How Do You Work These Things?

Last weekend Todd Wright came to Old Quarry with some students from St. Michaels College in Vermont, where he's the Director of the Wilderness Program. On Saturday I joined them for a paddle out to Gooseberry Island. The students had varying levels of experience. Kyle had been to tide races in Scotland, but for Molly, it was her first time in a sea kayak. Like the others, she learned quickly.

On Sunday, in a downpour with strong winds predicted, we went around Whitmore Neck. I wouldn't otherwise have been paddling that day, but as often happens, I was glad to be out there. And the Whitmore Neck route worked well for a day with sketchy weather:  a bumpy start followed by stretches of calm water- even a little current.

 
Monday though, looked even windier; it seemed like a good day to check-out Bagaduce Falls. Without much fetch, the wind has little effect on the conditions there, but it's a fairly contained environment for everyone to hone their skills. Nate and Rebecca joined us.

We often share the Bagaduce launch with shellfish harvesters there to tend their oyster growing operations. In exchange for a few parking spots, we provide them with entertainment. We arrived a little before the ebb went slack- about four hours after low tide in Castine- and the current reversed direction. Just before the new moon, the tide range spanned about twelve feet that day, so we could expect some strong currents.  But we launched into slow-moving water and traversed the eddy lines again and again as the speed increased and standing waves began to form.

We played around a bit. Most of us got some practice capsizing... which also gave us some rescue practice. Every now and then people (often kayakers reluctant to learn rescue skills) ask me if I've ever capsized. It's true that, while tooling about on flat water, I'm not too likely to tip over (though I've certainly done it). You get the sense that for some paddlers though, the edge of their boat is a scary place, beyond which lies disaster. The moment a wave- or just a shift in weight- dips that edge further into the water, they are no longer comfortable in their boat. Therefore, they don't learn to turn by edging. They remain stiff, balancing firmly in the middle of their cockpit, perhaps relying on a mechanical rudder to turn their boat. This is why we teach edging and bracing to beginners.

But it's also why getting into a place like the Bagaduce is great practice. If you capsize enough, it's far less intimidating, and it becomes easier to learn. It saves time if you can roll, but on just her third day of paddling, Molly seemed to lose the fear that keeps plenty of far more experienced paddlers from advancing their skills and having more fun.

Soon it turned juicy enough that we moved downstream, giving the students a chance to get a feel for the current in more forgiving conditions. Without the adrenaline rush that often accompanies paddling in the current, I suddenly felt tired. I reached for the Clif Bar in my life jacket pocket and found the pocket open, the Clif Bar gone. Oh well, soon enough we took a break on shore and had some more substantial food. Just enough to get back out there before the current subsided. Then, in the roiling current just below the bridge, I noticed something colorful surface beside me. I reached out and found the errant Clif Bar. It had been recirculating for an hour or two but still tasted as good as it ever would. We played a bit more. Todd caught a wave and stayed on it for a good long time, weaving back and forth over its surface before finally dropping off its back.

Then, as the current died-down before the flood switched to the ebb, Todd challenged us to try something different- anything: eyes closed, backwards... standing-up. Once again, we explored our usual boundaries, capsized often, and had a blast.

 

 

The ebb picked-up quickly. Nate and I stuck around for a bit more fun as the wave train built below the bridge, but by then I didn't have much energy for it. I watched the waves for more Clif Bars, and when none materialized, decided to call it a day.

Thanks to Rebecca for many of these photographs.

Long-Term Students

Me, Nate, Brian. The Kennebec. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

Last week I spent a couple of days sea kayaking in the Boothbay area with a group of paddlers with at least one thing in common: our teacher, Todd Johnstone-Wright. The easy way to explain it is that we were there for a class, which isn’t quite accurate. But we were there to learn from Todd and from each other.

Mike. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

People are often baffled as to why I'm off taking another kayaking class. They have difficulty understanding that there could possibly be anything more to learn. Most of these people get the concept of lifelong learning, but when it comes to kayaking they haven't scratched the surface- so they assume that there isn't much to learn. If I try to explain that I'm a long-term student among a committed group of like-minded others, I often get that look from people: the slight incredulous grin, like I've just told them I've joined a cult- or that I've clearly crossed the line from nerd to fanatic.

(An example: I look at the photo below and wonder what I'm doing with the paddle, and if maybe my wrist could be straighter- I'm probably just trying to not plow-into Todd).

Todd, Me. The Kennebec. Photo: Nate Hanson

Any further explanation gets a little tricker: there's this organization called the British Canoe Union- the BCU. Todd Johnstone-Wright aspires to be a Level 5 Coach. This is an involved process. Part of the process is to take-on a group of long-term students. Nate and I are among that group. We're a diverse bunch with varied paddling backgrounds. All but Nate and I live in Vermont. Next March, some of us will go to Scotland, to learn from Todd and his teacher, Gordon Brown. Next fall, a couple of students will go to Scotland for Todd's assessment. It is a notoriously difficult assessment. As far as I know, there are still only 2 North American-born Level 5 Coaches: Jen Kleck and John Carmody.

Sherry, us in the background, mouth of the Kennebec. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

We gathered Monday evening at a campground in Boothbay and on Tuesday morning drove over to Fort Popham. This was the first time we had paddled together as a group, although most of us had paddled together on different occasions. Before we launched, we all stated what we hoped to get out of our time there. I felt so burnt-out from work, all I could muster was "I wanna have some fun." After all, we were headed to Popham Beach.

Brian. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

 We did have some fun, but since most of us are teachers, it was interspersed with coaching. I'll admit, once or twice I felt like saying "screw that, just let me catch this wave." Still, I received some good feedback and got some practice coaching in a Level 4 environment (waves, current, rocks) which is important, since most of my students at Old Quarry have been beginners. Todd is quick to point-out that he would take the right beginners into these conditions on their first day out. He's been working with a lot of agile, quick-learning college students, but I agree: the steeper the challenge, the quicker you learn.

Me, Todd. The Thread of Life. Photo: Nate Hanson

We played in the surf and spent the afternoon in the tide race at the mouth of the Kennebec, where the 3-knot current meets incoming swell: very different from the Bagaduce or Sullivan Falls. We could stay out on those waves for a half-hour at a time.

Me. The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

On Wednesday we launched from East Boothbay and headed-out to the Thread of Life and played among the rocks. We found just enough swell to make it interesting. 

Nate, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

So this long-term student thing is pretty cool. It gave me a great excuse to escape work for a couple of days and go paddle in a groovy spot. And there's a sense of kindred spirits among competent paddlers. We all want to progress with our paddling skills and we seem to have a similar sense of what "fun" is. And we learn things from each other.

Mike, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

Thanks to Todd Johnstone-Wright and Nate Hanson for the photos. I forgot my camera... which turned-out to be nice in its own way- less to worry about.

Joe, The Thread of Life. Photo: Todd Johnstone-Wright

IDW in Boothbay

I spent the last four days in the Boothbay area, taking part in another ACA Instructor Development Workshop. I did my first IDW a year ago, preparing me to instruct at level 3, and in the fall I assessed and became certified. I plan on teaching for awhile before assessing for level 4, but it was great to start the summer with four days of reinforcing personal paddling skills and teaching methods.

The course was taught by Todd Wright and Carl Ladd, who were joined on our last day by John Carmody.

(click on photos for bigger versions)

Boothbay is near a great variety of paddling environments, so, depending on the weather and conditions and what you hope to do, you could venture out to open ocean islands, rocky ledges or sandy beaches with good surf. We spent our time in tidal rivers, finding a bit more current each day until the last, when we played in the tidal race at the mouth of the Kennebec.

We also paddled on Knubble Bay, Lower Hell Gate and the Sheepscot River. We found calm stretches as well as places where the tide squeezes large volumes of ocean through narrow gaps between islands- good places to teach and be taught, but also just some really nice paddling.

I wasn't there to take pictures, and since we spent plenty of time in the water practicing rescues and such, I have a lot of blurry, water on the lens shots.

I also have pages and pages of notes that I wrote down each evening, trying to make sense of all we'd done. At the beginning of the class we talked about what kind of learners we are, and I half-jokingly said "slow." But I do seem to get things through layers of being taught, experience, and then reflecting upon it. Often enough I wonder why I keep this blog, and in a way I think it's become one layer of the process, forcing me to reflect upon things that might otherwise slip away.

I won't be offering much here in the way of reflection, but as with the trips we take, my kayaking learning process involves at least three stages. There's the anticipation beforehand, in which we prepare, try to get ourselves as ready as we can be. Maybe we brush-up on strokes, or study some of the more academic aspects like tidal or weather prediction or navigation. There's the class itself. It's a mix of fun and hard work. Some of it is instruction and feedback directed at us... and some of it is us directing instruction and feedback to others. Sometimes you get put on the spot and discover that your method needs a little work, or that you don't own the skill or subject as well as you could. Sometimes things go wrong, but it's the perfect time for that to happen. We probably learn the most when things don't go smoothly (like the husky tow in current, when one of the rescuers capsizes and we're all drifting in a tangle of ropes).

 

Then, after the class, you hope it comes together with the other layers of experience and instruction. We're given an action plan- an inventory of our strengths and weaknesses with suggestions for steps to improve. It can be overwhelming at times. A year ago I came home with a lot to improve, but ideally, every time you go paddling, you find yourself working on it. I can only wonder how, a year from now, I'll look back on what I'm doing now.