Wilderness Worst Responder

If I do the math I think I’ve spent about a year of my life on the trail.  I’ve hiked the 46 high peaks in New York.  I’ve been on canoe trips in the lonely lakes of Canada’s Algonquin National Park.  I’ve paddled the Allagash, the Kennebec, the Dead, the Sacandaga, and the Hudson.  I’ve had pack sores, I’ve had blisters, I’ve had hypothermia, I’ve been lost in the dark, I’ve been dehydrated, I’ve been lost in broad daylight, and I’ve even had an axe wound – all in the middle of nowhere.  I’ve always come out ok.  Suffice it to say, this is not my first rodeo. 

It turns out though, that I’m one stupid cowboy. 

This spring, I have been learning to kayak.  Did you know these things can actually roll all the way over and then roll back up again?  I can’t say enough how satisfying it is roll upside down, end up in the dark world of gooey wet things and then flick your paddle and suddenly arrive back in the fresh air world we know so well.  This is not to say that that happens often.  Most of the time my experience involves a lot of flailing around under water followed by a farty kind of sound as I release my kayak skirt and wriggle back up to the surface, sans boat. 

It’s still pretty cold in this part of the country.  It snowed this morning.  The last three times I’ve paddled, it’s been about 40 degrees.  For kayakers, I guess this is no big deal, but I will say that it’s not what I had thought of as swimmy weather before getting into the kayak thing.  But snow-melt means big water, which, if you know how to kayak is awesome.  If you are just learning…  well on with the story:

In the past two weeks, I have successfully shed all of my former credibility as an outdoor guru.  I’m a wilderness first responder.  I’m a summer camp director for crying out loud!  Safety is kind of my thing.  So it will come as a surprise to you to hear that not once, but twice in the last two weeks have I put on the water to kayak a river at about 6:00 PM.  Both times I returned to my truck soaking wet, shivering, and looking up at a sky full of stars.  River stories can be slow and tend to involve more chest-pounding than this particular case calls for, so let me hit the highlights for you in the form of lessons I’ve learned since diving (or should I say wet exiting?) into this new sport.

Lesson 1.  Leave yourself more daylight than your trip should require.  Why you might ask?  Because this particular hypothetical “you” has no idea how to maneuver a kayak down a river without spending time hiking, swimming, and/or crying on the side of the river in the fetal position. 

Lesson 2.  Heed the following signs as indications that maybe its not kayaking weather:  Falling snow, icy roads, access roads that require 4-wheel drive to power through snow drifts, and take-out locations that can only be accessed by walking across a mile of frozen lake.

Lesson 3.  If you miss your roll and end up swimming in a rapid, don’t think, “safety first, I’ll swim to shore and worry about my kayak later.”  I tried this seemingly prudent approach to river safety and all of the following dominoes fell: 

a.  My more experienced partner had to go paddle after my boat, a process that took him more  than an hour and over a mile of river before he successfully (and somewhat miraculously) “bumped” my kayak to shore.

b.  The same experienced partner dislocated his shoulder in an attempt to rescue my boat while also keeping himself from being pinned by the water against an overhanging tree (a legitimately life-threatening situation if things had gone badly). 

c.  My other, less experienced partner and I bushwhacked through a mile of riverside forest while carrying our remaining flotsam/gear. 

d.  Our journey down the river by foot took so long, that we faced the consequences outlined in Lesson 1.

Lesson 4.  If someone says, “That ice looks fine to me.  Lets go for it!”  Don’t listen.

Lesson 5.  Make sure that winter conditions have not ruined your access road.  Unless you are filming a commercial, damage to your new truck is not cool.  18 inches of iced-over beaver pond does not a road make.  On the bright side, the idea that momentum can get you through almost anything is true.  But it’s going to cost you.

In conclusion my friends, everything you know from the rest of your life applies to the world of kayaking too.  Hopefully it wont take you 8 thrown rescue lines, 2 stuck trucks, 2 hikes under the stars, 2 concerned spouses, 5 wrong turns, one lost helmet, and a partridge in a pear tree (we really did see a partridge on the trip…  can’t say we saw any fruit trees though.) to figure it out.