Can you canoe, part two

There's nothing like getting together with a group of talented coaches and working on skills none of you yet possesses. Last Friday, Scott Fairty took Paul Redzimski, Wendy Madgwick, Bonnie Perry, Lyn Stone, John Martin and the two of us out on the water for a Canoe Two Star assessment and an update of our old BCU Canoe Safety to the new Foundations of Safety and Rescue. That sounds heady and intimidating, and it might have been if not for Scott's laid-back style and the enthusiasm of the group.
It certainly helped that all of us are experienced paddlers with a general level of comfort on the water in any type of boat. So what if we didn't yet know our J stroke from our C stroke? We picked them up fairly quickly.
Everybody's learning style was readily apparent. The verbal processors talked through everything prior to trying anything; the kinesthetic learners dove right in--sometimes quite literally. And Scott was the ringmaster, calling out the acts and letting us go at it.

Cross-bow stroke.

Emptying out a canoe.

Or main motivation for the assessment and update was our upcoming BCU Coach One assessment, for which these are prerequisites. What surprised us, however, was how much fun we had learning and demonstrating our new-found skills.
Then again, it's nearly always good to be on (or in) the water.
Click here for the full slide show.

Signs of Spring: Part 1

Everything's coming up kayaks.

After a winter of paddling mostly indoors, it's exciting to get out on the lake and rivers again. We've paddled on Lake Michigan several times already this year. The water is still cold (about 44 degrees), but if you dress appropriately, it's not unsafe. In fact, it's warm enough now that even Sharon is willing to roll and practice rescues. (She draws the line at about 42 degrees.) That's a sure sign of spring. And there are plenty of benefits to paddling on cold water: there's almost no boat traffic on the lake, the water in the harbors is still pretty clean, and the rivers tend to have nice currents and features.

Jeremy surfing a small wave on the "Mighty" DuPage.

This variety of padding is great for skill development. Here in the midwest, where we have no tides, river paddling allows us to experience currents and even small versions of tidal races. We can't eddy out from behind headlands on Lake Michigan, but we can practice that maneuver on rivers. The only ferrying we can do on Lake Michigan is in response to the wind, but we can practice ferrying to compensate for current on the rivers.
We thought about this last benefit on Friday, when we paddled into gusts of 25 to 30 miles per hour on the lake. The wind was out of the south and we were attempting to paddle southwest. If we headed slightly east, we ferried east; if we headed slightly west, we ferried west. The feeling was familiar because we had spent time ferrying on river currents.
There are many reasons to train in multiple paddlesports. That's why the British Canoe Union (BCU) requires coaches to be proficient in more than one discipline. Individual skills may not translate exactly from one paddlesport to another, but the combined knowledge base definitely augments your overall skill, comfort and enjoyment of paddling.

It's good to be back on open water.

Tristate paddle

Most of the time, we hear about exciting paddling opportunities after they're publicized. We aren't involved in the nitty gritty of organizing them; we're content to participate.
Not so the upcoming Burnham to Marquette Sea Kayak Expedition. We've been privileged to help plan this event, sponsored by the Northwest Indiana Paddling Association and spearheaded by its president, Dan Plath.
There are a lot of pieces to this puzzle, and Dan has managed to bring together a huge consortium of organizations in support of it. He's also reached out to paddlers in Indiana and Illinois to map out the route and strategize about how to enable a group to safely paddle it.
One of the challenges is finding appropriate put-ins and take-outs along a 50-mile stretch of Lake Michigan's shoreline. Yesterday, Dan and his fellow Hoosier, Steve Barker, met us, Lyn Stone (of CASKA) , Gary Mechanic (also of CASKA and the Illinois Paddling Council) and Keith Wikle of the West Michigan Coastal Kayakers Association, to explore possible put-ins.

Gary Mechanic, Dan Plath, Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin and Steve Barker, pondering the long carry at 31st Street.

We began at 31st Street, a beautiful beach with two major drawbacks: a long carry and limestone blocks offshore to break incoming waves. It isn't the ideal spot for a large group of paddlers to launch, particularly if some of them aren't experienced.
Next we moved to Burnham Harbor. The marina on the west side of the harbor has launch ramps that would be perfect for our purposes, provided we can obtain access to them and the nearby parking. Of the two sites, this was our preference.

Alec Bloyd-Peshkin points out the easy access at the Burnham Harbor Marina.

All this scouting worked up our appetite for paddling, so we unloaded our boats and got on the water.

Dan Plath and Steve Barker carry a boat down to the water.

It was a beautiful day. Keith dove right in.

Never mind the 40-degree water. Keith Wikle jumped in and scrambled into his boat. Lyn documented the event.

We paddled out the harbor and into what had been predicted to be 2- to 4-foot waves but turned out to be 1- to 2-footers at most. Still, we were aware of the added risk of the cold water and kept a watchful eye on each other.
Stay tuned for updates on this event. The weather and the water will be warmer. Not only will this be an opportunity to enjoy a long paddle in good company; it should also be a chance to learn about and advocate for a blueway and greenway from the tip of Chicago to the east side of Indiana. And who knows--perhaps it will be the start of a water trail clear around Lake Michigan.

Close encounters of the encouraging kind

When you kayak on Lake Michigan, the rules of the road don't count for much. The law of tonnage trumps all. Big boats have the right of way, and little boats stay out of the way.
And yet, we have our friends. The other day, we were paddling near Burnham Harbor, scouting launch sites for the upcoming Burnham to Marquette Sea Kayak Expedition and enjoying pretty much having the lake to ourselves, when we noticed a large white powerboat slowly heading right for us. Soon we realized it was a Chicago Police Department boat, and its captain wanted to talk to us. So we paddled toward it.
If you haven't yet had the pleasure of talking with any of the police officers in the CPD Marine and Helicopter Unit, you might not know that these guys are among the friendliest, most helpful cops in the city. They tend to be long-time mariners with a healthy love and respect for Lake Michigan and a serious dedication to keeping people safe on the water.
The captain, Roger, immediately recognized that we were capable of taking care of ourselves, so we chatted awhile. "I have to confess, 10 years ago I thought you kayakers were crazy going out here in those little boats," he said. "But now I'm thinking about buying one and joining you." So we gave him some local paddling resources, told him we'd be happy to kayak with him, and went our separate ways.
We've had several similarly positive enounters over the years with the police and Coast Guard. These guys see plenty of drunk powerboaters and oblivious jet skiers. We think they're relieved when they see knowledgable sailors and kayakers who clearly know what they're doing and how to keep from getting in trouble. That's a reputation we want to make sure that our paddling community upholds.
Consider, for a moment, the trouble that one novice kayaker caused the entire community when he went over a dam on the Fox River. That incident led to pending legislation to create 350-foot "exclusion zones" upstream and downstream of dams, eliminating portages and effectively making those rivers unpaddlable. (For more information, visit the Illinois Paddling Council.)
We have access issues on the lake, too. There is a limited number of put-in and take-out sites on the Chicago shoreline between Memorial Day and Labor Day. There can be heavy boat traffic on the lake and on the Chicago River on warm summer days. Because we are small and human-powered, we rely on good relationships with the authorities when we want to go through the lock between the lake and the river or organize an event like the upcoming Burnham to Marquette expedition.
We need to cultivate and maintain these relationships by being responsible and responsive. That's why we value encounters like the one with Roger and look forward to seeing him in a much smaller boat some day.

Now we understand

It must be for paddling.

Indulging our inner salmon

Here's something we have in common with salmon: We've been in all kinds of wonderful water, but every year we return to the tiny little pool where our love for paddling hatched.
OK, we stretched that metaphor to death. But how else can you explain our affection for the dinky little pool where the Chicago Whitewater Association (CWA) teaches 10-week classes every winter and spring?
We began as students about seven years ago. That's where we learned to roll and to control our boats. We gradually became assistants, helping set up gates and move gear. Now we're able to teach rolling and strokes to a new cohort of kayak enthusiasts and help on the club's teaching trips every spring on the DuPage, Vermillion and Wolf Rivers.
Last night was the final spring pool class in Oak Park--the night of the slalom, in which students are challenged to run through a series of gates, sometimes forward and sometimes backwards, as a test of their new-found paddling skills.

John Karch explains the slalom rules: Run all the gates once--some forwards, some backwards-- and do a roll or a 360-degree spin at the end before repeating the course once more. Each time you hit a gate, five seconds are added to your time.

People get very nervous, but they're also very supportive of one another. There's a lot of cheering when someone clears a gate, and groaning when they tap one with their boat or paddle.

Bret manages to clear a gate, using his kayak limbo skills.

After the instructors run the course, we take down the gates, haul out the boats and go out for pizza. We'll see one another again in a few weeks, when we embark on the first of the river trips.

Mike gives the slalom race two thumbs up. Next stop: actual moving water!

First signs of spring

A cluster of canoe paddles beckons wandering canoeists and wayward kayakers.

Forget groundhogs and crocuses. The first sign of spring for midwestern paddlers is Canoecopia, the annual paddlesports expo sponsored by Madison-based Rutabaga.
Canoecopia is more than a trade show. Sure, it features the expected vendor booths where visitors can try out and try on the latest and greatest gear, from boats and paddles to PFDs, watches, dry bags, wet suits, shoes, camping gear, cooking gear, safety gear and more. They can also browse a comprehensive selection of books and DVDs, and get information from outfitters and resorts, clubs and organizations, camps and magazines. In other words, anyone looking for anything related to paddlesports would find it here.

Dr. Danny Mongno, paddle authority extraordinaire, at the Werner Paddle booth.

But there's more to Canoecopia than that. Every hour, there are at least six simultaneous sessions where visitors can learn about paddling expeditions and destinations, get tips about nature photography and backwoods camping, and hear some of the top instructors explain their techniques.

Ben Lowry demonstrates rolling on dry land prior to a session in the pool.

But honestly, there's more to it than that, too. For us, Canoecopia is also a chance to connect. We spend part of our time in the hallway, where numerous clubs have tables, talking to passers-by about what our clubs are offering. This year, we were ostensibly representing CASKA (the Chicago Area Sea Kayakers Association) but also promoting the new NWIPA (Northwest Indiana Paddling Association), and encouraging attendance at the upcoming Paddlesports Festival in Aurora, the Chicago Shoreline Marathon, the new Burnham to Marquette Sea Kayak Expedition, and more.

At the CASKA booth, Sharon extolls the opportunities to paddle in the Chicago area.

Tom Lindblade, president of the Illinois Paddling Council, encourages people to lobby against proposed legislation that would restrict access to Illinois waterways.

In addition to reconnecting with old friends -- Danny Mongno of Werner Paddles, Kelly Blades of P&H Kayaks, Derrick Mayoleth of Kayak Quixotica, Damon and Sarah Smith of Riverside Kayak Connection and more -- we're always excited to meet new ones. This year, we had the privilege of seeing the premiere of Bryan Smith's new film, Eastern Horizons, and meeting him and his wife, Lise-Anne (who are four months away from bringing a new paddler into the world).

A dry moment caught on camera.

Ultimately, for us paddling is much more than a water-based sport. It's a community, and we thank Rutabaga for helping us reconnect every spring.

You can teach an old kayaker new tricks

Sharon completes a low brace recovery.

This is week three of the solo canoe class. It's strange and wonderful to be a student again. We experience every lesson on two levels: as students learning new skills, and as instructors fascinated by how other instructors teach.
Our paddling skills do and don't translate. Many of the strokes are familiar but different. Our draw strokes are almost identical, but the canoe pry has no counterpart in the kayak repertoire. The low brace is pretty similar, but the canoe high brace is an act of faith compared to the high brace recovery stroke we do in a kayak (the end of a roll).
Open boats sink much more quickly than kayaks containing flotation or bulkheads. And yet the strategies for assisted rescues are quite similar. The canoe folks just discovered the fabulous heel-hook reentry that sea kayakers began using a couple of years ago.
Stick around in any paddle sport and you'll witness techniques evolve. As we learned the high brace, IT (Instructor Trainer) Tom Lindblade noted that the ACA (American Canoe Association) has recently begun recommending a pry stroke instead.
We're enjoying watching another discipline's instructors adopt and teach techniques that change over time.

Alec attempts to roll a canoe.

Can you canoe?

We've enrolled in a Solo Canoe class. Stay tuned for photos and reflections as we seek to answer that question in the affirmative.

Getting ready for the Inland Sea Kayak Symposium

The Inland Sea Kayak Symposium resumes this year. It's a wildly popular symposium, and the campsite in Washburn fills up quickly. So we arrived early to get a good site.

There was little competition for sites. We got this prime location on our first drive through the campground loop.

Then we discovered we didn't have our tent. So we drove down to the boat launch to paddle.

We leashed and curbed our boat and didn't park. No need to stir up trouble!

That's when we discovered that we also forgot our boats. But the lake beckoned. It was covered in 30 inches of ice, but underneath that, we knew the water was delightful. So we practiced some solid-water rolling.

What's better than dry-land rolling? Solid-water rolling.

Nobody else showed up, and eventually we decided that we had shown up a little bit too early. We'll be back June 18 - 21. See you then!

Reflections

One thing we appreciate about the way Ronnie and Marsha teach is that they have definite views about how maneuvers and procedures, from strokes to rescues, should be performed and can explain the logic behind their convictions. And yet, if you do something differently and can explain why, they’re open to your ways.
Another thing we came to appreciate was the way Ronnie and Marsha work as a team. We could see their styles rubbing off on each other: Ronnie’s earnestness and Marsha’s playfulness; Ronnie’s attention on the training task at hand and Marsha’s insistence on noticing the dolphins and the clouds; Ronnie’s focus on the skills and Marsha’s attention to the emotions.
And yet, Ronnie can be funny, charmed by his surroundings and sensitive, and Marsha can be serious, fastidious about the fine points of a rescue, and precise in her critiques. And for both, safety and what they term “the duty of care” to students are always front and center.
This morning, we debriefed over breakfast. They critiqued each of us individually, and we had a discussion about the previous four days of training: highs, lows, what we learned, how we felt about our skills as paddlers and instructors. Their observations were stunningly accurate and inspiring, and they reinforced something we’ve come to believe about paddling in general: There is no one scale of skill on which we all fall relative to one another. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, our better and worse fits, our moments of brilliance, our blind spots and our areas in which we still need to improve.
We've been inspired by many paddlers over the years and have had an opportunity to train with a handful for a day here or there. This was our first opportunity to spend extended time with two coaches we highly respect, and we came away richer for the experience.

The rewards of returning home: Hannah and Jeremy

Day four, with towing and surf

Having stayed up late doing night navigation exercises, we inexplicable started early today. The agenda: towing in various conditions.
One of the things we love about teaching is watching the 60-watt light bulbs come on our students. For us, today was full of smaller holiday-light moments. We began with a few contact tow and short-tow exercises designed to reinforce ways to keep the victim’s boat close and secure without compromising the rescuer’s ability to paddle and remain safe. We also worked with our tow belts, in flat conditions and in surf. Lessons learned were mainly tweaks and improvements to what we already knew, but their total wattage added up quickly. They include:
- ensure that the quick-release knot in your short tow doesn’t get bound up with salt and sand (retie your contact-tow set up each time you paddle)
- use a carabiner in your tow bag to divide the full length of the long tow rope in half, then let it slip down to the victim’s boat to extend to full length (we previously used a daisy chain for the half length, and again, the salt and sand could keep it from easily releasing)
- if the person you’re helping through the surf is capable of assisting, you can direct them to back paddle when the waves begin pushing
- when you’re in the surf zone, rescues take on heightened urgency, but taking a moment to help the victim secure his or her spray skirt will aid stability even in a unemptied boat.
- don’t keep your carabiner in your mouth as you approach to start a tow unless you relish a trip to the dentist
- despite the urgency, pick your way in and time your approach so it’s as easy and controlled as possible
As the tide moved in and the waves built a bit, we had opportunities to practice surfing again, as well as read the changing waves and pick our way through rougher areas. But time was quickly running out. We were torn between our desire to stay out and play, and our need to get back and pack our gear. There’s never enough time on the water.

Day three: navigation day and night

Today is all about finding our way and staying out of traffic. The kind of stuff you hope your kids learn by the time they head off for kindergarten, but it’s trickier when you’re in a small boat on big water.
The day began with navigation exercises on land and on the water. We practiced finding bearings and triangulating to determine our position, and then finding a heading to a buoy that took into account the current and wind. We paddled out to the buoy and, once again, were joined by several playful dolphins.

Lyn photographs a dolphin, one of many we would see during the day.

The next step was safely crossing Tybee Road, a major shipping channel where the Savanna River meets the Atlantic Ocean. So we grouped up at a green bell buoy and watched for boats. When the coast seemed clear, we took the shortest route across, to the red buoy. From there we practiced taking bearings and adjusting headings until it was time to cross the channel again. This time, we heard the rumble of something large in the distance. It turned out to be a gambling boat—a windowless, tank-like vehicle that seemed like a symbol of floating desperation. Playing it safe, we waited about 10 minutes until it was at most two minutes from crossing in front of us, then took off across the channel. Our trip took about nine minutes. We might have made it if we hadn’t waited, but who wants to take the chance of being run over by a gambling boat?

Green buoy 17. When we visited it during the day, it was a helpful aid to navigation, marking our position and one side of the shipping channel. When we came back that night, it was a safe haven--a spot where we felt less vulnerable in the darkness and the Saturday night boat traffic.

When we returned to the same beach after dark, everything looked different. Lights blinked on the water, calling out their identities with their color and frequency. Estimating distances was tough. At one point, the residential lights more than five miles away on Hilton Head Island looked like bioluminescence about half a mile away. We used a red light to read our chart and compasses because red light doesn't compromise night vision, only to discover that the color made it difficult to tell one side of the bearing compass needle from the other or immediately see the color of buoys on the chart. Everything took longer and felt more uncertain in the dark.

Checking the chart and choosing a heading was harder on land in the dark, and even more so on the water.

When we got on the water, strong swells and a pushy current immediately rendered our intended heading obsolete. We paddled out to the buoy while watching a large freighter cruise up Tybee Road. The dolphins must have been asleep beneath us, one eye open, one eye closed. It was beautiful and magical being out at night. By the time we arrived at the buoy, we felt the full two knots of current pushing us out toward the ocean. That's when a motor boat sped by a little too close for comfort, reminding us how vulnerable we were.
Lessons learned include:
- practice with all your night gear before you really need to use it
- plan ahead on shore as much as possible (which is true night or day)
- don't let advance planning keep you from adjusting when you get on the water and feel the real conditions (or as Marsha says, "Get your brain off the paper.")
- pack before it gets dark, if possible
- secure anything you can't afford to lose (we used paddle leashes)
- realize that you may be far less visible on the water than you think.

Day two, complete with dolphins

If you’ve ever checked the online weather forecast and then set out without an umbrella only to immediately get drenched, you would appreciate our first navigation lesson of the day: look around. We checked the Tide Log, so we knew that the high tide had been at 4:43 a.m. and the low would be at 11:25. We knew that the ebb tide would peak at 2.1 knots, so using the 50/90 rule, we figured that the current at 9:30 a.m. was about 90 percent of that. So when Ronnie told us to choose a bearing across Tybee Creek in order to reach a specific heading, we chose bearings well upriver.
It’s a testimony to our honesty that we continued on despite immediate feedback from the water that it wasn’t flowing at anything like the 1.9 knots we had estimated. It certainly didn’t look like it was, either, but we had chosen to let what we thought we knew overrule what our senses told us. Lesson learned.
Ronnie and Marsha excel at demystifying things. Next, they had us paddle backward in current and wind. We dutifully did, correcting as we went with long sweep strokes on one side. Ronnie stopped us to point out something obvious we hadn’t considered: the first half of a reverse sweep stroke propels more than it turns; the second half turns more than it propels. So in windy conditions, the best way to correct is to only use the second half of the reverse sweep stroke on the side to which you’re turning. We knew that, but we had never applied it.
The rest of the day was full of other demystifying moments like these., including a lunchtime navigation exercise about simple ways to locate yourself on a chart and navigate while on the water.


We also surfed a bit and marveled at how different ocean waves are from Lake Michigan waves. We got long rides on waves that had longer period and came in actual sets. And at one point, while paddling in the offshore swells, we were joined by four dolphins, who slowed down and stayed with us for several minutes. We also paddled through the marsh at high tide, where we saw oyster catchers and other shore birds. The sun was setting across Tybee Creek as we loaded our boats. It was day that satisfied all three of our goals.

Day one, shivers and all

It’s a humbling experience for cold-weather denizens like us to come to a warm-weather locale like this and admit that we’re freezing. But we overcame our pride and acknowledged that today. The water was in the low 50s, the air didn’t break 40 and the wind never stopped.
We asked Ronnie and Marsha to coach us on several levels simultaneously: as paddlers, as instructors and as out-of-town visitors. Today was a mix of all three, with critiques of our techniques and teaching peppered with unfamiliar vistas and conditions. We saw jellyfish, barnacles and fish; marshes and hammocks; gulls and an eagle.
The opportunity to experience the tides and currents we’ve mostly only read about is a boon for Great Lakes paddlers like us. We also got some practice surfing waves that weren’t wind-generated.
Today was a relatively calm day. Even the famous and sometimes feared “triangle” was in a gentle mood. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Training with Ronnie and Marsha

During our three-month blogging hiatus, we didn’t hang up the paddles and mothball the kayaks. We were teaching for the Chicago Whitewater Association at the local YMCA, paddling on Wednesday nights in the huge UIC pool, and reading and thinking a lot about kayaking. But somehow, we didn’t feel compelled to write too much about it. There’s something about the indoor season that doesn’t lend itself to that sort of reflection.
All that should change now, at least for a few days. We arrived last night at Tybee Island, Georgia, with Lyn for four days of training with Ronnie Kemp and Marsha Henson of Sea Kayak Georgia. After our white-knuckle flight, we settled into the two-bedroom apartment attached to Marsha and Ronnie’s house, which is perfectly set up for paddlers. In addition to the basics (furnished kitchen, comfy beds, wi-fi), it has an outdoor shower for rinsing saltwater off gear, a bookshelf full of local guidebooks and paddling books and magazines, and a DVD cabinet full of paddling films. The brightly colored walls feature Marsha’s artwork, and the sun pours in through the large windows in the morning. It’s almost enough to make us want to sit around reading and listening to music, except that it’s blocks away from the water, and the reason we came is more compelling than the comfort indoors. We’re here to paddle.
It’s bitter cold here, at least by local standards: 26 degrees. That’s about 25 degrees higher than it is back home, but we probably wouldn’t be dressing for paddling outdoors if we were there and not here. Check back later for observations and images from our first day on the water here.

Signs of a bumpy time ahead?

One of Marsha's paintings hangs in a well-lit spot.

The apartment is on the left; Ronnie and Marsha live on the right.

Paddling the great indoors

The outdoor paddling season is far from over. We'll still be on the lake for another month or so (and, we hope, the annual New Year's Day paddle on the Chicago River). But the indoor paddling season has begun. It's a delightful period of overlap, when we can paddle in water that's 70 degrees one day and 50 degrees the next.

Dave Olson (left) visits with paddlers at the UIC open pool session.

Wednesday nights are open pool sessions at the University of Illinois at Chicago, thanks to Dave Olson of Kayak Chicago. Dave rents the pool for 40+ weeks and welcomes paddlers to pay by the night or by the season to use it. He also rents boats for those who arrange it in advance, and he offers lessons.
We mainly come to work on skills and enjoy weekly time on the water in the dead of winter. This past Wednesday was the first pool session of 2008/09, and most people just seemed happy to see one another again.

Wendy Madgwick and Hannah turn a single into a double.

Alec demonstrates a C-to-C roll.

Yep. Good decision.

Can't say we feel really sorry to miss out on that!

The hard decision not to paddle

We were supposed to paddle on the east side of the lake today with Keith Wikle, Doug Van Doren and Lori Stegmeier--kayaking friends we mostly see during the summer at various midwestern symposia.
But the weather had other plans. Over the past few days, we watched as the forecast grew increasingly unfriendly. Winds of up to 30 knots. Waves of 5 to 8 feet building to 8 to 12. Air temperatures in the lower 40s. Rain. Snow. Sleet.

The marine forecast this morning.

Webcam above the pier at South Haven at 10 this morning.
Keith says waves that go above the pier are 8 footers.

It's hard to decide not to paddle, especially when we've set aside the time and made arrangements with people we'd really like to see.
We're pretty sure Keith will hit the waves in his surf boat. We'll be thinking about him today and checking his blog tomorrow.

Paddles up!

Justine Curgenven. (Photo courtesy of Justine Curgenven.)

Over the course of two evenings, we watched This is the Sea 4. This is a generous package: one disk of shorter profiles of remarkable paddlers and locales; one disk with two longer expeditions.
Disk one follows Justine's now-familiar approach of documenting outstanding kayakers who collectively define the sport. But whereas This is the Sea 1, 2 and 3 were like a kayaking Who's Who and Where's Where , This is the Sea 4 widens the lens to explore the variation and diversity of what can be done with sea kayaks themselves. We meet kayak fishermen off the California coast, whitewater paddlers tackling the Ottawa River in sea kayaks, and a Norwegian father-and-son team who hop around on the tops of their boats in the fjords. We also meet a woman who nurses injured wombats back to health, and see Hadas Feldman on her home turf. The message of disk one is something like, "All over the world, people are pushing the bounds of what they and their boats can do. Don't be narrow-minded about what sea kayaking is about."
Disk two contains two expedition narratives that, like her earlier ones, show why sea kayak trips are so enticing but don't disguise how hard they can be. The Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Islands) circumnavigation with Shawna Franklin and Leon Somme manages to be a loving portrait of a remarkable place, a profile of the whimsical and knowledgeable owners of Body Boat Blade, and a story all in one. (Those of us who met Shawna and Leon at the West Michigan Coastal Kayakers Association symposium last year got a preview of this trip.)

Shawna Franklin and Leon Somme. (Photo by Justine Curgenven.)

The circumnavigation of the south island of New Zealand with Barry Shaw is considerably more challenging. The two paddled 2,400 kilometers, many of them into stiff headwinds, with limited landing options that were further complicated by punishing surf. At one point, Justine develops an infection and has to be airlifted to a hospital. They often look exhausted and sometimes almost defeated, and share all of that in the footage. At some points, Justine is even too tired to laugh. It's really a brutally honest documentary; she shares the tough decisions, the discouragement and the fear as well as the elation and excitement. That's something we've always appreciated about Justine's work, and it's very much in evidence here.

Barry Shaw landing through surf. (Photo by Justine Curgenven.)

We've found, over the years, that we return to each of the This is the Sea DVDs to review segments we love. The same will be true with this one.
Justine and Barry will be showing a one-hour condensed version of This is the Sea 4 and talking about their circumnavigation on Friday, November 14 in St. Charles, IL. Admission is $10, half of which goes to support Chicago Adventure Therapy. There will be an after-party nearby. For tickets or more information, visit Geneva Kayak Center or call 630.232.0320.

An unexpected delay

This is the Lake.

We got home too late Sunday night to watch disk two, and now we're swept up in election-day mania. We'll write our review tomorrow and post it promptly....promise!
So don't sit there reading blog postings. Vote!

Night at the movies

Yesterday we received our advance copy of This is the Sea 4, Justine Curgenven's anxiously awaited sequel to the sequel of the sequel of This is the Sea. Consider her the J.K.Rowling of the paddling world, with lots of great characters, loads of adventure, plenty of magic, but less of the teenage angst.


We watched disk one last night and will watch disk two tonight after the Chicago Whitewater Association pool session, so if you were hoping to hear what we think, check back tomorrow. Meanwhile, call Geneva Kayak Center at 630.232.0320 to reserve your tickets to her Nov. 14 midwest premiere.
How's that for restraint?

Do lakes get lonely?

We gently paddle the surface of the lake, leaving no trace behind.

As soon as we unloaded out boats near the 59th Street Harbor this morning, we could tell how dramatically the season has changed. The sun angled low through the crisp fall leaves still clinging to twigs overhead; the algae that made the ramp slippery during the summer was gone; fishermen were casting from the barren piers in the outer harbor; there was only one boat left in the inner harbor, and it looked forlorn. We paddled out in the middle of the channel with no concern for traffic because there were no boats in sight.
The wind was about 10 knots out of the northeast, causing waves mostly in the two- to four-foot range, which collided with one another and built a little higher off the breakwater that protects 63rd Street Beach. The surface water temperature is in the mid to upper 50s now--poagie weather.
We didn't have a lot of time, so we paddled south toward Rainbow Beach, enjoying the crashing of waves hitting the boulders along the shore, and then back north to 63rd Street Beach, where we caught a few nice rides on fairly gentle surf. We saw three boats in the distance headed for dry dock, and interrupted a gaggle of geese floating near the harbor mouth.
Lake Michigan must get lonely in the autumn. Perhaps that's why she thrashes her shores in the fall before subsiding under a blanket of ice in the winter. Either that or she revels in her solitude after a summer of assaults by jet skis, motor boats, tour boats and yachts. We like to think she enjoys our company, at least, as we gently paddle her surface, leaving no trace behind.

Knot a good situation

On Friday afternoon, while we were paddling, someone broke into our car and stole both of our wallets. We returned to a broken car window and a rash of urgent tasks: cancel the cell phone and credit cards, rekey the house locks, replace the drivers' licenses and a myriad other cards.

Since then, every day yields a new realization of something we no longer have: library cards, ACA instructor cards, insurance cards, a favorite green pen.
Today we realized the thieves also had the cool set of knot cards we bought with our paddling.net paddle perks and the rope we used for practicing clove hitches and bowlines.

Somewhere, some thief is practicing tying beautiful bowlines.

Note to selves: Bring wallets in boats. Keep house key away from IDs with home address. Renew paddling.net membership.

Not terribly lost in translation

For those of you who read yesterday's post and thought, "That's cool, but I wish I could read about it in French," we have good news!
It was picked up today by "Le Kayak et la mer."
Here's what they wrote:

Fabriquer son bout de remorquage court

Publié le 27 octobre 2008

En principe tous les kayakistes ont déjà un bout de remorquage long, c’est obligatoire en 6eme catégorie.
Mais plus rares sont ceux qui possèdent un bout court pourtant bien utile pour sortir rapidement un kayak d’un endroit difficile, assurer une pagaie ou même servir de leach. Vous trouverez sur le site Have kayaks, will travel une méthode très détaillée pour en fabriquer un de très bonne qualité ainsi qu’une méthode d’utilisation. C’est en anglais mais les nombreuses photos sont très explicites. Je crois bien que je vais m’en construire un sur ce modèle.

---

How to make your own short tow

When I was preparing to go out to Sea Kayak Georgia a few years ago to do some training before my Instructor Development Workshop, I needed a short tow setup. So I went out and bought a good-looking one for about $40.
During the second day of training, Ronnie Kemp and I were working on rescues. I was required to quickly release my tow belt and attached short tow in surf. The brand new short tow slid off the belt and sank.
Ronnie later showed me a type of short tow that can be made for a fraction of the cost of a commercial system. The parts are available at many outdoor sporting goods stores (or online--I've placed links below). The set-up connects to the deck lines in front of the paddler, where it's easy to reach, and uses an ingenious quick-release highwayman’s hitch, which allows it to be disconnected from the boat easily and quickly (essential for any tow system).
This is one of the first pieces of gear Sharon and I have made for ourselves; we find that the more we create and repair our own gear, the better we understand it and can make it suit our needs and the conditions we paddle in.
So here is the short tow system we use and how we put it together. Make sure you have the training to use it appropriately, and let us know what you think or what modifications you make.
--Alec

Materials:
Approximately 5 feet of 6 mm. braided nylon line ($2)
11 cm. Petzl runner ($4)
Petzl spirit straight gate carabiner ($9)
Or Stohlquist paddle biner ($20)
Rope end stopper with 1/4" hole ($4 a pack)

All the materials you'll need to create a short tow set-up.

First, seal the ends of the rope (if you had to cut it) using a flame:


Next tie a figure-of-eight to connect the rope to the runner:

Figure-of-eight follow-through connecting the rope to the runner. For instructions on this knot, click here .

Now connect the runner to the carabiner.

The runner prevents the rope from slipping off the carabiner.

Attach the rope-end stopper to the other end of the line. (Or, if you prefer, use any small ball or a monkey's fist knot.)

Your short tow is complete! Now it's time to attach it to your deck lines. Here is one way to use a highwayman's hitch to connect it. This is, essentially a series of slip knots, but they need to be done correctly in order to work properly.











(You can also check out this site for an excellent video on tying a highwayman's hitch .)

It's really strong. It can hold a lot of weight on the carabiner end:


And it can be released quickly and easily under tension by pulling on the ball end:

A dam good day

Saturday was the annual Geneva Kayak Center Kayak Fest, a day of free classes and an evening of socializing--sort of like a mini symposium but with boats and gear on sale and without the sleepover or registration fee.
We taught many classes at Geneva this year, so we were psyched to see some of our students again. We were also eager to see some of our fellow instructors, though we anticipate seeing them in the surf on Lake Michigan in the coming weeks (fall is surf season in Chicago) and then in the pool on Wednesday evenings during the winter.
It was a beautiful fall day. Some of the trees along the banks of the Fox River were rich hues of orange and gold; geese and herons adorned the water and banks. But best of all, the river was full of kayakers, many of them beginners or near-beginners, eager to learn new skills before the end of the paddling season.

Students who attended Kayak Fest were rewarded with free classes and lovely weather.

For us, the season isn't quite over. Dry suits and sufficient skill enable us to safely paddle into November and December. In the coming weeks, we'll chronicle some of the beauty of Lake Michigan settling into the solitude of its colder season.
But for now, we're enjoying looking at the photos from Saturday. Funny, but people are smiling in all of them!

Paul Doughty in a rare moment on the other side of the camera.

The blog is back

We've been a bit postless for the past two months. Sorry. We were (obviously) busy. (Know anybody who isn't?)
In fact, taking a break helped us clarify why we blog. Over the summer, we used the blog to share our thoughts about kayaking, teaching people to kayak, and the paddling community. We used it to publicly ponder ideas, poke fun at ourselves and sometimes others, call attention to people and places and sometimes problems, and celebrate what we've learned and what we've done.
We were surprised and pleased by the response we got. In one month, more than 1,000 people visited our blog, even though we did little to promote it. We received thoughtful comments online and in person from people near and far, including some of the students in our classes. Clearly, something we were doing was entertaining, useful or both.
We continued padding after our last post, though not as intensely as during those two months, when padding was nearly a daily activity. Even now, with the air and water temperatures dropping, the days growing shorter and the shadows growing longer, we're out there in our dry suits, enjoying the relative solitude of Lake Michigan in the fall.

The days get shorter, the shadows get longer, and we get taller!

Starting now, we will do our best to post weekly. This blog will stay kayaking-focused; we won't subject you to random musings about life, the universe, brownies and all that. Rather, we'll continue the journey we began back in June, when we asked you to come with us on our quest to become better paddlers, better instructors and better bloggers.
So welcome back. We hope you visit weekly, comment occasionally, and benefit from what you find here.
--Sharon & Alec

An impromptu slalom course near a Chicago beach.

Join the club!

A photo from Montrose Beach on a calmer day. We weren't able to take any photos during the surf session.

Last Saturday, Tom Bamonte, the overachieving president of CASKA (Chicago Area Sea Kayakers Association), organized a club teach-in at Rainbow Beach on Chicago's South Side. Five instructors and about a dozen students showed up at 7 a.m., open to whatever the day might bring.
As it turns out, the day brought wind and waves--impressive ones. Two- to four-footers, depending on whether you partially hid in the lee of a breakwater or took your chances exposed to the full fetch of the lake. Either way, it was a day to learn to surf, to practice landing under control, and to try out rescues and rolls in "conditions" (i.e. waves).
Something we learned the hard way a few years ago: Don't let anybody on the water in surf conditions without a traffic pattern. Since we were dealing with less experienced paddlers, we also reviewed the rules of padding in surf: Anyone on a wave has the right-of-way, anyone down-wave has right-of-way over anyone further out, and if you're on a collision course, flip!
Out we went. The first thing we discovered was that we had two groups: those ready to brave the waves, and those who were terrified. Alec and Jim Tibensky took the braver souls; Tom Hieneman, Tom Bamonte and Sharon took on the sensible ones.
What fascinated me (Sharon) was watching the beginners discover that they didn't know how to brace after all. Sure, they had slapped the water with the backs of their paddles in various classes, but they had never truly needed a low brace, and now that they did, it didn't work. Over they went. Over and over. We quickly ducked behind the breakwater for a refresher course on bracing.
To me, this illustrates the limitations of learning and practicing braces and support strokes on calm water. It's like a fire drill--useful for rehearsing, but a pale approximation of the clearheadedness and technique you'll need for the real thing. An hour or so in the surf proved more productive than days in class, and far more tiring. By 11 a.m., everyone was exhausted.
The other group headed out to practice rescues beyond the surf zone. Again, these are skills we nearly always teach in calm waters, reassuring students that they work well in conditions, too. In wind and waves, students discover why it's so essential to maintain contact with the boat and paddler, and why excess gear on the deck is undesirable. All the students succeeded in their rescues, but they got some real-world experience in why it's important to pay attention to the details when executing rescues. (As Leon Somme, says, "Perfect practice makes perfect." Or at least, that's what we think he says!)
Joining CASKA costs $12.50 a year. For that, you get discounts at local paddle shops that quickly surpass the cost of membership. You also get friends to paddle with, the wisdom of the crowd, and sometimes, four hours of free instruction.
If you're a Chicago-area paddler, consider this your invitation to join CASKA. If you're elsewhere, check out your local club. There's no better deal in town.

Sorry about the blog withdrawl!

Medieval torture? No, just some wrist gaskets being glued into place.

OK, we've heard from enough people that we feel guilty. Yes, we've been too busy to blog lately. Yes, we've been on the water. Tomorrow for sure....we promise!

A mass demotion

There are no PFDs here.*

Yesterday we called an emergency meeting of all our paddling gear, poured a few drinks, and broke the news as gently as we could. All the PFDs are now lifejackets**, we explained. We're sorry, but this wasn't our decision, we told them. We're only following orders.
The MsFits took it well. One of the Lotuses shed a few tears. The Locean asked for another shot.

* with apologies to Alex Kotlowitz.
** see the italicized portion at the end of the previous post.

Teach early and often

After several days of paddling for fun -- something that goes by the term "personal paddling" in our kayak logs -- we were scheduled to teach a Level 2 class yesterday at Geneva Kayak Center. The class began at 9 a.m. at the Big Rock Quarry in Sugar Grove, but we had to leave our house pretty early to drive to Geneva; hitch up the trailer; load the spray skirts, life jackets*, paddles, pumps and paddle floats; stop for more coffee; and get to the quarry before the students arrived.

Time to get on the road. That's a.m., not p.m.

On the drive out, we reviewed our lesson plan, making a few modifications based on new ideas we'd been thinking and talking about. We wrote an outline on an index card and put it in a zip-lock baggie because we were too sleepy to keep more than one idea in our heads at a time, and right then, that idea was the need to drink more coffee.

Boats and gear are loaded up, and we're ready to head for the quarry.

Shortly after we arrived at the quarry, our students began showing up. They were excited, and their mood was infectious. Before long, the five-hour night was forgotten and time began to fly.

This is what makes it all worthwhile.

Six hours evaporated. We aren't even sure where they went. We worked on wet exits, strokes and rescues. We talked about safety and local paddling opportunities. And in the process, a group of strangers began to feel like a group of friends, and a group of beginners gained considerable skills. At the end, it was hard to say "good-bye," and many of them lingered, helping us strap down the boats and chatting.
Teaching is rewarding on many levels. Students force you to think about why and how you do the things that you do without thinking. They require you to figure out how they learn so you can effectively teach them. They remind you how far you've come as a paddler. And they reinforce your conviction that kayaking is a blast.

* Yes, we know. We wanted to write "PFDs," but we just got the following note from the American Canoe Association:
"USCG says 'Lifejackets'
"It has been clarified by the USCG that the use of the term
lifejackets is back and should be used when discussing the essential
piece of equipment all paddlers should have and should wear.
"The only time the term / acronym PFD is being used is when discussing
the types of lifejackets and/or regulation issues.
"It will be a challenge for many of use [sic] to change the terminology that
we use, but to keep with the winds of change we thought you should
know that the USCG will be using 'lifejackets' for general terms
and PFD for regulatory reference."
A challenge, indeed!

Crosstraining redefined

The BCU (British Canoe Union) recently revised its requirements for certified coaches, requiring more interdisciplinary skills. It's no longer sufficient to be able to teach one type of paddlesport; coaches are now expected to be able to teach students to paddle a variety of boat types.
We've begun an interdisciplinary approach of our own, too, though mostly in jest.

Stand-up paddling. Harder than it looks!

Skin-on-frame boat with Euro paddle. Sillier than it looks.

Ready, set, surf!

Yesterday, Hannah, Alec & Sharon took Clare (8) and her mom, Karin, to 63rd Street Beach.

Ready.

Set.

Surf!

Where's Waldo?

Somewhere on the road between Grand Marais and Chicago. Who knew?

ironies of paddling, part three

Paddling along Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.

When students sign up for day trips during a kayak symposium, they typically are given a choice of beginner or intermediate trips. Those who plan and lead the trips take a few things into consideration in determining the skill level of a trip: distance, length and number of crossings*, and overall potential for conditions**.
Students who sign up for trips are supposed to take only one thing into consideration: their own paddling proficiency.
But how are they supposed to know whether they are beginner or intermediate paddlers? Those are vast and highly subjective categories. Is a beginner a complete novice? Someone who has paddled only occasionally? Someone who can't break three knots without a tail wind? Someone who hasn't paddled that distance before? Or someone who's just terribly insecure or paddles with too many people with greater skills and experience?
I (Sharon) regarded myself as a beginner well into my third year of kayaking. Yeah, I had a reliable roll and could paddle pretty hard and pretty far, but I was paddling with some fairly spectacular kayakers, like Bonnie Perry and Andrea Knepper (and Alec, who is slightly embarrassed that I've mentioned him here), and by comparison I felt like a novice.
A few days ago, I helped lead a 12-mile trip along Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. It was billed as an intermediate trip, and 17 students signed up. By the standards I set for myself, none of them were true intermediates, and the trip was challenging and exhausting for many of them. But they all made it and they all had a good time. This trip was a serious stretch for many of them, but by taking it on, they improved their skills and their confidence.
So were they intermediate paddlers after all? Probably not, and they certainly had no business attempting that trip on their own. But with five instructors to guide them and handle the issues that arose (which included issuing a "securite"*** to motor boats we couldn't see through the fog, executing a rescue close to the cliffs, and towing one paddler for five miles), they were intermediate enough for this trip.
In any case, I'm glad they didn't ask me before signing up. So here's the irony: Even though they had less experience and training than me, they improved my understanding of what a beginner or intermediate trip truly is.

* crossings are non-coastal portions of trips when paddlers are more exposed and less able to take refuge at shore.
** conditions refers to wind, waves, fog and weather.
*** "securite" is a notice to mariners over channel 16 (the emergency channel).

The power of symposia

Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, the midwest supports eight kayak symposia, from the old (Great Lakes Sea Kayak Symposium) to the new (Windy City Symposium), from the family-oriented (West Michigan Coastal Kayakers Association) to the all-female (Ladies of the Lake). Some are traditional (Greenland Symposium and QUJAQ Training Camp). Most are “bicultural” (Door County Sea Kayak Symposium, Inland Sea Symposium). But all have some key attractions in common: They offer an opportunity for students to take a wide range of classes from numerous instructors in a concentrated period of time; they enable vendors to demonstrate and explain their gear to potential buyers, and potential buyers to test paddle a variety of kayaks; they provide beginner and intermediate paddlers with access to top-notch coaches from around the country and the world; they feature presentations by world-class kayakers who've completed expeditions the rest of us can only dream about; and they enable a gypsy group of local kayak instructors to reconnect several times during the summer months.

The rodeo at the Western Michigan Coastal Kayakers Symposium, where students and instructors apply their paddling skills to absurd challenges.

Many symposia include trips. Here, students and instructors paddle through the Apostle Island sea caves during the Inland Sea Kayak Symposium.

Doug Van Doren checks out a waterfall along Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore during the Great Lakes Sea Kayak Symposium.

Most of us who teach at these symposia do so as volunteers. We provide all our own gear, pay for our own transportation, and donate our time. Students are sometimes baffled by this generosity.
In fact, it's really not so hard to understand what motivates us: a desire to offer newer kayakers what was once offered to us, a dedication to sharing our enthusiasm and knowledge about a sport we love, and the pleasure of hanging out with other people who feel the same way.
In the five short years that we've been paddling, we've grown very fond of our fellow midwestern instructors. We are a family of sorts, full of larger-than-life characters, crazy stories, mischief and compassion. We strip in parking lots, debate the stink-resistance of various types of clothing, eat one another's food and watch out for one another. If that's not family, what is?
Students pick up on this camaraderie. We still recall our first symposium, where we were impressed by how much fun our instructors were having and how much they enjoyed one another's company. Thanks in part to them, we became skilled enough to offer the same inspiration and instruction to the next cohort of paddlers.
Symposia aren't a substitute for taking full classes at a reputable kayak center. They're more like a tasting menu, while full-length classes are a multi-course meal. But symposia are where community is built and sustained, and the midwest is fortunate to have so many.

Local paddler profiles, part two

Sharon with Lyn on a Chicago beach.

Every community has its unsung heroes—people who make a difference without fanfare. The kayaking world is full of such people. Often they're instructors who patiently teach a wide range of students, making them better and safer paddlers. In the coming months, we plan to profile some of these people, with a focus on ones in the midwest.

Lyn helps a novice paddler get settled in his boat at the Great Lakes Sea Kayak Symposium.

Lyn Stone is our first victim in this endeavor. Sharon first met Lyn in 2006 at Ladies of the Lake, a kayaking symposium in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. (It moves around. This year, it will be held on Drummond Island from August 21 to 24. Get the details at Down Wind Sports.) The meeting was classic Lyn (and Sharon, for that matter). Sharon showed up for a BCU three-star training without her spray skirt, which was hanging back in the campsite several miles from the put-in. Lyn, true to form, had a spare and offered it to Sharon.
We later learned that Lyn has a spare or a repair for practically every essential piece of gear. She's has a remarkable depth of knowledge about kayaking, but she shares it selectively, not boastfully, when it's requested or needed. And she's bicultural, in the paddling sense of that term; she prefers a Greenland stick but teaches mainly with a Euro paddle.
Alec first met Lyn at a Geneva Kayak Center staff training the following year, where he was impressed by her down-to-Earth attitude. But best of all, she's always willing to help out, whether a friend needs new deck rigging or a student needs coaching.
Lyn is part of our instructor cohort. She and Sharon were certified together by Sam Crowley in September, and the three of us have trained and taught together since then. We rely on one another as we refine our ideas, reflect on our experiences, and grow as paddlers and instructors.
After we returned from Michigan's east coast, we spent one day paddling our home waters with Lyn. We put in at the 59th Street harbor and paddled past the fishermen and docked motorboats and out onto the lake. We retrieved balls and balloons that children had lost while playing at the 63rd street beach, and took at detour into the 57th Street harbor to visit Maynard Welch, the retired harbormaster who continues to best represent the spirit of that lovely harbor. (For a profile of Maynard, check out the Nov. 22, 2005 issue of the Chicago Tribune.) Then we paddled down past The Point, where we held our engagement party 20 years ago. The water was a little bumpy, with wind waves refracting back off the rocks, and boat traffic was light. We stopped on a lovely little pebble beach to eat lunch and watched two dogs repeatedly compete to retrieve a buoyant rubber bone from the water.

Dry suits are our best effort to replicate what these swimmers were born with: fur.

Paddling partners have numerous roles. We watch out for one another's safety, encourage one another to continue improving, and support one another when our bodies or our confidence isn't up for the challenges that confront us. Yes, we're local heroes, if only to one another. Then we hang up the neoprene and, like Clark Kent, go back to our day jobs.

Another must-stop

The scene outside Sherman's Dairy Bar on a warm Friday afternoon.

Add this to the list of places you must stop on your way home from Michigan.
Sherman Dairy Bar, an unprepossessing creamery and ice cream parlor on Phoenix Road in South Haven, has been serving up huge scoops for 50 years. On a hot weekend afternoon, you might have to stand in line for 10 or so minutes, but it's well worth the wait. You can choose between about 50 flavors, from chocolate and vanilla to cappuccino and coconut almond fudge, all made with real ingredients and no artificial flavorings. It's anything but low-fat, and it's utterly fabulous.

Building on a paddling community

Until this year, we've spent most of our extracurricular (non-teaching) paddling time working on our skills and enjoying the camaraderie of Chicago-area paddlers. But thanks to the symposia we've been attending, we've also made connections across the country, and we've begun seeking out our paddling partners when we travel.
On this trip, we were able to hook up with Frits Kwant (see Tuesday's post) as well as two other WMCKA paddlers we've long wished to spend more time with: Keith Wikle and Paul Fishback.
Our plan was to meet at 5 p.m. near the channel that connects White Lake to "the big lake" (Lake Michigan). But a conspiracy of weather and traffic kept us about 5 miles north in Frits' house and off the water until about 6:30 p.m. The NOAA weather radar revealed a major storm cell over Green Bay, Wisconsin, which we estimated would allow us time for at least a short paddle. We agreed that we would not paddle all the way down the coast to White Lake, and that it would be easy to pull off if the weather worsened and wait it out.

Setting off from the beach, wondering about that approaching storm system...

So much for plans. As soon as we got on the water, Keith set a brisk pace and before we knew it, we were more than half way to our destination. The storm didn't look too close, and since we were within easy reach of White Lake, we decided to continue. Besides, we were getting hungry.

Frits and Paul paddle into the wind. Our flexible float plan hinged on the speed with which a storm moved in from Green Bay.

Keith tries to hide his carbon fiber snow shovel. Where's your Greenland stick, Keith?

We reached the take-out a little after 8 and finished the car shuttle. By the time we were nearly done loading our boats, it was raining and thundering, with lightning illuminating the sky.
We devoured our dinner and were among the last to leave the inn that night, setting out like so many wanderers to our separate destinations for the night.

Photo op out on the lake. We didn't quite get to the Old Channel Inn by 9 p.m. for dinner, but when we arrived, Clarice was waiting and the storm was only too happy to let loose.

Thanks for paddling with us Frits, Paul and Keith! We look forward to paddling with you and our other wonderful WMCKA friends in the coming months and years.

The other side of the lake

Most of our Lake Michigan paddling takes place on the western shore of this Great Lake. It's lovely to be on the eastern shore, which tends to have steeper beaches and therefore more breaking waves during the summer. (We get our fair share of those in the fall.)

Approaching the lighthouse from the side it was designed to be seen from.

Today we paddled from Stony Creek up to the Little Sable Lighthouse. The shore is lined with summer cottages ranging from the sweet to the ostentatious. We battled a headwind all the way up, so we stopped for lunch on what appeared to be public land. It turned out to be private but not yet built upon, and the Florida resident who owns it motored over in his ATV to make sure we were OK. (It was pretty wavy.)

Yes, we're fine. In fact, we like the waves. Would you please dispose of the garbage we collected from the water?

He kindly took away the garbage we had collected from the water. (We think there's so much of it because of the July 4 weekend. What a way to celebrate your indepenence!)
We returned just in time to catch headwinds all the way back, too. Here's what we collected on the way back.

We went fishing for trash and came back with quite a haul!

Most of it is chip bags and candy wrappers. If fewer foods were sold in single-serving packages and people ate more whole foods and fewer convenience foods, perhaps there would be considerably less garbage in the water.

Local paddler profiles, part one

Sharon, Frits and Alec on the Lake Michigan beach where Frits keeps his boats and paddles almost daily, weather permitting.

We met Frits Kwant almost by accident at the West Michigan Coastal Kayakers Association symposium this year. We were, as usual, among the last to finish packing up and leave, and Frits was in no hurry because he lives only minutes away. When we mentioned that we would be visiting the area in early July, he graciously offered to reserve a campsite for us.
So of course we had to paddle together.
Frits has been paddling for 17 years. During that time, he has built four boats, numerous Greenland-style paddles, and a charming collection of maritime-themed plywood sculptures. Ten years ago, he retired from his job as a special education teacher in the Grand Rapids school system; a couple years ago, he and his wife, Clarice, remodeled their summer place near the lake into a year-round home, sold their house near the city, and became some of the few full-time residents of this glorious area.
Frits does not suffer from nature-deficit disorder. If he isn't on the lake, he's running along the country roads or watching the humming birds that frequent the many feeders that line his porch. A spry 67-year-old with a twinkle in his eye, he's open to adventure and has paddled some pretty challenging waters. He isn't interested in certifications and other external validations of his commitment to kayaking. He's simply a man who loves to paddle and has acquired the skills he needs to enjoy the sport safely.
We set off from the beach near Frits and Clarice's home and paddled north through choppy wind waves to Flower Creek, an almost hidden waterway that snakes past a few summer homes and then through marshland inhabited by muskrats, deer, turtles and innumerable birds.

A few of the residents of Flower Creek. Moments later, they slipped into the water.

The unusually high water levels allowed us to paddle for what seemed like miles, though it was difficult to say how far we actually went through the twist and turns. It was peaceful and quiet, in contrast to the crashing waves on Lake Michigan. Frits appreciates both equally: the gentle creek and the challenging waves, the intimate view of one little area and the expansiveness of the big lake. And all the while, he shared with us stories of this place and the people who live here.
Kayakers always rely on local knowledge. It's how we learn when and where to paddle. It's how we avoid hazards and find out about the best a place has to offer, from surf waves to pie. Frits was our premier source of local knowledge this week. He shared his knowledge (and his time) freely, and we feel grateful.

Frits in the third boat he built. (He made the paddle, too.)

Camping as dry dock

A lone tent amid RVs. It's very quiet, if not exactly rustic.

(At last we have email access again....)
We're staying at Meinert County Park, near Montague, Michigan. We are the lone tent in a campground full of RVs, many of them parked here for the season.
How camping has changed since we were kids! Back then, you spent a few dollars for a small spot without water, electricity or too many neighbors. These days, it's not unusual to pay $25 and get all those hook-ups whether you want them or not. Back then, there were lots of tents and few of these enormous homes-on-wheels. These days, RVs are the norm, and many feature outside decorations and well as all the indoor amenities of home (showers, air conditioning, televisions).
We think we understand the proliferation of RVs as car culture meets convenience. They're cheaper than owning a cottage or staying in motels while traveling. They're not really a substitute for tents as much as they are an opportunity to have your home and leave it, too.
This is the quietest campground we've encountered because everybody seems to be indoors watching TV. We have the bathroom to ourselves because everybody else brought their own. It's not all bad!

Neatly docked in their slips. What would you name them? "Lovely lady?" "He's not home?"

This campground reminds us of a harbor in which we are the only kayaks and everyone else has docked their motorboats. But unlike boat owners, RV owners don't seem to name their mobile homes. Imagine if they did. What would they choose? Perhaps they'd go for the corny names boat owners choose, such as "Betsy Sue" and "Dividends." Or maybe they'd go the bumper sticker route with "My other home is a castle."

Another kind of r-and-r

Off with the old; on with the new. Most of what you need to replace your dry suit's neck gasket.

The first couple of days after we return home are taken up by laundry, bills, weeding, returning calls and emails, and other mundane activities that expand like kudzu in our absence. There's no time for the conventional r-and-r (rest and relaxation). But we have an r-and-r of our own: repair and reconnect.
Sharon's dry suit neck gasket gave out a month ago. We think it was a casualty of heavy use and sunscreen. (Even if you're careful to apply sunscreen after your dry suit is on, you'll get some on your gasket every time you get in our out of the suit.) So we cut if off (scary!) and followed Kokatat's excellent directions for replacing it with a new one.
What's a dry suit and why do you wear one? It's a waterproof garment with latex gaskets at the neck and wrists (and sometimes the ankles, unless it includes booties) worn when water temperatures are low enough that a paddler might risk hypothermia (at worst) or discomfort and unwillingness to take risks (at best). Ours are made of breathable GoreTex, so they're surprising comfortable in warmer air conditions. We bought them when we realized that they could extend our paddling season. They're by far the most expensive pieces of clothing we own and the most indispensable.
The other "r" stands for reconnecting. We've caught up with our families and many of our friends. It must be time to go paddling again!

Sharon helps Watermelon Man try on her dry suit.

Ironies of paddling, part two

Kayaking is a so-called "silent sport." It shares this status with bicycling, sailing, running and other pursuits that don't require a motor. As such, it's kind to the environment as well as healthy for the body. All good so far.

But in order to go kayaking, we pretty much have to drive our car. We can't throw our boat on our shoulders and hop on the train--especially when we travel with four sea kayaks and four whitewater boats. (We could, perhaps, rig up a bike trailer for short distances, but not for trips like the one just took.)

So the irony is this: All year long, we minimize our car usage. The kids walk or ride their bikes (or, in Jeremy's case, unicycle) to school. I take the train to work. We even pull a bike trailer to the store to buy groceries whenever the weather and our schedules permit. Until the summer, we are far below the 10,000-mile average most car drivers put on each year. Then paddling season arrives and we negate all our virtuous car avoidance.

At least we aren't polluting the water after we park.

Ironies of paddling, part one

Before nearly every kayak class, students (and sometimes instructors) ask the same thing: "What should I wear?" This isn't a matter of fashion or appearances. It's an issue of comfort and possibly safety. Matching our gear to the temperature of the water and, to some extent, the air is a skill developed through experience and often as a consequence of poor decisions we've lived to regret.
The irony is this: When you're paddling day after day, you don't need much of a wardrobe at all. Every day you put on the clammy neoprene you wore the day before. Every evening, you change into the same pair of lightly worn clothes you wore the previous evening. And best of all, nobody you hang out with cares because they're all wearing the same things over and over, too.

Home sweet home

Another riddle: What's the first thing kayakers do upon returning home?
Answer: De-stink their gear! This is a rather urgent matter. After 48 hours of stewing in their own juices, our neoprene wetsuits, spray skirts and booties are overripe. They need to be soaked and scrubbed with wetsuit shampoo, rinsed and dried. Our gear cared for us, keeping us comfortable on the water for two weeks. Now we care for it, cleaning it and putting it away for our next paddle. We've found that if we set aside time for this part of the process, what used to be a chore has become preparation for the next trip.

Last stop before Chicago

Whenever we come home from points east, we stop at our favorite produce market: Jansen's, in Hobart, Indiana. The produce is fresh, the prices are low, and you can almost taste the amazing dishes the shopping-cart-pushing locals are planning to prepare. We usually find locally grown produce at Jansen's, in contrast to Jewel and Dominick's, which often sell only California peaches when Michigan ones are in season.

Cloudcasting

For a year or so, we've been trying to improve our understanding of weather systems in general and forecasting in particular. We'd simply love to be able to look at the sky and say things like, “There were wispy cirrus clouds yesterday afternoon and they haven't thickened, so the weather should remain fair for the next 24 hours.” Our motivation is more than academic; we want to feel more confident about when it's safe to paddle and when we ought to stay home.
This goal has led us to purchase various weather books, follow the weather page of the Chicago Tribune almost obsessively, check in regularly with several weather-related websites, and take lots of photographs of clouds. Here are some images from our ride home, along with our understanding of what they suggest about impending weather.

Low blankets of thick nimbostratus clouds predict rain--which, in fact, happened shortly after we took this photo.

As a new front moves in, fair-weather cumulus clouds give way to taller, more ominous swelling cumulus clouds, which later built to cumulus congestus.

True cumulus congestus clouds. Next stop: cumulonimbus (thunderhead) clouds.

Rain falling and thunder in the distance. Probably not the best time to be out on the water.

Trailer trouble on the home stretch

Canadian Tire to the rescue.

Another thing Google Maps doesn't account for: trailer trouble.
We left Madawaska at 7:30 this morning, hoping to make it to Kalamazoo by early evening. But by 10 a.m., our right wheel was rubbing on the fender and smoking. We pulled over and spent close to two hours removing the fender, then discovered that the U-bolts connecting the spring to the axle were loose. We tightened them, but that left the trailer listing to the right. That's when we realized the true root of the problem: one of the leaves of the right side two-leaf spring was missing. No doubt it had jostled loose and fallen off on a bumpy road this morning. So we set off in quest of a new spring (and perhaps some assistance installing it) on the Friday before Canada Day, when everyone else was busy buying fireworks and beer.
We pulled into a truck garage first, where a kindly service manager assessed our problem and agreed that we might not be wise to continue driving with the trailer looking as it did. He didn't carry small springs like ours and wasn't supposed to work on any vehicles other than trucks, but said he would try to help if we could find the part. He sent us off with directions to the local Canadian Tire, a nationwide chain of stores that used to specialize in tires but has since expanded to sell nearly everything but food.
That Canadian Tire location no longer carried springs, but the service manager there called four others to find one that did. Long story (and long afternoon) short: We wound up in London, where a service manager and mechanic embraced the challenge. They didn't have a two-leaf spring, so they modified a four-leaf spring, and while they were at it checked the wheel bearings and made some needed adjustments.
We tipped each of them with a six-pack of good, dark beer. By 8 p.m., we were on the road again, our trailer humming happily behind us.
What struck us about this afternoon is this: Everyone we encountered tried to help, even though they were getting ready to leave for a national holiday weekend. They all went out of their way to do whatever they could to help solve our problem.

Madawaska musings

The sign at the entrance to Madawaska Kanu Center.

We chose to enroll the kids in a whitewater course at Madawaska for several reasons: It's the oldest whitewater school in Canada (now in its 38th year), closer than Nantahala (which we also considered), in a beautiful location, and offers an enticing variety of programs, including family weeks. The two of us chose not to participate this year because we're saving up for some sea kayak training this fall, but the kids were eager to gain more whitewater skills and we were happy to camp on the grounds and spend our days padding local lakes.
The facility is lovely. Modeled after German ski clubs, it includes a rustic lodge where meals are served and people hang out in the evenings reading kayaking books and magazines from the well-stocked shelves; comfortable sleeping quarters; hot showers and a sauna.

The main building, with the office and boutique at the left and the dining hall and lodge to the right.

Hanging out in the evening, talking and playing games.

The food is excellent, and the boutique sells a nice range of paddling clothing and gear. The Madawaksa River is just across the street.
This year, like last year, we were struck by the warm, encouraging atmosphere. The tone is certainly set by the owners and the instructors, who don't make a big point of touting their considerable training and experience and instead emphasize their excitement about teaching. They inspire their classes with lots of humor and considerable humility (not to mention lots of whitewater lingo, which is totally tubular).

Hannah with JT and Alex, two of the "tubular" instructors.

We felt that Hannah, Jeremy and all the students kids received instruction appropriate to their skills and temperaments. That's the hallmark of excellent teaching in any subject area, and a particular strength in outdoor education.

A few more photos from the past three days

Today is a puttering around in Barry's Bay day. We found fast, free internet access at a picnic table next to the visitors center. Nearby is the Chip Barn, which serves poutine, the regional specialty of twice-baked fries with gravy. There are only a handful of galleries here and no Makinaw Island fudge, and the LCBO (the province-regulated liquor store) closes at 6 p.m.
Instead there is a friendly storefront department store and a well stocked independent pharmacy. It's easy to find multiple kinds of bug repellent and netting, as well as a battery of bite remedies for when those don't prevent the damage.
Barry's Bay is also home to the first Polish community in Canada. Many of the roads have Polish names and there is, we have been told, a wonderful Polish restaurant nearby. It's also the home of Barry's Bay Outfitters, the place to go for kayak and canoe rentals, accessories, guided trips and local knowledge. Owners Eric and Sharon Taylor are glad to share information about paddling spots and local lore.

The Taylors in their shop, Barry's Bay Outfitters.

Following are some photos of what we have been doing the last three days when we were miles (and seemingly years) away from internet access.

The intersection of the two main roads in Barry's Bay features signs advertising various local attractions and businesses, including Madawaska Kanu Center.

Poutine, anybody? The Chip Barn smells heavenly.

Alec paddles near a huge granite boulder on Bark Lake.

A wild orchid on the shores of Bark Lake, rotated sideways because we didn't know how to fix it in this program. Oh well.

Where's Alec? Sharon tows his boat to the put-in while Alec tries to find it from shore.

Life is good.

The bugs are vicious. Sharon's badly swolen eyes. You don't want to see her neck.

The lodge at Madawaska Kanu Center, where the kids are spending their nights. Paddle hard, rest comfortably.

A riddle (sort of)

Question: What do two sea kayakers do on their day off?
Answer: Work on their boats and paddles and blog about kayaking.
OK, so it's not a great riddle, but it's accurate.
We're in Barry's Bay today. While Hannah runs a class 4 section of the Ottawa River and Jeremy takes on ever-more-challenging sections of the Madawaska River, we're adding foam to Alec's backband, finishing Sharon's traditional paddle and catching up with our posts.

Alec shapes a foam addition to his backband.

The picnic table outside the Barry's Bay visitor information center provides both sanding surface and internet access.

Yesterday we paddled about 15 miles on Lake Kamanisteg, which is connected to Bark Lake by a short section of the Madawaska River. A dam between them generates electricity and controls water levels. Because the water runs off the top of Bark Lake, it's relatively warm. Madawaska Kanu Center has an agreement with the dam authority about the hours when the water runs. Those are the prime whitewater hours--perfect for classes and for fun.
We continued our navigation practice, but also had the opportunity to paddle for a couple of hours into a pretty strong head wind (we estimate it at 25 knots with 30 knot gusts). Paddling into the wind is kind of like towing, and appealing in a similar way. You go more slowly with all that resistance and have a great opportunit to work on your forward stroke. It was impossible to take photos, however.
This is a partial post, to be continued when we next have internet access. Alec finished the foam and paddle, so it's time to find some water...

Tuesday's post (also on Thursday)

The classes are going well; Hannah and Jeremy are enjoying them and being challenged. We'll hold off writing much about their experiences until we're able to spend more time talking with the kids. We see them briefly in the morning and the evening, but we're trying not to pull them away from the other students, with whom they're able to share stories of sticky holes and daunting drops. Besides, everyone is too tired in the evening to really sum up what the day was like.

Hannah and Bob Goldstein on the lodge porch.

In the evening, everyone hangs out playing board games and cards and swapping tales from the river.

We paddled about 18 miles on Bark Lake today, practicing our navigation skills and enjoying the serenity. We saw only one other boat all day (a motorboat) and nobody along the shore of this large reservoir lake, which is mainly surrounded by crown land.

I get 150 to that large rock on the point--how about you?

We're using a topo map, deck compasses and bearing compasses for these exercises. (You can't get nautical charts for small inland lakes.) It's remarkable how different landforms look from the water (our perspective) and from the air (the map's perspective). We have to be careful to write down our back bearings. Today we failed to really look at our put-in as we left. We returned to what we were sure was the right spot, but couldn't find it. After much hunting (including scouting on land), we discovered that we were merely 50 feet off. That's all it takes to feel thoroughly lost!

Hiking with the mosquitoes

(This post was written on Monday night)

A bug shirt helps, but the mosquitoes and black flies are smarter than we are and figure out how to bite us despite all our defenses.

The five-day whitewater kayaking program began today. With thunder rumbling in the distance and the skies darkening by the moment, Claudia (the owner) and the week's instructors introduced themselves and gave an overview of the week ahead. We watched the students—some excited, some nervous, some both—and thought about what the instructors chose to emphasize about themselves and their priorities. Enthusiasm goes over well. It's kind of contagious.
After the kids were settled, we drove to Algonquin Provincial Park, where we went for a 10-kilometer hike on a steep trail that turned out to be a stream in places. It was perhaps the buggiest hike we've ever taken; swarms of mosquitoes hovered around us as we negotiated the mud, rocks and fallen branches. Any surface that wasn't under water was slippery. This might be the first time that a hike classified as “difficult” actually was, though it wasn't for the reasons the park administrators had in mind.
We earned some spectacular views of the park as well as some awe-inspiring smaller features: beaver dams, wildflowers and mysterious insect colonies.

They're little, black and in motion: Anybody know what these are?

Some enterprising beavers created a lake out of a river.

Our reward for hiking despite rain, bugs and occasional thunder: spectacular views and dramatic skies.

Monday's post (on Thursday)

Yesterday we bid farewell Larry & Bonnie and drove to Madawaska Kanu Center, near Barry's Bay, where we'll be staying until Saturday. Bonnie sent us off with numerous goodies: scones, lemon bars, butter tarts, and the delicious vegetarian chili and cornbread dinner we were all to full to eat last night. (Somehow we found room for dessert, however.)

Tragically, Bonnie made too many scones, so we had to take half a dozen of them with us. Life is hard.

As we drove, we read about this area in the “Ontario Nature Guide” by Krista Kagume (Lone Pine Press). We passed huge stretches of open land – a striking contrast to the drive from Chicago to Maryland -- and were struck by the expansive view of the sky, the glimpses of wildlife, and the overall beauty of the environment. We learned that this area is part of the “mixed forest,” one of five ecoregions in Ontario. Below the boreal forest, the transitional mixed forest lies at the lower edge of the Canadian shield and features a mix of deciduous and coniferous trees and abundant wildlife and plant species. Yesterday morning we heard bullfrogs twanging in the reeds and saw red-winged blackbirds flying overhead. We've fed numerous mosquitoes, 55 species of which are found in Ontario.

Turtle crossing.

By the time we reached Barry's Bay, it was pouring. We took the opportunity to shop for maps and food before driving the final 15 kilometers to Madawaska. We weren't excited about pitching our tent on a wet site, but as it turned out, no rain had fallen that short distance away. We ate our chili and cornbread (thank you, Bonnie!), settled in and scoped out our internet access for the coming week. There isn't any at Madawaska, a situation we're ambivalent about. Sure, we'd like to continue posting daily and reading email, but there's also something to be said for only being in the place you are for the time that you're there. Lack of internet access will certainly enhance that feeling. (We'll post whenever we visit Barry's Bay.)

Home sweet home: Our camping spot at Madawaska Kanu Center.

Seeing more at a slower pace

We arrived last night just in time for dessert. Over Bonnie's homemade brownies and lemon bars, we reconnected and relaxed until we were too tired to stay awake.
Bonnie, it turns out, is a talented cook and baker. She worked as a recipe tester for Yankee Books for six or seven years and has an extensive collection of cookbooks as well as a serious interest in good food. We awoke to French toast with warm maple syrup and pecan topping; lunch included vegetables with her curry dip and an assortment of artisan cheeses along with crusty loaves of bread. As I'm writing this post, I'm eating a bowl of strawberry shortcake: freshly baked biscuits, strawberries from the garden, homemade whipped cream. We're being utterly spoiled.
After breakfast we explored Larry and Bonnie's two acres of land, including the raised-bed garden where they're growing tomatoes, potatoes, strawberries, peas, greens, herbs, squashes and more.

Wandering through the garden.

Then we wandered through the outdoor market in Ottawa, where vendors sell fresh fruits and vegetables, cheeses and chocolates, scarves and sculptures, baguettes and bangles. Sadly, the camera battery died, so we had to record only mental images of baskets of ripe strawberries, bunches of radishes, bouquets of flowers and people everywhere buying, selling, eating, talking.

Last shot before the camera battery died.

After lunch, we helped Larry & Bonnie erect a screened dining tent in their backyard and assemble a picnic table.

These instructions weren't written in the US or Canada. Let's wing it.

Then Larry took the kids for a ride in his 1989 Citroen. (It gets 70 miles to the gallon.)

Rolling back the roof on Bernard l'Hermit, the Citroen.

Cruising down the road.

Later, we went for a short run down Old Montreal Road in Cumberland, a rural town recently incorporated by Ottawa. The sides of the road were lined with purple clovers, chamomile, queen anne's lace and wispy grasses; cows grazed in the fields, bicyclists pedaled past, birds called overhead. We were struck by the contrast between yesterday, when we sped through three states too quickly to see much at all, and today, when we took the time to see, hear, smell and taste. You can't take in too much in one day at any pace, of course, but it was rewarding to slow down a bit.

Bonnie's one-bowl brownies

2 squares unsweetened chocolate
1/2cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
2 eggs, well beaten
1/2 cup flour
1/4 tsp. salt
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup finely chopped pecans

Melt chocolate and oil in microwave. Blend in sugar, then eggs. Add flour and salt. Stir well and add vanilla. Pour into greased 8-by-8-inch pan. Sprinkle with chopped nuts. Bake at 400 degrees for 20 minutes. Do not overbake. Cool and cut into squares.

Bonnie's curry dip

1 pint mayonnaise
3 Tbsp. ketchup
3 Tbsp. honey
1/4 tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. chopped onion or onion powder
1 1/2 tsp. lemon juice
7 to 9 drops tobasco sauce (optional)
1 1/4 tsp. curry powder (or to taste)

Mix all ingredients together. Best made one day in advance of serving.

Larry's curry dip

2 cups mayonnaise
1 Tbsp. chili sauce
2 tsp. curry powder
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. salt
1 Tbsp. garlic powder
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 tsp. onion powder

Mix in blender. Best made one day before serving.

Which curry dip is better? You can post your comments here!

Random thoughts on the road

Today is a travel day: 550 miles, which will take us about 10 hours. This leaves plenty of time for reflecting back and thinking ahead, as well as noting a few things about travel and the places we're traveling through.

When we pull into a roadside stop, we have to park with the other big rigs.

We began with a quick stop at a nearby Food Lion, which reminded us of something we've noted before: Food stores offer a fascinating glimpse of the places they serve. Spices, baking mixes and jams are often the most localized items. Here we took the opportunity to buy some Old Bay seasoning, which Robert told us was an essential part of the Chesapeake experience.

Maple syrup, ski slopes, pub food, alpacas...Marathon seems to have it all.

It's really strange sitting on a soft seat, zipping along at 60+ miles an hour. It's kind of like sitting on your sofa, but you can't stretch out, and you have to stay seated for an absurd amount of time. For the past week, we've done most of our sitting in kayaks, which is a very active kind of sitting. To paddle well, you have sit up pretty straight (“the dynamic seating position”) and use your core muscles as you move through the water. Car seats somehow encourage slouching, and with it back and shoulder pain. And instead of using our muscles to power our craft, we're burning gasoline. If driving weren't necessary, we certainly wouldn't do it. The notion of a “joy ride” seems alien and unnatural.

There's time on the road for reading, napping, listening to music and doing sudoku puzzles.

Before we left home, we used Google Maps to generate directions for each leg of this trip. We also brought along an atlas and a set of state road maps, but we figured we'd mainly rely on the Google route. Instead we've found ourselves frustrated by the Google directions and relying on the maps. It's kind of interesting to realize why.
First, the Google directions have tunnel vision. They may provide the most direct or quickest route, but they feel strangely out of context. Looking at them, you can't answer the question, “If we pass Main Street, have we gone too far?”
Second, the Google directions are robotic. If a road changes names as it passes through a town, Google notes it as a new leg of the journey with a mileage all its own, making it hard to see how many miles you actually should travel on that road.
Third, they contain errors. Robert told us about a sign posted somewhere he'd been that said, “Google maps is wrong!” because it was leading people down a dead-end road.
And fourth, they turn a three-dimensional journey into a linear chase, denying the traveler any sense of place along the way. We've always loved gazing at maps, choosing routes, taking detours, finding surprises along the way and rediscovering why we love to travel. It's sort of like the difference between dictionary.com and a print edition. When you use the online dictionary, you can find out what a word means, but when you flip through the pages of Webster's, you see how that word connects to the words around it, stumble on a word you don't know, and rediscover your love of language.

This plaque sits on the border between the US and Canada.

The border crossing into Canada was fairly efficient and not particularly unpleasant, but this was the first year we were required to show our passports. There's something kind of sad about that change. Still, our eight kayaks didn't raise eyebrows and we could honestly say that we had no firearms, alcohol or live fish bait. Tonight we'll be in Cumberland, Ontario, on the Ottawa River, staying with Larry and Bonnie Kearley.

Too many things left unwritten

This is a bittersweet morning. We're packing the car and trailer and waiting for Robert to see us off before we head up to Ontario. It's been a great week; it's hard to say goodbye.
There are so many thing we haven't written about: the rescue class, the rolling class, casual paddles in the Chester River, the presentation we gave about Great Lakes paddling opportunities, Jeremy and Noah flying kites, a day trip to Cape Henlopen State Park, and more.
But we can't leave before writing a little bit about Hannah's role during our time in Queenstown. She co-taught the "women on the water" class, bringing to it her playful spirit and her remarkable ability to work with all kinds of people. Her paddling skills are good enough that she can provide clean demonstrations, clear explanations and helpful critiques (essentials of kayak instruction), but that's just the beginning. She can also inspire and motivate students with her enthusiasm and knack for saying just the right thing at just the right time. And she's fun.

Hannah demonstrating the solid support provided by rafting up.

Lest things get too serious, Hannah gets students to practice their strokes while sitting on their back decks.

When she wasn't teaching, Hannah was either paddling around with Noah sitting on her back hatch, chatting with Kerrie, or practicing guitar. But when the opportunity arose to teach more, she took it. Robert was providing a kayak program at a local camp four mornings this week. Hannah went along to help, bringing to the campers her same set of paddling and people skills.
It's delightful watching her evolve as both a paddler and an instructor. She'll no doubt be both proud and a little embarrassed about this post, but we had to write it.

No iPod Left Behind: Hannah shares her playlist with Kerrie.

taking risks, earning rewards

Robert, Kerrie and Noah Schrack.

We've been meaning to write a little bit about our hosts, Robert and Kerrie Schrack. It's a daunting task because they've been so generous and impressive on so many fronts. So this post will attempt to address what's been missing from previous posts: some sense of who brought us here.
Robert and Kerrie are the owners of Adventure Crafters in Queenstown, MD. They have a small but impressively stocked pro shop and offer classes and trips. Check out their website at www.adventurecrafters.com.
Robert and Alec met during their Instructor Certification Exam at Sea Kayak Georgia, one of the premiere places for sea kayak training. They're both natural athletes and generous spirits, so they hit it off immediately.
Adventure Crafters is in its second year here in Queenstown, after a year and a half or so in Westchester, PA. Robert traded in his landscaping business to invest full-time in kayaking, with Kerrie assisting him in everything from running the shop to leading the evening paddles.
It's an impressive balancing act: work and family, time on water and time running the business, making a living and being true to their values. They're walking all those tightropes admirably.
We've been staying with them for almost a week now, sharing meals, teaching classes, messing around on the water, hanging out and sharing stories. We've met an assortment of the students they attract, who seem to share the down-to-earth, honest spirit that Robert and Kerrie bring to their business. It's been a great pleasure to see this small, family business in its early stages and help for one short week.

One of the hazards of teaching and guiding full-time is that you rarely get to go out and paddle for fun, and when you do, you usually do so alone. This evening, we paddled out with Robert into a pretty stiff head wind until the darkening clouds grew a little too ominous. We surfed back home to the sounds of thunder, looking over our shoulders at some very dramatic skies.

As we approached Eastern Neck Island, we saw sheets of raining pouring down from the clouds ahead of us.

Almost back in safe harbor, the waves subsided and we knew we had outpaddled the storm.

It seemed an apt metaphor for what makes anything in life meaningful. Often you have to take a risk to gain a reward. Whether it's a stunning sky, an exciting ride or a meaningful life, you have to take some chances.
We're awfully glad that Robert and Kerrie took a chance on Adventure Crafters and included us in their adventure.

Lost and found

Alec demonstrates proper hand position--and paddle balancing skills.

Yesterday, we led a three-hour tour semi-officially titled “getting lost with the out-of-town instructors.” We were to lead a small group on local waters, identifying flora and fauna and sharing local knowledge. Robert and Kerrie helped us file our float plan and suggested a few routes appropriate to the group and conditions. Then Kerrie went to get our three participants, leaving us to prepare our boats and gear.
As soon as she was safely out of view and earshot, we confided to each other that while we felt confident with our navigation skills and our ability to safely shepherd three novice paddlers up and down Queenstown Creek, we have an almost pathological inability to remember the names of plants and animals and those things with fins or shells that live in the water. We call these conditions “floraphasia,” “faunaphasia” and “pescophasia.”
Fortunately, we were able to keep our categories straight. We agreed that most of the living things on land that don't move and aren't man-made are plants, that creatures with wings that fly or sit in nests are generally birds or insects, and that most of the moving stuff in the water is marine life. Feeling much more confident, we awaited our hapless participants.
As it turns out, we got lucky in a variety of ways. While our three participants were interested in nature, they were far more excited about being on the water than in identifying plants and animals. We had a great time poking into coves, discovering methane in a marsh, and running into a rare Maryland alligator. (It turned out to be a log.)

Alex comes nose to nose with a rare Maryland Alligator.

We accurately identified several bald eagles and found some of their nests. We even had time to stop on a sand spit, where our guests were delighted to find several colors of sea glass and helped us rescue three stranded horseshoe crabs.

Sharon looks for beach glass while the tour participants compare their finds.

It was a lovely morning, and all of us went away happy.
In all seriousness, we had been a bit nervous that morning. We weren't sure how well we would be able to guide a trip in an unfamiliar location, so we focused on what we felt were our weaknesses. That could have blinded us to what our guests actually wanted, which was an opportunity to enjoy being on the water together.
We think it's quite natural, when preparing for any class or a trip, to worry about whether you'll do the best possible job. We typically brainstorm ideas, make an outline, write it down, worry about whether we can pull it off, make a lot of jokes, run out of time and hope for the best. When we tune into what our students really want, not just our concerns about what we think they want, we generally find things turn out very well.

This poor guy would have died if we hadn't rescued him.
(The horseshoe crab, not the tour participant.)

Why a women's class?

Most classes begin with individual boat fit so that students feel comfortable in their kayaks and can control them well.

Saturday's “women on the water” class was, in many ways, typical of other all-female classes I've taken and taught. The participants ranged from timid to almost fearless, from novice to intermediate, from goal-oriented to open-to-anything. But what they all had in common was this: They wanted to learn in a supportive environment where nobody would judge them, and that's what an all-women's class meant to them.
It's funny, when you think about. Are women any less judgmental than men? Not necessarily. But they often are more supportive of one another, particularly when they are overcoming their fears and gaining new skills. In a mixed gender class, you're less likely to see a spontaneous round of applause after someone screws up her confidence and finally attempts a scoop rescue on a fellow paddler. You're more likely to see a someone hanging back and watching instead of trying new skills. But in a women-only class, there's a lot of encouragement and positive reinforcement. Students root for each other and celebrate each other's accomplishments. It's a case of gender camaraderie at its best.
Our Saturday class began with two students refusing to do a “wet exit.” One saw no need; the other was afraid. Sizing up the conditions (warm water and air, calm seas, no spray skirts), I hastily devised the “modified wet exit,” in which I would hold the student's hands while she flipped her boat and came out. Both students agreed to do this and executed it easily, proving to themselves and to me that they would come out of their boats if they accidentally capsized.
By contrast, one student came to class with the wet exit high on her list of desired skills. She had never done one and was a little afraid she wouldn't be able to. After she pulled one off, she was ecstatic, and kept doing it over and over just to reinforce the skill. Her pride was infectious; the excitement of the whole class ratcheted up several notches.
The rest of the class entailed a mix of teaching and playing, with the games reinforcing the skills. For example, after teaching turning strokes and draw strokes, we played kayak basketball, in which students attempted to toss tennis balls into each other's cockpits. When they missed their targets, they had to retrieve the balls from the water by using the strokes they had learned. The beauty of doing this through games is that the stroke practice happens naturally. The students laugh and focus on what they're trying to accomplish. The paddle skills are no longer an end, but a means to an end, which means they're actually useful.

There was a time when I would have been skeptical about the need for all-women's classes. I grew up with only brothers and always had male friends. My husband is my favorite paddling partner. And yet, when I was first learning to kayak, I took a few women's classes and appreciated how comfortable I felt making mistakes and learning in an all-female environment. Now I watch my students gravitating toward that same kind of supportive, encouraging community and benefiting from the camaraderie it creates, and I'm sold on providing this option for women.One of the best ways to get comfortable with a kayak is to play in it.

With confidence comes competence

Aht came to class determined to learn a wet exit and how to stop her boat so she wouldn't crash into things. She quickly gained those skills and moved on to turning strokes, draw strokes and kayak tag.

We got a leisurely start yesterday. Robert cooked us a hearty breakfast of hash browns, pancakes and vegetarian sausage (with help on the pancakes from Jeremy) and we finalized our class plans. By 11 a.m., Robert, Dan (who is working for him), Alec and Sharon were out on the water practicing some ideas for teaching the rolling class. Sharon and Hannah also mapped out the women on the water class, which is essentially a two-star training with a heavy infusion of games and an accommodation to some of the issues and competencies particular to women. (More on that later.)
At 1 p.m., the launch area was awash in boats and students. There was a palpable sense of excitement and a little bit of nervousness. Beginners, in particular, often feel a combination of eager anticipation and fear. They're attracted to kayaking—that's why they're taking a class--but they're not sure what's expected or how well they'll do, and some of them are worried about everything from looking foolish to drowning.
A little fear is a good thing. We want people to take seriously the risks associated with paddling. Too much fear, however, is stifling. In nearly every class, there's at least one student whose fears prevent him or her from taking on the challenges that build skills. Often, the “wet exit” is the first obstacle. This is maneuver used for getting out of a capsized kayak. We teach it methodically: when you're upside down, slap the sides of your boat three times, then bring them to your cockpit coaming; slide your hands forward, push the grab loop on your spray skirt forward, then pull it back to release the skirt; loosen the skirt all the way back, then place your hands about hip-position on your coaming; push with your arms and come out of the cockpit as though you're taking off a pair of pants; hold on to your boat and your paddle.
The truth is, most students are able to do a wet exit with little or no instruction. They may not slap the side of the boat. They'll probably lose the paddle. It definitely won't be pretty. But they won't drown. Once they know they can wet exit, they're ready to learn to do it with less panic and loss of equipment. And once they're over the fear of capsize, they're willing to take on other risks that allow them to build their skills as paddlers.
Too little fear, by contrast, is dangerous. A student with too much machismo is an annoyance in a class and worse, a danger to himself.
I'll take a fearful beginner over an overconfident one any time. Fear can be overcome with patient instruction. With confidence comes competence, and with competence more well-earned confidence. It's a pleasure to be a part of that process.

Nancy has the kind of attitude that enables her to gain skills swiftly
and have fun no matter what she's doing.

Carol wasn't sure she wanted to paddle at all.
She turned out to have genuine talent and a can-do attitude.

(Photos on this post courtesy of Chiara, one of the delightful women in the "women on the water" class.)

a long journey into night

Ready to roll, literally.

We didn't manage to break our record of never quite getting on the road as early as we intended. Still, we were crossing the Skyway shortly after 7 a.m. There's something morbidly attractive about the view from the bridge—a gritty, industrial landscape that somehow evokes a feeling of might along with an awareness of pollution.

The gritty, industrial view from the Chicago Skyway.

Google Maps promised us a 12-hour journey. Apparently, nobody at Google headquarters stops for bathrooms or ice cream. I'm sure they also don't base time estimates on 11-year-old, four-cylinder Honda minivans loaded with gear and pulling trailers holding eight kayaks. For us, it was a 14-hour journey.
But it's so easy to keep everyone entertained these days. When the kids were little, we plied them with toys and read them books (and also stopped every hour or two). When they were in elementary school, we discovered books on tape. Now we're a mobile media unit. We plug an inverter into the cigarette lighter and power two laptops. Jeremy spent much of the trip writing a program for a line-following robot on one. Alec and I took turns watching a kayak DVD and writing on the other. And Hannah alternately listened to her iPod and caught up on her sleep.

We rolled in around 10 p.m.750 miles later, we've arrived at Adventure Crafters.

Ready or not....

It's just after 10 p.m. Eight boats are strapped to our trailer. We've packed our gear bags and paddles, our kayaking and camping gear, our books and clothes, our food and espresso pot. Our 1997 Honda Odyssey is ready to put all four cylinders into pulling our trailer and hauling all of us east to Maryland, north into Ontario, and back home again--a journey that easily makes up for the lack of miles we put on our car during the rest of the year.
Here's the plan: We leave early tomorrow morning (we're aiming for 5:30 a.m.) and arrive in Queenstown in the early evening. We'll be teaching at Adventure Crafters for two or three days. On Saturday, Sharon & Hannah will be teaching a women's paddling class while Alec & Robert teach a rolling class and Jeremy rides his unicycle and flies his kites. On Sunday, Alec & Sharon will teach a rescues class while Hannah, Jeremy & Robert teach a kids' class on playing in your boat. On Monday or Tuesday we'll head to the ocean to play in the waves with Robert, Kerrie & Noah. At some point, we'll return to Queenstown so Robert & Kerrie can get some work done. We'll leave them on Friday and head up to Ontario to visit relatives near Ottawa for a couple of days, then head over to Madawaska Kanu Center, where the kids will take a five-day whitewater course and Alec & Sharon will camp, hike, paddle and hang out.
We'll try to post blog entries daily and include photos as often as we can, Internet access permitting. But right now, we'd better go to bed.
zzzzz