Cold Water Survival

April-May 2005

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Kristin Charleton

A minor paddling mishap in these frigid waters can be life-threatening. © Kristin Charleton photos.

At age thirteen I bought my first kayak with paper-route money, a $300 Frontiersmen—a slow, maroon slug with a cockpit big enough for the wide, womanly hips I had yet to grow. It was stable, all right, stable enough that I cockily bet my friend that I could stand up inside it. Sure it was winter and dark, and yes, there may have been a bit of stupidness that surrounds a class clown as we floated just offshore from a cool kids’ high school beach bonfire. But a bet is a bet, even if it was an empty bet with no gain at the end except smugness. With a burst of pure confidence, I stood up and abruptly fell into the black abyss, the cold shock causing a deep breath full of salty water. Lucky for me, within a few strokes I was standing waist-high in the chilly water, able to pull my kayak and myself to safety. For the first time in my life I was the coolest kid at the bonfire.

Now, years after that first experience with cold water immersion, I’m working for the University of Fairbanks wildlife department, researching the effects of disturbance on Black Oystercatchers, a shorebird that nests in the high tide zone. The park encompasses over 600,000 acres and is full to the brim with inter-tidal glaciers calving ice the size of apartment buildings, with glacial streams and water that resembles a slushee.

As part of my job training, I received a course on cold-water survival. This is more important in Alaska for obvious reasons, but after taking the course, I realize that the knowledge I gained is relevant to all paddlers, especially those who foolishly paddle with nothing but a worn out life- jacket stuffed behind their seat.

Although the impact of cold water varies to some extent on your age, clothing and body fat, immersion can quickly numb extremities to the point of uselessness. Sudden immersion can cause involuntary gasping, water inhalation and severe pain. Mix in a bit of panic and your problem is amplified. Cold hands can no longer zip up the life jacket you hadn’t fully secured, or hold on to your overturned boat.

If you can’t quickly re-enter your kayak after a capsize, the first question is: “Should I swim for shore?” The answer is no. Unless you are positive you can make it and there is no chance of rescue, DO NOT SWIM. It’s known that even good swimmers are unable to swim for more than a few minutes in very cold water. A young man from Ontario recently died as he tried to swim 50 yards in calm water at a temperature of 10°C (50°F). His dinghy had overturned and he was trying to make it to shore. He lasted only five minutes.

Congratulations, you have now made your first decision—you’re staying with your boat. Now you’re in the water, far from shore, awaiting rescue. It’s time for cold water survival. Factor number one in cold water survival is the will to live. You need to dig deep and pull out that fighter instinct—whether it’s the will to eat another New York style cheesecake with fresh strawberries or to hug your sweet thang—let it inspire you to live. As Napoleon Hill said: “When your desires are strong enough, you will appear to possess superhuman powers to achieve.”

©Source: www.hypothermia.org

Statistics show that hypothermia is most likely responsible, directly or indirectly, for more boating deaths than all other factors combined. Although death by drowning may be the coroner’s verdict, the actual cause of drowning is usually unconsciousness due to hypothermia. Hypothermia is defined as lowered deep-body temperature. When the deep-body temperature falls to 89.6°F, unconsciousness may ensue. So factor number two of cold water survival is heat—keep your heat.

Cold water robs your body of heat about 25 times faster than air of the same temperature, so obviously you want your body surrounded by air, not water. If you are unable to get back into your kayak or at least lie on top of it, your last option is the Heat Escape Lessening Posture (HELP). Hold your arms tight against sides of your chest to protect your armpits. Bend your knees and pull up your legs so your thighs protect your groin. If you are with other people, link arms and form a tight huddle. Treading water or swimming will only increase the loss of body heat as blood is pumped to the extremities and quickly cooled. Compared to staying still, swimming increases heat loss (35-50%) as well as exhaustion.

The third factor in cold-water survival is flotation. Keep afloat and keep with your boat. It is easier to spot an overturned boat than it is to spot a single person in the water.

Along with the course on cold-water survival, the National Park Service provided a boatload of goodies to protect me from dire straits. I now paddle a brightly ornamented, floating garage sale. I have pumps, paddle floats, extra paddles, and a tow-rope bag full of special kayak hauling cord. Inside my boat there are dry bags of extra food, clothing, marine radios, emergency locator devices (EPIRB), space blankets, fire-fly rescue lights, hot-grip body warmers, first-aid kits and waterproof matches which flare up like sparklers on the first of July—all in the name of survival. This may seem like overkill but there are several measures you can take even if you are unable to purchase expensive equipment.

When you’re out in the wilderness, you can’t depend upon the eyes of coffee- drinkers in waterfront homes watching unprepared paddlers float by, or expect to be picked up by some yachtsman in his fifty foot luxury cruiser equipped with a hot-tub to bring your body temperature up to a healthy 98.6°F.

So if my kayak begins to take on water as I paddle around in these frigid Alaskan waters, I have several survival choices available. I can paddle for shore just under a kilometer away and hope that my kayak will remain buoyant. I can use my hand pump to temporarily empty my kayak of water. If the situation worsens, I can use my marine radio to contact the Coast Guard or trigger my EPIRB (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon), which will send a signal that is instantly detected by geostationary satellites and is monitored by the Coast Guard. Even if my kayak falls apart, I have the back-up knowledge that will increase the amount of time I’ll survive in cold water just by moving my body into Heat Escape Lessening Posture (HELP). I’m finally prepared because I have to be.

Striation Island, Alaska. A beautiful place to paddle, if you’re prepared! © Kristin Charleton photos.

REMEMBER

• Check the weather. The marine forecast for Canada’s Pacific coast can be found on the web at Environment Canada. Tidal charts are also available at this website.

• File a float plan with a responsible friend, inform them of your route, destination, estimated time of return, and a number to call if something goes wrong.

• Check to make sure floatation bags are inflated and/or hatches are safely secured. • Bring a bailer, waterproof bag full of extra clothes, food, flashlight, matches, rope, a first aid-kit and if possible, a cell phone.

• If you can afford it, a marine radio is around $450. Take a course to get your operator’s license.

Use common sense: if in doubt, chicken out.

© Kristin Charleton is a wildlife biologist who has studied seabirds from the sub-antarctic islands in New Zealand to the remote Kenai Fjords of Alaska. At present, she is living on Lasqueti Island, BC researching seabird bycatch in gillnet fisheries.