Drift Time Begins

Winter 2007

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Alan Wilson

This is the first time since retiring as Editor that I’ve written about paddling and it’s a great pleasure to be able to offer my thoughts to the “new” WaveLength under Diana’s editorship. All being well, I’ll submit a column for each issue under the title, “Drift-Time.” That’s the term I always used when Laurie and I were mothershipping, to mark the moment we launched our kayaks and got free of the big boat—sort of like my newfound freedom from publishing responsibilities!

I can report that Laurie and I are still without a mothership. As some readers may remember, we sold our elderly, converted fishboat in 2005. At the time, work pressures weren’t allowing us to do justice to the dear old vessel and it felt good to hand her on to new owners.

I had to promise Laurie, who’s been a boater all her life, that we’d get back into mothershipping in the not too distant future. To be honest, I’d be just as happy to stick to plain old paddle power myself, but I’ll admit that kayaking does fit very nicely with boating—it’s a great way to get your kayaks to places you wouldn’t otherwise reach. Mind you, the cost factor in mothershipping is something else again. The price of boats these days is a bit of a heart-stopper, so it may be awhile before we find just the right boat for us.

One thing I’ve noticed since selling the boat is that although our current practice of cartopping our kayaks is a great way to get to new launch sites, we certainly did a LOT more paddling when our kayaks were stored aboard the boat. Having them at the water’s edge made launching a breeze. On our month-long summer boating trips, we’d paddle every day, often more than once. At other times of the year, when work duties dictated that we couldn’t get away on the boat for even a weekend (alas, most of the time), we could at least slip down to the marina and drop our kayaks into the water for a few hours of bliss.

While easy access to the water was great (and those of you with waterfront property know that easy launching means more frequent paddling), the downside of paddling from the dock was that we paddled in the same locale most of the time. Fortunately, changing tides, winds and seasons usually provided enough variety to make it interesting. The great thing about a mothership (as opposed to waterfront property) is that when the big boat actually does leave the dock, every day can be a new waterfront.

Kayakers who go on camping expeditions are, of course, just as mobile as mothershippers, and limited only by available camping spots, good skills, gear and a hardy character. Despite all the conveniences offered by a mothership, there’s nothing quite like the joy of self-sufficiency a paddler has when landing on a beautiful, remote beach to set up camp—an unmatchable joy of discovery which taps into something deep inside you, unfiltered by all the technology of boating. On the other hand, it’s a lot of work making and breaking camp every day.

Mothershippers can get by with a less hardy character, given the comforts aboard, but they do need to find a safe anchorage each night, which can be harder than finding a place to pitch a tent. Protected anchorages are few and far between, so a lot of boaters end up overnighting at a dock (shore power is a bonus), especially those who enjoy the social side of boating. Being on the anti-social side ourselves, we usually chose to anchor out in whatever nook and cranny we could find, as far away from others as possible.

Sometimes, though, when on anchor watch in the middle of a stormy night, I’ve regretted not being at a dock, and envious of paddlers safe on shore. I remember, during one particularly bad gale, making my way in the pitch black to the foredeck of our boat to let out some line to increase the anchor’s holding power. With the line taut and rock-solid on the winch, I had to wait for slight lulls between gusts to free it a little at a time. While the deck bucked under me and the wind screamed in the rigging, I had visions of being blown away in the dark, without ever waking Laurie below decks.

At other, less blowy times, while lying snug and warm in our bunk with a downpour hammering on the deck above us, I’ve felt no desire to be tenting, and just as happy to be anchored out on our own.

Being between boats, as we are now, our biggest problem is trying to imagine how we can make serious gardening (our form of a pension plan) compatible with boating. Let’s see—prepping and planting in spring; weeding and watering in summer; harvesting and processing in fall—just where is boating going to fit in all that?!

Laurie assures me that when we are both retired (she’s working on it), we will find the time. For now I’m happy with whatever form of paddling we do. As for the future, I don’t really care if it’s mothershipping (sooner or later), expedition kayak touring, frequent cartopping, or whatever. Just put a paddle in my hand and I’ll be happy.

So while Laurie is checking out the ads in boating magazines, I’m watching for those breaks in the weather to get us onto the water. Ironically, we find the season when most boaters are tied up at dock to be the best for paddling—when we’re the only ones on the water except for over-wintering flocks of ducks and fat, happy seals surfacing around us. You just have to be ready to go when the going is good. And for once, we have the flexibility to do just that.

Now if it would just stop snowing!

Until next time, happy paddling everyone, and all the best for 2007.