The Quintessential Sea Kayak Instructor
April-May 1999
This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
by Julie D. Johnston
As an educator, I sometimes make a lousy learner, but I have a good eye for great teachers. So when the quintessential instructor came along and granted me instant calm and comfort with the sport of sea kayaking, I found myself pondering what it was that made him such a perfect teacher. I hope these observations will be useful to anyone aiming to become a masterful guide or instructor for newcomers to the sport.
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Kayak guides teach in nature's classroom |
Our instructor, Ernie, showed up looking the part, which reassured me before I even neared the dock. Tanned and fit, his dress and demeanor suggested a kinship with the water, an easiness to which I secretly aspired. (My intense fear of drowning had daunted my efforts at befriending the sea.)
Ernie offered just enough instruction to get me safely into a kayak (and onto the water!), gently instilling confidence without overwhelming me. Throughout the trip, he quietly shared tips or demonstrated finesse points in calm water. Whether it stemmed from dread of embarrassment or pride in learning something well, I felt empowered knowing I wasn't flailing about like an awkward amateur.
He even brought treats!-like hard-boiled eggs for lunch (even though the trip was self-provisioned) and a high-powered flashlight for pointing out constellations during our camp-out under the stars. Best of all, he unobtrusively took photos of us-lovely scenic shots and action shots showing off our newfound sea kayaking prowess-and sent them to us a few weeks later. Since beginners don't want to take their hands off the paddle, let alone risk dumping for the sake of a good picture, this was a wonderful gift!
Ernie's passion for sea kayaking was contagious. He loved the sea and he loved his kayak, a second skin which he slipped on and off readily in order to share his other fascinations with us. To stretch our legs we collected heritage seeds, or sat on the shore pouring over maps. Ernie enjoyed talking to us about the local plants, birds and animals, introducing them to us like special friends-another effective way to help us feel carefree and comfortable in this new realm.
He knew instinctively how to pace our trip. He took a keen but quiet interest in us, never seeming bored or in a hurry, no matter how slowly we wanted to putter and explore, or how long we resisted jack-knifing our unaccustomed spines back into the kayaks after a break. I never got the impression he wanted to be somewhere else, with someone else. (This compares with horror stories I've heard of guides disappearing into a tent together only to re-emerge once the surly and solo cook had made everyone feel guilty for being hungry.)
Ernie never left us standing around, wondering 'What next?' I saw no evidence of an exact itinerary, but we flowed smoothly from exploring time, calm time, riding the big waves (once our confidence had taken on a smidgen of cockiness), and drinking beer and lemonade dockside, clarifying rather proudly and loudly for rich yacht owners that sea kayaking isn't all that hard, or even scary. Our days were guided by our needs and rhythms (we had a newlywed couple along!) and decided by consensus.
Ernie cheerfully went about chores once we reached camp, inviting us to help out or to simply relax. He matter-of-factly explained what needed to be done, where we could sleep (and "use the facilities"), and what environmental principles we would respect.
His most significant forté as a sea kayaking guide/instructor was without doubt the toughest to explain-he let the learning be ours; he allowed us to own this fresh experience, this new expertise. He gave us continual feedback on how well we were picking up the skills (now was not the time for criticism, constructive or otherwise), but took no credit for our learning.
His ego, his vocation, his proficiency were not the centre of attraction, never the focus. He used his experience to teach us, not to impress us. He was always there when we needed him, but then he'd fall back, blending into the scenery to let us feel the invigoration of unaccompanied experimentation-"solo flight." Although this might have come naturally for someone so quiet and unassuming, it is probably the greatest gift a guide/instructor can offer. If necessary, those more outgoing and extroverted should practise being a "guide on the side" rather than a "sage on the stage."
So let the learners' new relationships be with the sea, with the kayak and the paddle and the blisters, with the tides and the currents, the winds and the waves, with themselves. Yes, it's true that with your help, your feedback and your enticements, new paddlers will overcome fears and obstacles, and succeed in learning the techniques and joys of the sport. But remember to honour the feat of learning; let your students hold and savour the exhilaration of accomplishing the wonderful new paddlesport they have chosen. We'll keep coming back to the water because we know, now, that we can do it on our own, and enjoy doing it with others.
Julie Johnston travels the world teaching adults how to teach. Her degree is in Outdoor & Experiential Education. She learned to sea kayak on a "just challenging enough" overnight tour in the Gulf Islands, British Columbia. ©