_Western Utah, August 2011
I Am Not An Adventure Kayaker
_ I returned five times over two years to the Klamath River to white water kayak, even though I was terrified of getting carried through water that could double in speed and depth or churn like a washing machine. Having been thrilled by extreme kayaking on adventure TV, I wanted to experience that exhilaration and overcome a fear. I thought after I got the hang of it, I would start to love it. I couldn’t stop imagining drowning, bleeding, and hitting sharp boulders that would break my head. Even in the gentle water of the first trip, I felt the water’s power. I decided to master the basic skill of reading a river and then retire a “champion” in my own mind. I chose a section of the upper Klamath, just beyond Happy Camp. It has a difficulty rating of class two-plus, the equivalent of a step up from a skier’s bunny slope. After my first kayak trip, I stuck with kayaking just to be sure that I didn’t like it.
There is much to love about kayaking. The terrain and the river are usually beautiful. It can be exhilarating to interact with nature. Kayaking white water requires a fair amount of upper body strength, pretty good swimming skills and keen eyesight. There are also risks, like drowning or losing control of the kayak and being washed down ever-dangerous water.
River landscapes range from blue/green glass to fast, foamy white water. A kayaker assessing the water’s speed, force, and depth must keep in mind that the current may be going in two or more directions at the same point.
The surface can be deceptive. Brambles could be hiding below the seemingly gentlest river, ready to scrape the bottom of the kayak, trap it midstream, or rip the paddle from the kayaker just as it dips in. Hidden boulders can tip the kayak, or push it into a more difficult current.
Kayaking is a conversation with water. Dip the paddle just below the surface to subtly change direction, and to avoid rocks and eddies (those places where the water flows incessantly in a circle). A more vigorous conversation is required to get out of brambles or steer through rough rapids. Dig the paddle deeper to push more water out of the way. My biggest problem was getting stuck in the eddies, going around in circles until I spotted the water flattening enough to paddle like crazy, perpendicular to the current and get out of that circular pattern. I should have felt triumphant, but instead was a little seasick.
On one trip, a fellow kayaker, Brian, was keeping a good grip on his paddle, just as he was taught, when he dipped it too deep into the water. The paddle got caught and ripped him out of the kayak, into the white water rapids. It looked foamy and forceful. All five of us were scared for Brian as he went completely under. I involuntarily sucked in my breath. Then, he popped up, waist deep, holding the paddle over his head, and laughed with the adrenaline rush. He swung his head around to swing his hair from his eyes, searching for his vessel, and hooted, “Whoohooo! That was great. Where’s my kayak?” Our team of guides kept an eye on us. The guides were in their own swift kayaks and on the raft that carried all our efficiently packed, watertight gear. One of the guides had neatly grabbed the runaway kayak. Brian hopped into his plastic vessel and paddled on to the next sparkling adventure.
My roughest experience was a run through a short, fast section through high rocks and forceful white water. Shallow bursts of careful steering would speed the kayak through the river’s center, and momentum would push it through the steep, short drop into calmer water. The two people in front of me went through easily. My kayak bounced side to side off the boulders like a billiard ball, and tipped upside down over the drop. The kayak went out from under me and I gulped river. I gripped the paddle with one hand, and held onto my life vest with the other, bouncing along, hoping an oncoming kayak wouldn’t hit me. Guides were yelling, “Swim!” My head got above water in time to see the raft as I slammed into it, legs sucked beneath. A muscular arm reached over, grabbed my vest, and yelled to give him the paddle. He then helped me slither up, while another guide went after the kayak, which was well down stream. I knew then and there I am not an adventure kayaker.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Read at San Francisco Bay Area MFA Mixer, San Francisco, CA, May 23, 2011
Contact Wendy Sterndale: ws(at)wendysterndale(dot)com
There is much to love about kayaking. The terrain and the river are usually beautiful. It can be exhilarating to interact with nature. Kayaking white water requires a fair amount of upper body strength, pretty good swimming skills and keen eyesight. There are also risks, like drowning or losing control of the kayak and being washed down ever-dangerous water.
River landscapes range from blue/green glass to fast, foamy white water. A kayaker assessing the water’s speed, force, and depth must keep in mind that the current may be going in two or more directions at the same point.
The surface can be deceptive. Brambles could be hiding below the seemingly gentlest river, ready to scrape the bottom of the kayak, trap it midstream, or rip the paddle from the kayaker just as it dips in. Hidden boulders can tip the kayak, or push it into a more difficult current.
Kayaking is a conversation with water. Dip the paddle just below the surface to subtly change direction, and to avoid rocks and eddies (those places where the water flows incessantly in a circle). A more vigorous conversation is required to get out of brambles or steer through rough rapids. Dig the paddle deeper to push more water out of the way. My biggest problem was getting stuck in the eddies, going around in circles until I spotted the water flattening enough to paddle like crazy, perpendicular to the current and get out of that circular pattern. I should have felt triumphant, but instead was a little seasick.
On one trip, a fellow kayaker, Brian, was keeping a good grip on his paddle, just as he was taught, when he dipped it too deep into the water. The paddle got caught and ripped him out of the kayak, into the white water rapids. It looked foamy and forceful. All five of us were scared for Brian as he went completely under. I involuntarily sucked in my breath. Then, he popped up, waist deep, holding the paddle over his head, and laughed with the adrenaline rush. He swung his head around to swing his hair from his eyes, searching for his vessel, and hooted, “Whoohooo! That was great. Where’s my kayak?” Our team of guides kept an eye on us. The guides were in their own swift kayaks and on the raft that carried all our efficiently packed, watertight gear. One of the guides had neatly grabbed the runaway kayak. Brian hopped into his plastic vessel and paddled on to the next sparkling adventure.
My roughest experience was a run through a short, fast section through high rocks and forceful white water. Shallow bursts of careful steering would speed the kayak through the river’s center, and momentum would push it through the steep, short drop into calmer water. The two people in front of me went through easily. My kayak bounced side to side off the boulders like a billiard ball, and tipped upside down over the drop. The kayak went out from under me and I gulped river. I gripped the paddle with one hand, and held onto my life vest with the other, bouncing along, hoping an oncoming kayak wouldn’t hit me. Guides were yelling, “Swim!” My head got above water in time to see the raft as I slammed into it, legs sucked beneath. A muscular arm reached over, grabbed my vest, and yelled to give him the paddle. He then helped me slither up, while another guide went after the kayak, which was well down stream. I knew then and there I am not an adventure kayaker.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Read at San Francisco Bay Area MFA Mixer, San Francisco, CA, May 23, 2011
Contact Wendy Sterndale: ws(at)wendysterndale(dot)com