Paddling Partners - For - Life

June-July 2006

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

Yvonne and Doug, partners-for-life.

They say opposites attract. In the case of my partner-for-life, who happens also to be my closest paddling partner, that may well be an understatement.

Our differences were evident through the early days of dating and have only become more apparent as married years pass: she reads Jane Austen novels cuddled up in a warm blanket on stormy winter nights (trying not to worry about me) while I‘m out solo late-night storm paddling; she’s a penny-pincher content with a dilapidated May West lifejacket while I’ll buy a new PFD at the first sign of fading cordura; she loves weekend camping as long as a B&B is close by, while I like to spend weeks in the wild as far from the comforts of civilization as possible.

It‘s only logical that two individuals so different in our expression of life find paddling together an exercise in compromise, with an ongoing need to clarify perceptions about safety, paddling locations and anticipated conditions. To my credit there was a realization early on that to introduce one’s spouse to the life-long enjoyment of sea kayaking, the early experiences should probably be good ones. The stern visage of my mother-in-law warning me of how many relatives of my wife-to-be had perished due to small-boating/cold-water accidents left a lasting impression.

For our honeymoon a decade and a half ago, Meares Island would have normally offered protection, privacy and a panorama of unspoiled beauty. But we arrived to atypical August weather with whitecaps and driving horizontal rain. The rental folks were very understanding about the sudden in-person cancellation. A wild, wet honeymoon wouldn’t have made a good first impression, so we settled into a cozy B&B for a few days of further acquaintance—though I cast secret, longing glances to the open Pacific.

For the next few years we selected early September for our yearly husband/ wife paddling excursion. We rented a double out of Sidney on southern Vancouver Island, our home base, and headed over to Rum Island. The summer crowds had dispersed, leaving unrestricted campsite selection. She’s always cold while I’m evidently hot-blooded, so a ‘morning sun/evening sun’ tent site was selected. Unlike at home, where my homemaker wife plays a traditional role, I provided cooking services, plus hot-chocolate treats and washing-up chores. And I’ve tried to maintain this on subsequent trips. I’m probably getting the better deal.

The benefits of a double kayak can’t be overstated for a hesitant paddling partner. A double helps provide a safe, stable platform for a nervous partner when negotiating currents and boat wake, and certainly gives greater paddling efficiency for covering distance. And it promotes togetherness. But as the months and years ticked by, her skills and confidence grew incrementally until we finally took to single kayaks.

Though my most vivid kayaking memories over the last 25 years seem to center on solo trips among the wind and waves of Vancouver Island’s wildest shorelines, the trips taken with my ever-cheerful and committed companion provide a counterpoint to these more self-indulgent times. Sharing crimson-edged sunsets, lying side-by-side under a canopy of a billion stars, listening quietly together beside lapping shorelines, gently talking at the hushed edge of ancient rainforests, and swimming in a light rain are sensuous, earthy experiences for couples, through which their relationship can deepen and strengthen.

There have been other memorable moments too, when my planning and execution fell short of the ideal, like the time we headed out in narrow singles just at the end of the Labour Day weekend for the Flat Top Islands at the south end of Gabriola Island. Assurances were given that the conditions in Gabriola Passage were within the scope of our abilities, but missing slack tide and encountering large luxury yachts in the Pass translated into menacing conditions. With no time for a contact tow and increasing signs of fearful dread, I grabbed my naïve cohort around the waist, drawing the kayaks tightly into a raft, and locked lips in the splashing turbulence as we spun together before being spat out of the narrow waterway. At least I had fun with the improvised wet-kiss raft.

There was one early fall trip to Cabbage Island when I discovered just how trusting my long-suffering spouse could be. As we continued the next day around the southern end of Tumbo Island and headed for East Point, we encountered the large back-eddy that circulates water, jetsam and all manner of unsuspecting paddlers into deeper waters past Boiling Reef. Flood or ebb, the effect at 5 knots is much the same. Though I’d spent many enjoyable solo hours out there on nasty winter days, I could see this wasn’t for her. Hooking up my medium-length towline, I stated matter-of-factly, “Honey, relax, keep your hips loose. Your job for the next hour or so is to keep your kayak stabilized with slap supports and sculling as we make our way back in. Do not capsize, please. I’ll get us back to shore!” “Okay, I’ll try,” came the reply.

We did eventually inch our way back safely, but not before locals put out in a Zodiac to offer assistance. I refused, claiming confidence with our progress, perhaps too embarrassed and delusional about our situation. As it turned out, the swirling waters closer to East Point only compounded our problems. I lengthened the line sufficiently to distance us further from each other, provoking a none-too enthusiastic response from behind. In the absence of available flowers, a full-course meal back at a nice restaurant washed away any bad memories as forgiveness flowed.

A fast, nimble, dynamically stable sea kayak was eventually acquired, a McNulty Huntsman designed in Scotland. No more borrowing or renting. Finally, Yvonne had her own kayak. One very blustery day we headed out for a very real rough water paddle. The backup plan included the availability of a coastal trail as a bailout and a lee shore with incoming tide. Out of the bay off the headland there was a lively sea in the freshening breeze. As our kayaks danced together, I looked at my wife’s face. Her beautiful brown eyes beamed excitement. There was a huge, if slightly nervous grin—a priceless moment together which shines out as a highlight of my paddling experience.

© Doug Lloyd is a Victoria paddler and writer who enjoys exploring the waters of the Pacific Northwest. He’s happily married with two children, and they paddle as a family when they can.