Forget the Airfare—Just Dress Warm

October-November 2005

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

In winter, every day will be a drysuit day.

It’s late November, and rain is pelting the windows. If this is a typical Oregon winter, I’ll see a lot of that rain between now and May.

So I get online and start checking airfare to warm paddling spots. Baja: $531. Belize: $787. Hawaii: $523. And that’s just to get there, let alone rent boats, stay anywhere, or eat anything. Forget that.

While I’m dreaming about warm water and dry air, an email pops up. Steve is going paddling around Cape Disappointment, where the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean meet, and wants to know who’s coming. He’s going on Saturday, the last day of November. Well, I know now that I’m not paying big bucks to fly to the tropics, so I send a quick message, shut down the computer and go pack my drysuit and warm clothes.

Am I nuts, I wonder? Cape Disappointment is known for strong currents and ocean swell, and the landing spot at Waikiki Beach (an ironic name) has multi-directional surf where the current rebounds off a cliff face. But I’ve paddled there before and this is a good group, so why not?

A lot of paddlers I know put their boats away for the winter. But winter can be the best time to paddle in much of the Pacific Northwest—even if you’re not kooky enough to go play on the Columbia River Bar.

WINTER IS JUST DUCKY

We know birds fly south in winter, but where is south, really? For a lot of the waterfowl in the northern hemisphere, south isn’t that far south—because north is really, really far north. Oregon, Washington and southern British Columbia are the wintering grounds for critters that spend summers on the Arctic tundra. In the winter, they head for the ‘balmy south’, which is the lowlands of Oregon’s Klamath Basin, Willamette Valley, and coastal estuaries, and the lowlands of the Puget Trough from Washington up through the Gulf Islands. In the winter you’ll see great gangs of gulls, rafts of scaup and redhead and, a bit further north, Brandt, Harlequin ducks, Scoters and solitary loons. In the freshwater wetlands, there will be big flocks of geese darkening the sky, tons of widgeon, shovelers, teal and more. Come the warm weather of spring, they’ll be gone, heading north about when fair-weather paddlers start dusting off kayaks in their garages. And where there are lots of ducks…

EAGLE EYE

…there will be lots of things that eat them—bald eagles. Once very rare in the western Lower 48, bald eagle populations are recovering well. Now they congregate in large numbers on the west coast in winter to feed on the gathering ducks. (In the summer, the eagles are in Northern BC and Alaska eating salmon). Klamath Falls in Southern Oregon hosts an annual Bald Eagle Festival. Portland’s parks lead morning walks to watch the eagles fly from their roosts at dawn to head for the wetlands where they eat ducks all day. And the shoreline cottonwoods and alders are free of leaves making eagles, wintering hawks, and owls easy to spot.

Kayaks going under waterfall in the winter

Waterfalls are spectacular when the winter rain kicks in.

MOTORIZED GNATS BEGONE

Another reason I love winter paddling is that I get my local river to myself, other than the odd fisherman and some hard-core paddlers. It’s a much quieter scene because all the speedboats, jet-skis, and water-skiers are gone until the water gets warm again. The quiet is welcome and I certainly don’t miss the pollution from those pesky things. (The two-stroke engines in jet-skis dump a third of their fuel and oil into the water, unburned.) In winter the wildlife, the river and I all breathe a sigh of relief.

LOTSA WATER FALLING

West of the Cascade Range, we’ve also been blessed with some of the best waterfalls around. They roll off the glaciated sides of inlets, and near where I live they plummet off the sides of two significant gorges along the Columbia River. When the winter rain kicks in, the waterfalls get truly spectacular and I never get tired of paddling under them when they’re at full force.

HOW TO DO IT RIGHT

Despite its appeal, paddling in winter obviously isn’t as cushy as in summer. Here are some tips about gear and technique that will make winter paddling safer and more fun.

Drysuits Rule. Obviously, you’ll need warm clothes. I’m a famous miser when it comes to expensive gear, but in winter, every day will be a drysuit day. After years of sneaking by with cheap neoprene in winter, I’m glad I forked over the big bucks for a Gore-tex drysuit. There’s no contest when it comes to winter paddling conditions, and not having to worry about cold water coming in over your boot-tops.

Wear Some Cheap Rubber Too. In contrast to the expensive drysuit, one of my essential pieces of winter paddling gear is a $12, non- breatheable, pvc-rubber rain slicker. When you’re paddling, Gore- tex regulates your temperature by wicking away moisture. When you stop, evaporative cooling will chill you to the bone in winter. Throw the rubber raincoat on over your drysuit as soon as you stop to keep the heat in while you’re hanging out or eating lunch. And remember to thank whoever invented the thermos.

Bring a night kit. The risk of being caught out in the dark is obviously greater when dark happens at 4:30 pm. Carry headlamps and glow sticks and remember to take a compass bearing back to your launch point in case you end up coming back in the dark.

Invest in a reliable roll. This means dedicating the practice time, and maybe shelling out a bit for some instruction, until your roll is solid. You don’t want to swim in cold water. If you only have a warm-water ‘pool roll’, the shock of cold water might lead you to miss an otherwise easy roll so you have to wet exit.

authout on land in snow with white kayak

And then there are days when you ask yourself, “Am I nuts?” (probably, yes)

Ditto for rescues. Practice rescues until they’re well-oiled. The difference between a fast rescue and a slow one may not mean much in summer, but in 47°F water and 48°F air (about 8-9°C), those few seconds are enough for people to get mighty cold. Which also leads to the last tip:

Paddle with good folks. And not just folks who have good skills. You’ll also want to be with folks who won’t start whining and grumbling when the rain hits or an icy headwind kicks up with 5 miles to go back to the put-in. Find some folks you enjoy being around and who like the rarefied world of winter paddling as much as you do.

But back to the Columbia River Bar. The next day, we meet at Fort Canby State Park as the tide ebbs. The ebb shoots us toward one of the jetties at the mouth of the Columbia. Swells are wrapping around the inside of the jetty and the surf break bounces off the beach and comes at us from two directions. One person swims, but Steve puts him back in his boat in a jiffy and we’re off again. A coast guard boat motors by with the coasties looking at us like we’re from another planet until we give them the OK sign. At our lunch stop I get pounded by the surf coming in and end up with a lot of wet sand to scoop out of my boat.

After lunch we round the jetty where ocean swells roll in. Sea lions are cavorting on their backs in the swells like tourists lolling lazily at tropical resorts. As we paddle below Cape Disappointment Light, waves explode off the cliffs. Steve and Chris venture into the mouth of Deadman’s Cove but I skip that one this time. At the takeout at Waikiki Beach, the swell has dropped with the tide, so we spend some time playing in the waves and catching some rides.

Two hours later, I’m asleep in my own bed. One day I’ll make a tropical trip, but until then, maybe winter ain’t so bad.