The best, most consistent advise I've gotten from nearly all of my paddling instructors is: work with as many coaches as you can. Take what works and discard the rest. Learn not just paddling but teaching, organization, and communication styles. Teaching paddlesports is a bit like being a rodeo clown - you've got to be entertaining but also capable of ensuring the safety of others when things go awry.
So, I was surprised when, as I was taking my Sunday morning class out, one of the head coaches at the shop introduced me to a Brit, I'll call him G, from the UK. G is a multi-discipline coach at a county paddlesport center. The guy does this for a living. On top of that, having started in the British (BCU) tradition, any coach from the UK automatically gets at least demigod status here in the US.
"He'll be joining you on the water."
"Do I need to do anything special? Am I being evaluated?" My local coaches have been known to spring surprises on me. My paranoia is not unjustified.
"No, just do your thing. He's there if you need him."
So of course, I proceeded to nearly ignore him the whole time. I couldn't think of how to introduce someone who I hadn't properly met. I did have an aside with him at one point to explain/apologize for my use of the environment - the wind was stronger than the current so I moved where we were practicing. Then, I struggled to find a way to manage two neophyte paddlers who barely had control of their boats for about an hour. Thank God the conditions were flat.
After the class, he joined us for lunch and after some chitchat about the local paddling scene, I got some good feedback from him. It echoes what I've been told before, but I got more affirmation of what I got right.
I was very organized, he said, and made good use of games. Overall the class went well. He suggested more discovery, even in the beginning - give them a problem to sole without any instruction, or pair them off with my assistants to ask questions, but my assistants can only answer yes or no. We also talked about the particular problems I had with each student: one just was not going to sit up straight, and the other was so worried about capsize it hampered his ability to learn. Matching boats to people is turning out to be one of the most important things an instructor can do!
Afterwards, we went for a short paddle. It was low tide when we left, and we only had a couple of hours, so basically we paddled north against a spring tide (a supermoon spring tide, I might add) to the Intrepid, an old aircraft carrier docked at 44th street that has been turned into an air and space museum (they have a space capsule hanging off the side). There is another paddle shop there, and we took a break before practically flying back with the current.
I got some good additional feedback there. I was telling him I was learning new games to try, including one called Follow My Leader, when *splash* -
"Uh oh," he said. "Your assistant's in trouble."
This particular assistant has been learning to roll, and practices whenever he can. Unfortunately he decided to do this about seventy yards out, and failed. He came out of his boat and I gave him an assisted rescue.
We tried some more rolls, and critiqued both his and mine. Then, it was time to go in.
It was a good opportunity to get some feedback from another highly rated coach. I've worked with a couple here in the US but they are few and far between. This guy was succinct and very clear, but also very positive. His coachismo, as I call it, was present but not overpowering. He had very specific points but did not belabor them. I felt like I learned more in half an hour of conversation than I have learned from days of paddling with certain other people.
Showing posts with label bcu. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bcu. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Real Assessing
So in the paddling community, there's some emphasis on assessments. Whatever the program, there are certain levels used to define a paddler's overall ability in their chosen discipline. Theres BCU (British Canoe Union) and ACA (American Canoe Association), levels 1-5 respectively. There are only so many ways to paddle a boat, and it's good to have a measuring stick to gauge skill level and establish goals. To earn these badges, a paddler finds a coach offering an assessment, and that coach puts them through their paces in an appropriate environment, and offers pass/fail/needs improvement.
However, a more important kind of assessment is not for handing out awards, but gauging conditions. There's also assessing ability, regardless of grade level. Paddling skills are perishable, and diminish without practice.
So there I was (as all good stories begin), all prepared to teach a level two course at the shop. Not ACA or BCU, just the next stage in the shop's internal curriculum. I had three students, two of whom had recently done our level one introductory course, an the third who had some paddling experience on harbor trips. OK, beginners, but not novices, I thought.
It was a beautiful sunny summer afternoon, with a flooding tide at the start of class, and steady northwesterly winds. The result was a fair amount of chop - nothing terrible, but irregular waves, and definitely not a glass surface.
I'm not going to offer a play by play; I'll offer up the highlights. This class did not go well. I feel it's important to write openly about my failures, to help me learn from them better, but to share them with others for learning as well. No one was injured, and no one died, but I came away with a bad feeling, and I figure if I did, so did my students.
First, I did not assess the environment correctly. What were to me some playful, fun conditions were, to a beginner, terrifying. I could see it on at least two of their faces, and the third I'm convinced just had a better poker face. In a level two course, a wet exit an rescue are mandatory, so I figured everyone had to be prepared to get wet. What I neglected was, not by accident. Most inexperienced paddlers still have this fear of the water, whether it's a sign of failure or a genuine fear of going in the water and drowning. I knew they'd be fine, and easily rescued if they went in, but they had no way of knowing that.
I found the part of the embayment that was least affected, somewhat sheltered from wind and tide alike. All the same, we had to reset our position several times - which meant lots of turning, paddling back, and working a bit more before we reset again. Paddling around the embayment was even more of a challenge because these students did not have the skills to deal with this level of wind, and were too terrified to push the limits of the skills that they did have.
This brings me to my second failure: I did not assess the students correctly. Any teacher knows this problem. They arrive having completed the first level. You assume they are ready for the next. Oh no, absolutely not the case, not in general, and not with these students. I didn't have the full picture when we started, but basically two students had had a single class less than a month prior, and the other had been scheduled to take the introductory class in the morning but opted for a paddleboard class instead.
Knowing that, what followed was predictable. There was very little torso rotation, and poor handling of the boat. What did I do? I chalk it up to inexperience and conditions and drilled right down the level two syllabus: leg driving, edging, applying these skills to forward an turning strokes. After the first few capsizes I decided to move those up from the end of the class, and by then I'd completely lost my rhythm.
If I was thrown off-kilter, I know the students were as well. Within half an hour I was constantly thinking, 'how do I fix this', which meant I wasn't focused on the students and teaching. Talking with my own coach later, it was clear: I should have simply made it a remedial course, worked on the basics, and found exercises to give them a sense of safety and control in these conditions. That's it. Nothing fancy to it.
Instead, I felt obligated to stick to the script. I was actually thinking I owed them something, as in, they signed up for this course, I need to give them this course. But the truth is, we owe the students nothing more than duty of care and making them better learners. Whether that's deciding to limit the venue, or working on forward stroke instead of edging, or rescues instead of rolling, the first thing to do is to assess the students and to assess the environment. For some of the people I paddle with, this would have been a great day to capsize repeatedly, to paddle against the current, and to surf ferry wake in. For beginners, reinforcement of existing skills and building the confidence to go out in something more exciting than a glass pond would have been enough.
So, lessons learned. The more I go down this path of guiding and instructing, the more conservative I become. What can go wrong? Who's with me? What's my fail plan, and backup, and backup backup? What happens after that? And then, to turn around to my charges - whether club members or paying clients or friends - and make it fun, and interesting, and seamless.
That's the challenge, and one I hope to live up to better in the future.
However, a more important kind of assessment is not for handing out awards, but gauging conditions. There's also assessing ability, regardless of grade level. Paddling skills are perishable, and diminish without practice.
So there I was (as all good stories begin), all prepared to teach a level two course at the shop. Not ACA or BCU, just the next stage in the shop's internal curriculum. I had three students, two of whom had recently done our level one introductory course, an the third who had some paddling experience on harbor trips. OK, beginners, but not novices, I thought.
It was a beautiful sunny summer afternoon, with a flooding tide at the start of class, and steady northwesterly winds. The result was a fair amount of chop - nothing terrible, but irregular waves, and definitely not a glass surface.
I'm not going to offer a play by play; I'll offer up the highlights. This class did not go well. I feel it's important to write openly about my failures, to help me learn from them better, but to share them with others for learning as well. No one was injured, and no one died, but I came away with a bad feeling, and I figure if I did, so did my students.
First, I did not assess the environment correctly. What were to me some playful, fun conditions were, to a beginner, terrifying. I could see it on at least two of their faces, and the third I'm convinced just had a better poker face. In a level two course, a wet exit an rescue are mandatory, so I figured everyone had to be prepared to get wet. What I neglected was, not by accident. Most inexperienced paddlers still have this fear of the water, whether it's a sign of failure or a genuine fear of going in the water and drowning. I knew they'd be fine, and easily rescued if they went in, but they had no way of knowing that.
I found the part of the embayment that was least affected, somewhat sheltered from wind and tide alike. All the same, we had to reset our position several times - which meant lots of turning, paddling back, and working a bit more before we reset again. Paddling around the embayment was even more of a challenge because these students did not have the skills to deal with this level of wind, and were too terrified to push the limits of the skills that they did have.
This brings me to my second failure: I did not assess the students correctly. Any teacher knows this problem. They arrive having completed the first level. You assume they are ready for the next. Oh no, absolutely not the case, not in general, and not with these students. I didn't have the full picture when we started, but basically two students had had a single class less than a month prior, and the other had been scheduled to take the introductory class in the morning but opted for a paddleboard class instead.
Knowing that, what followed was predictable. There was very little torso rotation, and poor handling of the boat. What did I do? I chalk it up to inexperience and conditions and drilled right down the level two syllabus: leg driving, edging, applying these skills to forward an turning strokes. After the first few capsizes I decided to move those up from the end of the class, and by then I'd completely lost my rhythm.
If I was thrown off-kilter, I know the students were as well. Within half an hour I was constantly thinking, 'how do I fix this', which meant I wasn't focused on the students and teaching. Talking with my own coach later, it was clear: I should have simply made it a remedial course, worked on the basics, and found exercises to give them a sense of safety and control in these conditions. That's it. Nothing fancy to it.
Instead, I felt obligated to stick to the script. I was actually thinking I owed them something, as in, they signed up for this course, I need to give them this course. But the truth is, we owe the students nothing more than duty of care and making them better learners. Whether that's deciding to limit the venue, or working on forward stroke instead of edging, or rescues instead of rolling, the first thing to do is to assess the students and to assess the environment. For some of the people I paddle with, this would have been a great day to capsize repeatedly, to paddle against the current, and to surf ferry wake in. For beginners, reinforcement of existing skills and building the confidence to go out in something more exciting than a glass pond would have been enough.
So, lessons learned. The more I go down this path of guiding and instructing, the more conservative I become. What can go wrong? Who's with me? What's my fail plan, and backup, and backup backup? What happens after that? And then, to turn around to my charges - whether club members or paying clients or friends - and make it fun, and interesting, and seamless.
That's the challenge, and one I hope to live up to better in the future.
Monday, September 30, 2013
BCU Assessment
"You are not wearing a drysuit," said a paddling acquaintance. I ran into her and a couple of other paddlers I know on Governors Island. I was in a small group being assessed for a British Canoe Union Three Star Paddling award.
"You know," I said, "I agree it's ridiculous." The water temperature was in the mid-sixties and the air temperature in the low seventies, with very little wind. "But I know I'm going to get wet a lot today, and I figured I may as well go with the most protection rather than get cold in the middle of things."
Part of the assessment involves rolling, and capsizing to be rescued in various ways. All in I think I went in the water five times later in the afternoon, and I was really glad I was wearing my drysuit. Although, it did present some other challenges.
--
The day started around 1000. I'd gotten in early and finished assembling my kit and putting it in the boat I was going to use - an Impex Montauk for all you boat geeks. There was only one other candidate, AD in his carbon kevlar Necky Chatham 16. Our assessor and his assistant, in a Necky Eliza* and a Tiderace Xplore-S, rounded out our crew of 4.
"Expect no feedback from us," said the assessor. "If you seem me scowling it doesn't mean you failed. I won't be smiling and giving your thumbs up if you do well. All that takes place at the end."
We went over some other details, such as what to do in case of real emergency or a dramatic change in conditions, then went over our charts to get an idea of where we'd be going. The enter span of New York City harbor was in play: from the Battery past Governor's Island, and on down to the Verranzano Bridge. That was our assessment venue.
* I may be misremembering the model - not an Elaho, and probably not an Eliza, but a discontinued El-something.
--
We set out towards Governors Island with a strong ebb current. The assessor had advised us to "play like dolphins" demonstrating various strokes as we paddled down the river: braces, edging, rudders, and so on. Then, once past the ferry terminal at Battery Park City, he had us move as close as we were comfortable against the sea wall. I got within a few feet, enough that my paddle didn't scrape the wall, but could have if I extended my arm.
The thing about sea walls is, they reflect waves. The thing about the waters near Battery is, there is enough traffic that there are plenty of waves. The thing about an ebb current is, the water level is low enough that waves tend to be bigger as they come in from deeper water.
I used some edging and bow ruddering to keep my distance, as well as a hanging draw. Speaking of which, the most common hypothetical I've encountered for the purpose of a hanging draw is, "there's a log in your path that you need to move around without turning." Sure enough, there was a small piece of wood, log-shaped, just slightly wider than my kayaking, that I sideslipped around using my hanging draw.
Next we proceeded out across the harbor, waiting for the Staten Island Ferry to cross our path first, along with some other small craft. The western edge of Governors Island is shallow, and so we crossed over some small standing waves before negotiating some chop as the ebb ramped up into the shallows. Here, we did backwards figure eights between the assessor and his assistant. We also took time for some at-sea bearing and navigation work: identify buoys, find our position on a map, take a bearing on various landmarks, and so on. I should point out that one of the buoys we looked at was not on our chart.
Then, we paddled around the southern point of Governors Island and up the eastern edge of it, to a small embayment at one of the piers there. This was where we'd do the hard part.
--
The BCU is big on precision. The "Body, Boat, Blade" mantra breaks all strokes down into the proper position and utilization of each. Here, we'd do increasingly tight turns around three pilings: figure eights, backwards figure eights, not losing momentum, turning as tightly around each as we could be.
I'd been practicing this, especially the reverse part. My backwards stern rudder with edging is beautiful in my opinion. There are smaller but more closely-positioned pilings near my home club, and I'd practiced forwards as well as backwards, but apparently not enough. My big note at the end was to improve my edging (even though the water was at my coaming level) and maintaining forward momentum using a forward stroke on the outside of the turn.
After that, we paddled up to the kayak dock at Governors Island, in a little bay just below the white octagonal blower tower for the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. That's where we saw our friends, who were out paddling for fun, and the LIC Community Boathouse program wrapping up their trip.
On land, we had lunch, and then went through our kits. For this assessment we're expected to bring complete day trip kit: first aid, boat repair, spare clothes, food and drink, extra food and drink, safety and signaling equipment, and so on. We both needed to improve our boat repair kits, but everything else was fine. The assessor had me actually unfurl and climb into one of my mylar emergency bivvies. Then he demonstrated an impressed piece of kit he carries - a large plastic storm shelter than can be used as a soft stretcher, and which folds up into a small bag the size of a soccer ball.
It was a beautiful day, sunny, not too breezy, but cool enough to not be terribly hot. After going over some more navigation and safety exercises, we set out again, promised that, "the worst is yet to come".
--
As we came out, we found ourselves having to wait for a NY Waterway boat to leave the main terminal on Governors Island, the Staten Island Ferry to leave Manhattan, the Governors Island Ferry to leave Manhattan, and a commercial yacht to pass us by. We crossed the wake of the latter just about 15-20 yards astern, and then headed towards Battery.
The assessor called out to me. "[Assistant] has a blister. Tow him." Clearly a faux scenario, but one to abide. I hooked in my line and started paddling. Yet, I was still next to his boat. My rope was not unraveling smoothly from my belt. I switched ends and pushed away, then paddling hard, and it started to unfurl. That took some doing, and meanwhile we were east of the Statue Cruise ferry terminal and west of the Staten Island ferry terminal.
Next, he directed the other candidate to hook into me, for a tandem or I-tow. We made steady progress.
"How's [assistant] doing? Anyone think to check on him?" Oh yeah. I thought. "How you feel?"
Next we were directed to paddle into a little nook between Pier A and Manhattan proper. There were a couple of challenges here. First, it's narrow, not much more than the length of a sea kayak, and there are pilings to one side and a sea wall to the other. Water rushes in and out and gets choppy. Second, there were a bunch of fisherman hanging lines of it, very upset that we were anywhere near their lines. This was problematic for the other candidate, an out-of-towner, unaccustomed to random strangers yelling and cursing at him, during a stressful situation, while receiving countervailing orders from the assessor.
"Go in!"
We paddled in, three boats attached by ropes in surging seas through a narrow impasse, until instructed to disconnect and idle in the back of the nook, which was actually rather calm. We stuffed our ropes, caught our breath, and went back out.
now, with the current coming in but still on the low side, we were getting small hills of water from the harbor, bouncing off the sea walls, and sometimes exacerbated by boat wake. Now things were getting exciting!
Addressing me, the assessor said, "swim".
"What?" I heard him, I just wanted to make sure I understood him."
"Swim. Capsize and come out of the boat."
I did so and stayed with the boat and my paddle while the other candidate rescued me.
Next, he had me capsize in order to be rescued eskimo-style: not exiting the boat. I capsized, banged loudly, and held my breath. Where was this guy? I swept my arms back and forth. I felt a bump - good - now where was the boat?
Suddenly, I felt it, and grabbed what was the port bow of his boat. I lifted myself up, and we went on our way.
Now, at this point the exact order of events gets a little blurry, but I know I went in the water a few more times, as did the other candidate. We both had to do paddle presentation and boat-based eskimo rescues, as well as T-rescues where we came out of the boat. My biggest moment of panic came when I glided in for a near-perfect paddle-shaft rescue, and the other candidate grabbed my bow first. "NoNoNoNo!" I was panicking only because I thought I'd take a hit on the assessment if I didn't adapt quickly enough, but instead, the assessor reminded him that this was meant to be a paddle shaft rescue, and I tried it again, successfully.
One bit of comedy involved my drysuit. Drysuits are waterproof bags. The first time I tried to roll, I went in part of the way, upside-down but with my right higher than my left. Air trapped in my drysuit had formed a little bubble that kept me from going all the way in. This happened again on one of our rescues, and the assessor had me exit the boat, stand vertical, and open the collar for air to escape. Now, I had bilged air earlier, before we left, but had captured air somewhere along the way.
So - rolling in chop, rescues in chop, lots of time in the chop - I was glad I had opted for the drysuit. I get cold easily to begin with, and despite the sunny day, I was feeling cool inside. Not so much that I felt hypothermic, but enough to know that with anything less, a steady breeze would have brought me to a halt.
After that, we finished up by moving to calmer water and demonstrating our moving abeam and sculling strokes: static draws, sculling draws, and sculling for support (down to elbows on the water). With that, we were nearly back at Pier 40's embayment. We paddled in, landed on the dock, and carried our boats up.
--
This was a hard day. I enjoyed every minute of it, the more so once I stopped caring about passing and just enjoyed what was, at the least, a nice trip with a lot of skills practice in conditions that are unusual for me. One reasons I started worked at Pier 40 this year was to make sure I got steadier exposure to rougher and more varied conditions. New York City: if you can paddle there, you can paddle anywhere.
I was pretty pumped for a good hour coming off the water. I didn't feel tired although I cognitively knew, and I am sure the assessor knew, that I was tired, as was the other candidate. We did a lot of work through the whole day, and were ready for it to be over.
I don't know how the other candidate did. I've seen different behavior in different assessments, sometimes people share, sometimes not. Neither of us asked each other how we did, but we talked about the day, and kept chatting when he gave me a ride back home.
In the feedback afterwards, the assessor started off, "Do you want to good news first, or the bad news?"
"Bad news," I said.
"Bad news is you owe me forty bucks for the paperwork fees. Congratulations, you passed."
I was ecstatic inside. This has been my big goal for a couple of years now, and one I've worked all summer for. Paddling more frequently, paddling in winter to maintain my skills, learning to roll, learning to coach, practicing with various coaches - it all led to this point. Getting my BCU 3 Star award was the last paddling goal I laid out for myself this summer.
I was mentally prepared to fail. This assessor is known as "tough but fair", and as we went through the assessment I kept running into things I though I could have done better. I tell my own students it's about the skills and not the award, and that is what I came around to - I felt comfortable in these conditions, I felt like I got most of the skills right, and that I can handle myself, with others, at sea.
I celebrated that night with a new variation of my typical post-paddling achievement reward: a medium rare burger with fries, a beer (Guinness!) and, for the first time, Scotch. With this assessor, and several of my coaches, the UK in general and Scotland and particular are held in high regard. I like Bourbon, and can drink whiskey, but Scotch has never appealed to me.
That is, until now.
"You know," I said, "I agree it's ridiculous." The water temperature was in the mid-sixties and the air temperature in the low seventies, with very little wind. "But I know I'm going to get wet a lot today, and I figured I may as well go with the most protection rather than get cold in the middle of things."
Part of the assessment involves rolling, and capsizing to be rescued in various ways. All in I think I went in the water five times later in the afternoon, and I was really glad I was wearing my drysuit. Although, it did present some other challenges.
--
The day started around 1000. I'd gotten in early and finished assembling my kit and putting it in the boat I was going to use - an Impex Montauk for all you boat geeks. There was only one other candidate, AD in his carbon kevlar Necky Chatham 16. Our assessor and his assistant, in a Necky Eliza* and a Tiderace Xplore-S, rounded out our crew of 4.
"Expect no feedback from us," said the assessor. "If you seem me scowling it doesn't mean you failed. I won't be smiling and giving your thumbs up if you do well. All that takes place at the end."
We went over some other details, such as what to do in case of real emergency or a dramatic change in conditions, then went over our charts to get an idea of where we'd be going. The enter span of New York City harbor was in play: from the Battery past Governor's Island, and on down to the Verranzano Bridge. That was our assessment venue.
* I may be misremembering the model - not an Elaho, and probably not an Eliza, but a discontinued El-something.
--
We set out towards Governors Island with a strong ebb current. The assessor had advised us to "play like dolphins" demonstrating various strokes as we paddled down the river: braces, edging, rudders, and so on. Then, once past the ferry terminal at Battery Park City, he had us move as close as we were comfortable against the sea wall. I got within a few feet, enough that my paddle didn't scrape the wall, but could have if I extended my arm.
The thing about sea walls is, they reflect waves. The thing about the waters near Battery is, there is enough traffic that there are plenty of waves. The thing about an ebb current is, the water level is low enough that waves tend to be bigger as they come in from deeper water.
I used some edging and bow ruddering to keep my distance, as well as a hanging draw. Speaking of which, the most common hypothetical I've encountered for the purpose of a hanging draw is, "there's a log in your path that you need to move around without turning." Sure enough, there was a small piece of wood, log-shaped, just slightly wider than my kayaking, that I sideslipped around using my hanging draw.
Next we proceeded out across the harbor, waiting for the Staten Island Ferry to cross our path first, along with some other small craft. The western edge of Governors Island is shallow, and so we crossed over some small standing waves before negotiating some chop as the ebb ramped up into the shallows. Here, we did backwards figure eights between the assessor and his assistant. We also took time for some at-sea bearing and navigation work: identify buoys, find our position on a map, take a bearing on various landmarks, and so on. I should point out that one of the buoys we looked at was not on our chart.
Then, we paddled around the southern point of Governors Island and up the eastern edge of it, to a small embayment at one of the piers there. This was where we'd do the hard part.
--
The BCU is big on precision. The "Body, Boat, Blade" mantra breaks all strokes down into the proper position and utilization of each. Here, we'd do increasingly tight turns around three pilings: figure eights, backwards figure eights, not losing momentum, turning as tightly around each as we could be.
I'd been practicing this, especially the reverse part. My backwards stern rudder with edging is beautiful in my opinion. There are smaller but more closely-positioned pilings near my home club, and I'd practiced forwards as well as backwards, but apparently not enough. My big note at the end was to improve my edging (even though the water was at my coaming level) and maintaining forward momentum using a forward stroke on the outside of the turn.
After that, we paddled up to the kayak dock at Governors Island, in a little bay just below the white octagonal blower tower for the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. That's where we saw our friends, who were out paddling for fun, and the LIC Community Boathouse program wrapping up their trip.
On land, we had lunch, and then went through our kits. For this assessment we're expected to bring complete day trip kit: first aid, boat repair, spare clothes, food and drink, extra food and drink, safety and signaling equipment, and so on. We both needed to improve our boat repair kits, but everything else was fine. The assessor had me actually unfurl and climb into one of my mylar emergency bivvies. Then he demonstrated an impressed piece of kit he carries - a large plastic storm shelter than can be used as a soft stretcher, and which folds up into a small bag the size of a soccer ball.
It was a beautiful day, sunny, not too breezy, but cool enough to not be terribly hot. After going over some more navigation and safety exercises, we set out again, promised that, "the worst is yet to come".
--
As we came out, we found ourselves having to wait for a NY Waterway boat to leave the main terminal on Governors Island, the Staten Island Ferry to leave Manhattan, the Governors Island Ferry to leave Manhattan, and a commercial yacht to pass us by. We crossed the wake of the latter just about 15-20 yards astern, and then headed towards Battery.
The assessor called out to me. "[Assistant] has a blister. Tow him." Clearly a faux scenario, but one to abide. I hooked in my line and started paddling. Yet, I was still next to his boat. My rope was not unraveling smoothly from my belt. I switched ends and pushed away, then paddling hard, and it started to unfurl. That took some doing, and meanwhile we were east of the Statue Cruise ferry terminal and west of the Staten Island ferry terminal.
Next, he directed the other candidate to hook into me, for a tandem or I-tow. We made steady progress.
"How's [assistant] doing? Anyone think to check on him?" Oh yeah. I thought. "How you feel?"
Next we were directed to paddle into a little nook between Pier A and Manhattan proper. There were a couple of challenges here. First, it's narrow, not much more than the length of a sea kayak, and there are pilings to one side and a sea wall to the other. Water rushes in and out and gets choppy. Second, there were a bunch of fisherman hanging lines of it, very upset that we were anywhere near their lines. This was problematic for the other candidate, an out-of-towner, unaccustomed to random strangers yelling and cursing at him, during a stressful situation, while receiving countervailing orders from the assessor.
"Go in!"
We paddled in, three boats attached by ropes in surging seas through a narrow impasse, until instructed to disconnect and idle in the back of the nook, which was actually rather calm. We stuffed our ropes, caught our breath, and went back out.
now, with the current coming in but still on the low side, we were getting small hills of water from the harbor, bouncing off the sea walls, and sometimes exacerbated by boat wake. Now things were getting exciting!
Addressing me, the assessor said, "swim".
"What?" I heard him, I just wanted to make sure I understood him."
"Swim. Capsize and come out of the boat."
I did so and stayed with the boat and my paddle while the other candidate rescued me.
Next, he had me capsize in order to be rescued eskimo-style: not exiting the boat. I capsized, banged loudly, and held my breath. Where was this guy? I swept my arms back and forth. I felt a bump - good - now where was the boat?
Suddenly, I felt it, and grabbed what was the port bow of his boat. I lifted myself up, and we went on our way.
Now, at this point the exact order of events gets a little blurry, but I know I went in the water a few more times, as did the other candidate. We both had to do paddle presentation and boat-based eskimo rescues, as well as T-rescues where we came out of the boat. My biggest moment of panic came when I glided in for a near-perfect paddle-shaft rescue, and the other candidate grabbed my bow first. "NoNoNoNo!" I was panicking only because I thought I'd take a hit on the assessment if I didn't adapt quickly enough, but instead, the assessor reminded him that this was meant to be a paddle shaft rescue, and I tried it again, successfully.
One bit of comedy involved my drysuit. Drysuits are waterproof bags. The first time I tried to roll, I went in part of the way, upside-down but with my right higher than my left. Air trapped in my drysuit had formed a little bubble that kept me from going all the way in. This happened again on one of our rescues, and the assessor had me exit the boat, stand vertical, and open the collar for air to escape. Now, I had bilged air earlier, before we left, but had captured air somewhere along the way.
So - rolling in chop, rescues in chop, lots of time in the chop - I was glad I had opted for the drysuit. I get cold easily to begin with, and despite the sunny day, I was feeling cool inside. Not so much that I felt hypothermic, but enough to know that with anything less, a steady breeze would have brought me to a halt.
After that, we finished up by moving to calmer water and demonstrating our moving abeam and sculling strokes: static draws, sculling draws, and sculling for support (down to elbows on the water). With that, we were nearly back at Pier 40's embayment. We paddled in, landed on the dock, and carried our boats up.
--
This was a hard day. I enjoyed every minute of it, the more so once I stopped caring about passing and just enjoyed what was, at the least, a nice trip with a lot of skills practice in conditions that are unusual for me. One reasons I started worked at Pier 40 this year was to make sure I got steadier exposure to rougher and more varied conditions. New York City: if you can paddle there, you can paddle anywhere.
I was pretty pumped for a good hour coming off the water. I didn't feel tired although I cognitively knew, and I am sure the assessor knew, that I was tired, as was the other candidate. We did a lot of work through the whole day, and were ready for it to be over.
I don't know how the other candidate did. I've seen different behavior in different assessments, sometimes people share, sometimes not. Neither of us asked each other how we did, but we talked about the day, and kept chatting when he gave me a ride back home.
In the feedback afterwards, the assessor started off, "Do you want to good news first, or the bad news?"
"Bad news," I said.
"Bad news is you owe me forty bucks for the paperwork fees. Congratulations, you passed."
I was ecstatic inside. This has been my big goal for a couple of years now, and one I've worked all summer for. Paddling more frequently, paddling in winter to maintain my skills, learning to roll, learning to coach, practicing with various coaches - it all led to this point. Getting my BCU 3 Star award was the last paddling goal I laid out for myself this summer.
I was mentally prepared to fail. This assessor is known as "tough but fair", and as we went through the assessment I kept running into things I though I could have done better. I tell my own students it's about the skills and not the award, and that is what I came around to - I felt comfortable in these conditions, I felt like I got most of the skills right, and that I can handle myself, with others, at sea.
I celebrated that night with a new variation of my typical post-paddling achievement reward: a medium rare burger with fries, a beer (Guinness!) and, for the first time, Scotch. With this assessor, and several of my coaches, the UK in general and Scotland and particular are held in high regard. I like Bourbon, and can drink whiskey, but Scotch has never appealed to me.
That is, until now.
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