KAYAKING RITUALS FOR THE NEW YEAR

Winter 2008

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 Neil Schulman

In the Grand Canyon, rafters kiss a rock called Vulcan’s Anvil to ensure a safe run through Lava Falls. Since we’re close to the turn of the year, it’s time to offer some new paddling “traditions.” Here are new ways to appreciate the sea, keep your group together, build your paddling skills and have fun.

Play Weatherman
You’re out on a multi-day trip. Instead of hovering over the VHF forecast, spend the day watching the weather—cloud and fog patterns, wind direction, sea state—and guess what will happen the next day. Then listen to the forecast for the next day, and watch the conditions. See if you’re right or wrong. This will help you understand the clues, so you can interpret the weather and know what’s coming while you’re on the water. Whoever’s guess is closest doesn’t have to wash dishes that night.

Blessed Are the Swimmers
Some old Scottish whitewater buddies had a rule that if you swam a rapid, you had to buy the first round of beer afterwards. Unfortunately, this heaped shame on the swimmers—those who had pushed their limits. So, I propose the reverse tradition. If you swim, you get free beer (or whatever your post-paddle reward may be). This way there’s another incentive to explore the edges of your comfort zone, see what happens, and not worry so much about staying upright or blowing the occasional roll. And it gives the rest of your group a chance to practice rescue skills—something we all need to do more often.

Swim In The Surf
At the beginning of a surf class, a friend of mine got the whole group to swim around in the surf. It helped everyone get a feel for the behavior of waves, but more importantly, it got us all over the shock of the first wave blasting cold saltwater in our faces. Inaugurate your ’08 surf sessions with a dunking—sans boat.

The Post-Lunch Huddle
Afternoon is usually when problems happen on the water. Conditions often worsen, people are tired, and there’s often a “horse smelling the barn” phenomenon. I’ve seen many groups that are very cohesive in the morning, only to break down after lunch. The usual reasons are getting spread out, failure to communicate a plan, and splitting into small subgroups. From here things can deteriorate quickly: a rescue is needed, but the group is separated, so help isn’t available. Or a part of the group goes astray and has to be chased down.
Don’t let it happen to you. Most groups have a pre-paddle huddle to discuss plans and contingencies, but few do so again after lunch. Make it a habit and avoid the afternoon snafus before they happen.

The Tow Game
An old paddling group used to play a game in which we’d try to attach our towlines to the bow or stern of someone else’s kayak—entitling you to a tow—while also trying to avoid someone else attaching to you. This exercise keeps you on your toes, and provides some fun mayhem and boat control practice. It also provides practice of a key skill: attaching a tow system quickly. This is essential when moving a rescue that is running out of sea room, and where seconds spent fumbling with your tow system can be costly. With this game you’ll hone the skill and have fun doing it.

Trade Boats and Paddles
We spend hours outfitting our cockpits until they fit us well, and we calibrate our paddles to our preferred length, grip and feather angle. This is a great process, since fit helps us control our kayaks and prevent injuries. But if we take it too far, we short-circuit learning. Paddling the same boat with the same paddle all the time can generate great performance in carefully controlled circumstances. But it also creates ineffectiveness as soon as something new is introduced. This is closed-loop learning. By contrast, open-loop learning is the ability to adjust to different circumstances, different gear, and still paddle well. So swap boats and paddles. Can you move your boat around with half a paddle? Try and find out.

Dawn Patrol
There’s no better feeling than being afloat for the sunrise. It’s a ritual best done alone, if conditions permit. You can start the day with your own thoughts, and with the rhythm of smooth paddle strokes. Summer’s warmer, but late winter sunrises give you more shut-eye. You may grumble when the alarm goes off, but you’ll be delighted once the morning is underway.

Bioluminescence
Some of my most mind-blowing paddling experiences involve paddling at night through a sea exploding with green sparkling bioluminescence. Bioluminescence or seasparkle, is caused by the tiny dinoflagellate Noctiluca scintillans. When moving water disturbs them they emit flashes of light. When millions of the little critters are present, the result is glowing green whirlpools following each paddle stroke, the paths of schools of fish or a breaking wave. Wait for a moonless night, and head out, hoping for some glowing plankton. Rolling with a dive mask will be astounding. Jimi Hendrix optional.

Thank the Sea
Every time my paddle hits water, I am thankful that I live in a world still inhabited by eagles, salmon, whales and countless other living things. Being thankful is one thing, and acting on that thanks is the next step. For each time you paddle, dedicate some time—an hour a paddle—to doing something that protects the areas you play in. Connect with conservation groups, contribute money and write letters to folks who make the key decisions. In fact, that’s how we got protected places to begin with.

Think Like A River Otter
Anyone who’s watched river otters in the wild knows that they seem to spend most of their time playing. They splash around madly in the water, slide down muddy banks, and frolic through their daily routine of catching fish. While surviving in the wild is no picnic, otters somehow remember to have fun. We kayakers, absorbed in our gear, technique and trip planning, can sometimes forget that. So remember to goof off, wear absurd hats, horse around, and don’t take kayaking too seriously.
See you on the water in 2008.

Neil Schulman lives in Oregon, where he strives to combine the playfulness of a river otter with the writing, photography and paddling skills of a human.