting the town of Pond Inlet. The waters were oily calm. The day was quite clear and relatively warm (10 degrees Celsius). Only a small amount of fog obscured Bylot Island, across Eclipse Sound. The route to Mt. Herodier was completely clear. Mark estimated that the 10-kilometer distance would take five hours at a slow pace with a rest stop. Everyone looked forward to reaching Mt. Herodier. Marilyn was an avid gardener and loved to see the fragile wildflower blossoms fighting the harsh elements in the valleys below Mt. Herodier. Kayaking for her, as well as the others, was merely a means to an end.

The waters in the area are subject to a tidal range of approximately six feet, ruling out difficulties with strong currents until they reached the Mt. Herodier headland. Beyond the headland, the inlet was still blocked by pack ice. The group progressed at a leisurely pace, keeping 100 to 200 meters offshore and passing tall, car-sized icebergs and increasing amounts of near-shore sheet ice. They had a great morning admiring the beauty around them and getting used to the gentle swell and being in the Arctic. At 1:30 they stopped along the western shore just past James Creek for a late lunch. They discussed setting up camp right then, but decided to take advantage of the ample travelling time that the continuous high arctic daylight provided.

Other Paddlers on the Water
By 2:30 the kayaks were back in the water. Marilyn and Rosemary both had been experiencing some lower back discomfort and so they both improvised backrests using sweatshirts wrapped in plastic bags. They were looking forward to reaching Mt. Herodier and rest. A French couple—Elizabeth Mitchell (originally from Canada) andPascal Ertlé—had left Pond Inlet in a double kayak at 2:00 that day headed for the same campsite area (as a jump-off point to Bylot Island). They had spoken with the four Canadians back in town and had watched them load their gear down at the beach. It didn’t take long for the experienced duo to overtake the group. By then they had the impression that the four Canadians might not be adequately prepared for Arctic paddling. Only Elizabeth spoke English. She wanted to express her concern that the four kayakers were paddling too far from shore. Noting the idyllic conditions and not wanting to stick her nose into the other people’s business, she just bid them farewell as they parted company.
Sometime in the late afternoon Mark, Marilyn, Phil and Rosemary approached the changing topography near the large bay formed by the elbow south of Mt. Herodier’s 765-meter peak. Rosemary felt she should keep well away from the near-shore ice, which she had read could roll over without warning and cause a sudden surge. The group did not meet to discuss concerns or form a consensus at this juncture. It wasn’t long before a strong offshore wind sprang up. Rosemary describes their initial positioning: “The coastline was rather scalloped [the accompanying map is not at a scale that could show this] with points of land between pebbled beaches. I could see where we were going and rather than staying close to the shore and having a longer route I cut across the last bay to make a straight line to the last point before landing. Once I got past that point of land I stopped paddling and took out the camera to take a picture of where we were going. I waited for Marilyn and Phil, who were closer to shore, to paddle into the shot. I asked Mark to move in closer to shore so I could take his picture but he joked that no, he ‘had paddled out to take a video of me taking a photo of Marilyn and Phil.”

At that time a large weather system out at sea was moving rapidly over Baffin’s northern tip. The wind accelerated through gaps in the mountainous topography and over icefields in the interior. After crossing the land it rushed out into Eclipse Sound. Rosemary continues: “As soon as I put the camera away I became aware that I was being blown away from the shore at a fast rate. The waves had also changed. Rather than facing the kayak they were now parallel to it and getting higher. I tried to turn my kayak to point into the waves and toward shore but wasn’t able to at all. Phil was yelling at us to come on and get in closer and I was shouting back that I was trying and I couldn’t; but he couldn’t hear me because the wind was carrying our voices, and us, away from shore. I was feeling very anxious and yelled to Mark that I was really uncomfortable because I couldn’t make the kayak go in the direction of shore.”
Within five minutes of the time that Rosemary was taking pictures, conditions on the water had deteriorated dramatically and it didn’t take long for things to unravel. Mark came right over, calmly instructing Rosemary not to panic and to keep paddling parallel to shore past the next point of land, where they might have more success turning the kayaks shoreward. Within only a few strokes a big wave from the direction of shore caused Rosemary to capsize. It all happened quickly. Her blade may have either caught a gust or a beam wave may have pushed her kayak sideways, over the paddle, tripping her as she set the paddle blade on the downwind side.
Rosemary had never practiced wet exits, but knew to pull the grab loop and exit forward. She describes the next moments: “I remember the water being very green as I came up for air. Mark was right there beside me when I surfaced and I assured him I was okay as he held my hands and got me to hold onto the side of his kayak. Both of our kayaks were parallel to the waves now and they pushed us farther from shore. He asked if I could climb up onto his kayak and I said I thought so. The next thing I remember is Mark coming up out of the water after his kayak capsized. His hat was gone though his glasses were still on. He looked so surprised.”
At this point, Phil remembers being a few meters from Marilyn and not much more than 50 meters from Mark and Rosemary. He doesn’t remember leaving his position closer to shore with Marilyn, until she alerted him that both Mark and Rosemary were in the water. Marilyn had been keeping a closer eye on the other two. Rosemary remembers Phil being right beside them as Mark surfaced but concludes that she and Mark must have been in the water for awhile: “I guess Mark and I must have bobbed around for awhile, holding onto our kayaks. I remember Mark fumbling with his video camera case, getting out his air horn and using it, but it was water-logged and didn’t make any sound. I think we had been blown to be about a quarter mile from shore at this time.”

The frigid Arctic waters were between one and two degrees Celsius. Rosemary, like the others in her group, had worn ski gear under her exposure suit, gloves on her hands, and a baseball cap. The exposure suits get their insulation and flotation capacity from an inner core of closed-cell foam. They fit like a pair of coveralls with cinch straps at the open cuffs and only provide protection for brief immersion times. Ice-cold water inundated Rosemary’s suit, leaving her susceptible to rapid hypothermia. Although her extra clothing may have prevented cold shock (See “Cold Shock,” SK, Spring 1991 ), she was still in a serious situation. Survival time in the Arctic is often measured in minutes. When Phil arrived, the two kayaks and paddlers were beside each other. Mark and Phil quickly instructed Rosemary to get onto the back of Phil’s kayak.
Rosemary was afraid that she would cause Phil to flip. Mark had already righted Rosemary’s kayak, so he then draped himself over it and reiterated instructions to Rosemary to go to the stern of Phil’s kayak and crawl up on the end of it. Without Mark’s instructions, Phil would not have known what to do. Rosemary explains what happened next: “As I moved over to Phil’s kayak I realized that my foot was wrapped up in the ropes attached to the kayak [the deck lines] that Mark was on-the kayak I had been paddling. I explained the problem and while I dunked backward under the water so my foot could come up, Mark turned around while still lying on the kayak to untangle my foot. Then I swam to Phil’s kayak and crawled onto it lengthwise so I was lying face down and holding onto the edge of the central hole [cockpit]. Phil was holding onto the empty capsized kayak and Mark told him that in this circumstance the book said we should let the empty kayak go.
“Mark and Rosemary’s kayaks, only moderately loaded with gear but swamped, were too heavy to drag one boat over the other to drain the water from it. There were no pumps aboard. Mark and Phil’s main concern was getting Rosemary out of the water and back to shore. Perhaps in his haste or lack of assisted rescue practice or knowledge of standard rescue procedures, Mark failed to suggest that they get Mark into the other righted kayak, and ultimately had Phil release the capsized kayak. With every second the situation was getting more desperate as the wind, despite what would seem to be a limited fetch, gained strength and the seas grew much worse.

Unfortunately, during the time it took to get Rosemary onto Phil’s back deck, Marilyn, who had been close to shore, was blown farther out to sea slightly and had drifted past the three other paddlers. She had somehow spun herself 180 degrees. She was beam-to-the-wind, as were the others, but facing opposite the direction the group had been paddling. As Rosemary recalled the scene, Marilyn turned her head, and “she shouted back to the other three that she didn’t know what to do. Mark told her to stay calm. Marilyn replied that she was calm, but didn’t know what to do. Mark told her to just stay upright.”

Phil was under great psychological duress at this juncture. With Rosemary shivering and precariously balanced on his rear deck, Phil had no other option in his mind than to head for shore with her. Mark agreed. Phil took one last look at his friends. Mark was clinging to the upright kayak by himself and Marilyn was drifting quickly farther offshore, fighting to keep her kayak upright.

Phil found the wind extraordinarily difficult to paddle against. Rosemary describes the difficulties: “Phil paddled to shore, cutting diagonally through the waves when he could. Because of the wind and the need to be careful, he had to go a long way east from where we had the accident, eventually landing on a little cove three beaches over. On the way waves kept breaking over me as I lay on the back of the kayak. I lifted my legs up out of the water to try to reduce the drag on the boat but I was very afraid of making the kayak unstable. I kept my head down and just kept saying ‘I’m OK’ over and over again so that Phil wouldn’t have to turn around to ensure I was all right. We almost tipped many times during the trip to shore. As we approached shore Phil yelled to the French couple on the beach that there had been an accident so they knew to get ready to help.”

Phil had spotted Elizabeth and Pascal on the beach. It took a few minutes before Elizabeth and Pascal could hear him shouting. As they hit the beach, Phil rushed to seek the couple’s assistance and advice, while Rosemary dragged the kayak up the shore and stumbled to empty needed gear, including a change of clothing. She then re-secured the hatches and tightened the straps, readying the kayak for Phil. The French couple did not hesitate to take to the water. Phil told Rosemary to get warm; then at great risk, Phil returned to his kayak, paddling out into the rough seas following behind the double.

Rosemary quickly dragged Phil’s gear bag to a dilapidated hunter’s shed nearby and changed into dry clothes. She checked her watch. It was 5:00. Phil eventually returned. The three had not been successful finding any sign of Mark or Marilyn where the incident had taken place. At significant risk, Elizabeth and Pascal had left the accident scene for Pond Inlet, safely negotiating the beam seas. They arrived exhausted and sore and immediately alerted authorities. From the beach back at the cove, Phil had spotted something rolling around in the waves, and went out one more time, alone, into virtually unmanageable seas. But what looked like the white hull of a kayak turned out to be just more ice. After his return, conditions had become so bad that he dared not go out again.

Under the circumstances, Rosemary took the liberty to look through the French couple’s gear, looking for anything that might help her get outside assistance or establish visual contact with the two missing friends. She found a pair of binoculars. Scrambling up an escarpment for a better view, Phil and Rosemary searched in vain for signs of their companions. Walking west along the beach, the couple had difficulty staying upright in the powerful wind funneling through the valley. Rosemary was knocked down by the wind a few times, and occasionally had to sit down just to catch her breath. Phil, increasingly anxious about the fate of the French couple, set out on foot for Pond Inlet later that evening. Less than an hour into the hike, he spotted two motorboats heading toward the bay and he ran back to the campsite. It was almost 9:00. Rosemary told the drivers where she had last seen Marilyn and Mark. The two boats went out to search, but one returned after 10 minutes with engine trouble. The driver, Norman, quickly radioed town for a replacement boat. He said that they couldn’t see anything in the accident area and that the waves downwind in the open channel were five meters high. Fog was also forming out in the channel and visibility would deteriorate further.

Phil and Rosemary remained on the wind-blown shore waiting in extremely stressful states. Around 11:30 PM another boat arrived. Despite Rosemary and Phil’s desire to assist with the search, the boat driver determined he would rather avoid the rough seas, so despite the couple’s protests, he would not venture out to the accident scene, or more importantly, downwind in deeper water. The boat motored carefully back to town closer to shore, dropping the couple off near the nursing station, where Rosemary was treated for mild hypothermia. Phil and Rosemary heard a helicopter leave town around 1:00 in the morning to join the boats in the search. In the high wind, waves, and cold mist that blanketed the Sound, the searchers found no trace of Mark and Marilyn.

In the days following the disappearance of Mark and Marilyn, a number of aircraft-including a military Hercules from Trenton, Ontario-participated in an extensive search. Days of poor visibility made the search difficult and eventually impossible. When the search resumed, flat ice sheets had moved into Eclipse Sound from the ice-choked entrance. Mark’s brother flew to Pond Inlet as soon as he could, contracted a helicopter, and then combed the 884-square kilometer search area in the Twin Otter he’d also hired. All the kayaks had white hulls, making it difficult for low-flight spotters to distinguish them amongst the ice.

The Hercules was recalled Monday morning. By Wednesday the family called off their search efforts after completing inspection of the full coastline perimeter. There was no further hope that Mark or Marilyn had survived the frigid Arctic water temperatures or made it to landfall. Locals eventually found all three kayaks. Two weeks after the accident, Mark’s body was found in the Sound. His bright orange exposure suit was still intact. Because the suit would have been easy for the searchers to spot, it is likely that Mark may have been pulled under the ice during the search.

LESSONS LEARNED
A dry suit with proper insulation worn underneath it is the only apparel that realistically provides an adequate amount of survival time in Arctic waters for group rescue and post-rescue complications. Wetsuits will work but can be a bit restrictive to paddling in the thickness usually required for protection in near-freezing waters. Marine survival suits, often used by marine workers in Alaska in the event they have to abandon ship, are watertight but too cumbersome for kayakers.

Exposure suits like those used by the paddlers do not provide enough protection once an immersion takes place in near-freezing water. These suits lack cuff and neck seals, and permit water to enter and make quick and direct contact with a paddler’s skin. Only a sealed dry suit, combined with insulating undergarments, maintains a layer of air between the fabric and the paddler’s skin, which acts as a barrier to heat loss. Although exposure suits do add to total survival time in near-freezing water, actual functional survival time is severely diminished by the ready infiltration of water. Nursing staff at the First Aid Station assured Rosemary that Mark would have a good chance of being found alive in the water during the night as he was wearing his suit. This is a common misconception about the ability of exposure suits in very cold water, although improved models do now incorporate neoprene wrist cuffs, ankle and thigh cinch straps, and stowaway hoods, which add somewhat to functional survival time.

Given the paddlers’ proximity to Pond Inlet, distress signals may have brought quicker aid to the group once they encountered problems. Aerial flares would be less effective with the continuous Arctic daylight and an EPIRB-type device likely would have brought help but far too late. A radio may have proven useful. High frequency (HF) and VHF radio contact is a common form of summoning help in many areas of northern Canada. In Pond Inlet, however, there are no repeater stations and the locals do not monitor VHF. There, HF and CB radio are the norm. The telephone remains the most common way to summon specific help, so hunters often carry satellite phones. There is an airport located near the town, which can coordinate weather-dependent aircraft evacuations and a small RCMP detachment for all emergency concerns or updating float or travel plans. The ability to call for emergency assistance is an important consideration not to be ignored in the Arctic even for short trips.

Even the experienced couple in the tandem kayak had no way of quickly securing outside help. It is only prudent to ask what the communication implications are for the area you are paddling in: ranges, the frequencies locally monitored, and important telephone numbers where applicable. Some Arctic outfitters have expanded their rental options to include items like Spilsbury SBX 11 HF radios (too bulky for paddlers) and satellite phones (check with the service provider for coverage range). It is also important to have contingency plans in place. Help in the Arctic can be slow to arrive, delayed due to weather, and costly, so even if you can make a call for help you need to be prepared to take care of your group until aid arrives. Usually paddlers research an intended area of travel to find out if a small weather radio would pick up marine weather broadcasts or warnings in lieu of a more expensive VHF radio; however, in this case, the closest active forecasting facility was 550 kilometers away in Resolute-leaving the paddlers more or less on their own.

One item often excluded by outfitters—and by self-supported paddlers themselves—are towlines. An easily deployable towline would have given Phil the option to hook onto Marilyn’s kayak and provide the assistance she needed before conditions worsened. Carrying some form of basic towline is always a good idea. Neither Marilyn nor Rosemary would have had the strength, unaided, to regain shore in single kayaks. If the two stronger paddlers had hooked onto the weaker paddlers at the first hint of changing conditions, it also may have helped Marilyn and Rosemary to get their bows turned into the wind.

Of course, if the two couples had been in tandem doubles, there is little doubt in Phil’s mind that the two men could have powered both boats to shore safely
.

Experience and environment weigh heavily in this incident. Constable Burton, representing the RCMP detachment in Pond Inlet, indicated that the waters around Mt. Herodier are known for rough conditions. Severe winds from Greenland divert around Mt. Herodier and grow more intense in the vicinity around the mountain. The strong and sudden winds can catch even experienced kayakers off guard. Burton admitted that Pond Inlet is popular with kayakers precisely because the winds are infrequent and usually out of the East so the water in the lee of the land is calm. It is not unusual for paddlers visiting Pond Inlet to forego hiring professional guides.

The paddlers lacked the experience and knowledge to understand the risks of paddling in the Arctic and of approaching a headland like Mt. Herodier. Offshore winds rank high as one of the greatest threats to a paddler. Whether it is a katabatic gravity wind or (as in this group’s case) wind that is the result of a weather-related pressure gradient, the farther out you are pushed, the worse it gets. A minute or two of inattention can mean the difference between getting to safety in the lee of the land and fighting a losing battle while being blown out to sea. It is best to avoid the exposure to offshore winds by keeping close to shore and being especially wary of winds funneling through low spots in the shoreline topography.

The difference in wind speed between land and offshore can be as high as a factor of 50%. In an offshore wind it can be very difficult to recognize how rough it is farther away from shore, as you see only the backs of the waves. They may appear smooth while hiding the churning white foam on their downwind faces.

Although the group was given no warnings before leaving Pond Inlet, they also failed to do their homework and to ask pertinent questions. Moreover, a team of experienced paddlers would normally keep a tight formation approaching a significant topographical feature, having already anticipated the possibility of associated wind compression, then headed much closer to shore at the slightest hint of an offshore wind. The four friends, while seasoned travelers, were not experienced sea kayakers. In this situation the outfitter was not acting in his professional role as guide or equipment provider. He was doing a favor for a friend by lending him some kayaks. His employee was also making the four kayaks available outside of the standard rental process. Both may have assumed the group was better experienced than they actually were.

If the four paddlers had had more experience, a number of things might have proven different once trouble started. Rosemary would have known to be wary of presenting the flat of her blade on the upwind side to the gusts of wind and also to lean into the waves as each one hit, taking advantage of the upward movement of water on the wave face. Turning a sea kayak into strong upwind conditions is never an easy task. Mark could have paddled slightly ahead of Rosemary on her windward side, shielding her bow while she tried to turn her boat into the wind. Rosemary could have raised her rudder onto the rear deck. With a rudder deployed, the stern of a kayak will not slip downwind, making it more difficult, if not impossible, to get the bow turned into the wind. If she had raised the rudder and paddled hard and fast straight across the wind she could have taken advantage of a kayak’s tendency to weathercock: with more boat speed the turbulence at the stern would allow it to slip downwind, causing her kayak to turn with less effort into the wind. She would take advantage of the weathercocking by using sweep strokes on the downwind side.

Rosemary also could have shifted her hands along the paddle shaft toward the upwind blade, thereby allowing greater leverage for wide downwind sweep strokes, and paddled only on the downwind side. Performing this kind of a turn with a strong lean that places the kayak further on edge makes for an even tighter turn. These are all skills learned with time and training.

It is rarely a good idea to let a kayak go. Well-practiced assisted rescues may have allowed Rosemary and Mark to get back into their kayaks after their capsizes. Bailers could have been improvised from whatever might have been close at hand, including items such as saucepans, rain hats, a day bag, etc.

This group was overwhelmed by sudden and severe winds that, although they may be uncommon, should be expected in the waters near Pond Inlet. It is always the responsibility of the paddler to be fully prepared, to avoid problems before they become insurmountable, and to be prepared and able to accomplish their own rescues. In the final analysis it is the paddler who needs to research the intended area of travel, possess the boat handling and rescue skills to deal with the environment, and have back-up equipment and plans in place. This group of paddlers thought their short outing would be easy, no more difficult than a paddle in less extreme latitudes. Phil relates his feelings, “I just wish someone had tapped us all on our shoulders and said, ‘Hey, this is the Arctic, you need to be ten times as careful up here.'”

The deaths of Mark and Marilyn were a terrible tragedy. The story is compelling because it could have happened to anyone-suddenly changing conditions can catch paddlers of all experience levels off guard. Even experts would have been hard-pressed to perform some of the rescues or turn their kayaks into the fierce wind that hit the group. Both Phil and Rosemary were extremely lucky to survive-Phil doubly so.

Nicholas Mark Seltzer was awarded the Governor General of Canada’s Medal of Bravery (posthumously in 1999) for his “act of bravery in hazardous circumstances.” Phillip King, Elizabeth Mitchell and Pascal Ertlé each received a commendation from the Governor General for “an act of great merit in providing assistance to others in a selfless manner.”

The suit is comfortable to wear and mates well with a spray skirt. The back-entry zipper makes the suit easy to get on and off, and it doesn’t clutter up the front of the suit. The suit lends itself well to the range of motion required by paddling and rolling. The ends of the zipper do, however, press against the backs of your arms while you’re paddling. It may feel strange and slightly annoying at first but is soon forgotten. That the Aleutian keeps you dry is to be expected. In its details—the right materials for the job in the right places—are the reminders that the Aleutian EXP is money well spent.

*The Aleutian is currently scheduled for release in the spring of 2007.