A Race with Improvers

I taught a fun class near the end of September, taking students down to a little tiderace that forms under the George Washington Bridge, right here in Manhattan.

I called this an an improvers class, as everyone had some experience sea kayaking, but wanted to develop their skills a bit. The tiderace was just a bonus feature to practice against.

First, we practiced near Dyckman street, in the last bits of ebb tide, working out the fiddly bits.

A wee bit of practice.

Then, we headed south, towards to bridge.

Sally forth!

On the way.

I've mentioned the GWB tiderace before. In a post from last year, I described it a bit of a trip Kayak Dov and I took.

At the start of the flood cycle near the bridge, a wider body of water starts flowing past Jeffrey Hook, where the Little Red Lighthouse sits. Furthermore, if you look on a chart, it's clear that the hydography has a steep, banked curved in the long bay south of the bridge. The effect is that a large volume of water gets squeezed and accelerated at the hook, and the surface water piles up and back over itself. As these waves form, they appear to fall, bizaarely, back towards to flood current. As the effect builds you can actually surf upstream, and if some sizable wake arrives from, say, a passing barge, you can ride some dumpy waves in excess of 1m in height. It can be quite exciting.

For these students, it was a safe, low-consequence environment to gain confidence in somewhat rough water. What I like about the area for instruction purposes is two fold. First, there's a sizable eddy just north of the hook, making for a safe spot to retreat to or observe from, as well as a "ski lift" effect to make multiple runs practicing peelouts. Additionally, since it's a flood current, in the worst case, swimmers and boats and kit will all float back towards where we started.

Getting a taste.

Perfecting a stance.

We did have one rescue. Towards the end of the session, we did get a bit of wake that vaulted the wave heights to 1-2 feet from behind us. I shouted a heads up to my students, reminding them to keep momentum and either ride the wave or let it pass under. One was indecisive, and capsized. I was able to recover him, and called the rest over to the eddy. As a group we decided to end the tiderace portion of the session and practice rescues, with the current carrying us back to our starting position.

Taking a pumpout.

Enjoying the scenery.

Observing others.

I really enjoyed this session, and was happy to have a sizable group for instruction. It's an area I am constantly learning more about, and having a group of students with different goals and abilities pushed me to develop my coaching ability - focusing on one or two things at a time for each participant.

At the end of the day, we were treated to a weather system moving in, some potential precipitation crowding out our sunny day.

Farewell to the Bridge.

I hope to do this again next year - maybe more than once.

Rendezvous 2016

I loaded everything up the night before with a friend who was attending. The "Mid Coast Sea Kayak Rendezvous" in Maine, hosted by Messrs John Carmody and Todd Wright, and others, nearly two dozen coaches in all, in the Georgetown/Sheepscot River vicinity of Maine.

I've been up there a couple of times before. The first time, on account of my friends at Wind Against Current, Johna Tilson and Vladimir Brezina. A second time, for my Four Star training, and again last summer to get some experience and a rematch against the boilers at Lower Hell Gate. The area is rife with traditional sea kayaking features: sea, rocks, surf, strong weather, surging seas. It's a brilliant area for honing skills, and the Rendezvous - a symposium - was going to be a great way to work on all my dance moves.

I have to say, being a child of the "hooked on phonics" generation, I always sound it out as "Ren-Dez-vous".

I was getting over a bad cold from the weekend before, throwing extra bottles of water and an extra face-rag in the passenger seat of my Saab. I had the Gemini SP loaded up on the rack, strapped down and tied off on the front and back. It's about a 6 hour drive from New York City to Maine, interstates to highways to county roads to smaller paves roads, to rough drives and eventually, rutted grooves in dirty lined with gravel and tree roots, to my campsite at Sagadahoc Bay. Here, I'd pitch a tent on the opposite side of the bay from the main event, a bay that became a mud flat at low tide, on a weekend with a Full Moon and the correspondingly high tides.

Organization
The event was three days of paddling with various coaches: Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Eveyone who arrived was given a color bandana indicating which group they were assigned to: teal, green, pink, dark blue, and so on. My group was dark blue. The idea was, we'd come together in these groups of half a dozen or so paddlers, and each day we'd have two marquee coaches and possibly an assistant coach, and we also have a local coach or expert who would stick with us for all three days. So, our all-weekend guy was a Rhode Island paddler named Tim, and we had different experts with us the other days.

The weather, by the way, was brilliant, sunny and not terrible winds the whole time. My only complaint was Friday night, which dropped below freezing. I'd brought extra layers and still woke up cold in the middle of the night. Fortunately, remaining nights were progressively warmer.

Day 1
Day 1 were paired up with Ron G and Christopher Lockyear of Committed2theCore & Bay of Fundy Sea Kayak Symposium. About 2/3 of our group were candidates for a leadership award, so we were given ample opportunity to practice leadership skills. The first was launching off a rather dumpy beach in Reid State Park, and I have to say the paddler tasked with that seemed a little oblivious to the nicer stretch of surf about a hundred feet further down from where we'd set our boats. He got two out but after three unsuccessful attempts to launch yours truly into some four foot walls of incoming water, I organized a coup and the rest of us launched in the less dumpy part of the beach.

This must be the right place.

Once underway, we set out on a little journey, south from Todds Point to, eventually, an island called Pond Island. It's a small rock of an island, with a lighthouse on top, and sort of the middling point between the very end of Sagadahoc Bay and the Kennebec river. We played over rocks and some surf, and after lunch on the island, enjoyed a nice tiderace that formed to its north on the ebb.

Landing at Pond Island.

The lighthouse at Pond Island.

A lookabout.

Solar power for the win.

Like ants, crawled from the sea.

A gorge. Hard to make out in this photo.

The tiderace was great. It was amazing, and I've never been in anything like it. Sure, I've been in current, and bouncy water, but never anything so big and moving and consistent as this. It was tremendous - and it wore me out. I kept thinking we'd move on but we didn't, and towards the end I had to drop back in the eddy to rest and get some water. I was still not even 90% on account of my cold.

Eventually, we did make it back to Reid, and sure enough the beach was less dumpy. I even pointed out why. At a lower tide, we could see how the beach ramped up rather sharply when the water level was up, but as we landed, as charted, it was flat quite a ways out.

That night, we had a pizza party, and I met up with BB of Canada, JC of NH, and met some new folks. A lot of paddlers at the Rendezvous were from Canada and Rhode Island - places I want to do more paddling in.

Day 2
On the second day our pod was paired up with two very experienced coaches, Sylvain Bedard and Nigel Foster.

Nigel Foster. For those who don't know the name (or who get him confused with Nigel Dennis), he's one of the O.G.s of the sport. He was paddling and teaching paddling literally before I was born, and has made a number of expeditions, including a circumnavigation of Iceland and 675+ miles from Baffin Island to Labrador. You can read more about him on Wikipedia, or his various websites (just look up "Nigel Foster Kayak").

His presence was a surprise to other coaches, who'd only been given notice that a pseudonym was attending as a last-minute "motivational speaker". This was like going to a local music festival and finding out that Keith Richards was playing. And then, you get to go on stage to play with him.

Nigel and Sylvain led us on a very short journey that gave us ample opportunity to play with a variety of features. The unifying theme was using the environment to maneuver the boats, in particular choosing to come in on the back of a wave or on top of one, and using current to turn our boats.

After launching off a different beach in Reid State Park (at Griffiths Head), we paddled a short distance out to a large rock island. I should mention that along the way, we saw a recurring breaking wave in the middle of the water, and I paddled out to investigate, seeing that it was a very shallow rock ledge, right before the water level dropped on the trough of an incoming wave, and shortly I was bracing and surfing in on the power of the ocean. Oh my God, it was awesome.

At the island, we found a little cranny where water would surge through, after having lost much of its force hitting the island. If we paddled through on the front of an incoming wave, we'd have less steering control, and not very much depth to go over the rocks in the channel. If we waited and came in on top or on the back of a wave, we had more depth. So that was the game: timing.

To the island !

Setting up overwatch.

Lining up.

Paddling through.

Shortly after that, we worked our way up a bit of coast and landed on a rock beach below a picnic area, and after lunch went 'round the corner to where a pond was dropping a very forceful amount of water into the sea. This whitewater feature gave us very, very strong eddy lines to play against, and we practiced ferrying across, peelouts and eddy turns, and even just turning our boats in place on the eddy line. I'm happy to say it felt like cheating on that last using the Gemini SP; it was so short I could sit literally on top of the eddy line and had perfect control.

Moving right along.

Lunch !

Amongst our group was an amputee. Dave never shied away from helping to carry boats or move kit, and was a very capable paddler as well; he later passed his Four Star. He was great to paddle with.

Dave (left).

In the back, our Kenobi.

While we lunched, we also saw some features and islands emerge as the water level dropped.

A feature emerges.

The riverlet.

After that, we went out a ways and paddled in wind. It had picked up a bit, and against the current a bit gave us something fun to play in. We practiced maneuvering our boats on waves, and two more things new to me: changing our hand placement for "gearing" our strokes, wider for stronger and powerful and more narrow for a touring stroke, and dropping a blade in the water to act as a sort of skeg, or a slow-motion pry, to help turn in wind.

Sylvain and I had paddled to the forward edge of the group, and while watching each other work, we caught sight of a visitor: a seal who poked his head out to spy on these strange creatures bobbing on the waves. He ducked before I could grab my camera.

That night, we had a slightly more formal dinner, with excellent lasagna and salad. Two students from SUNY Plattsburgh's Expeditionary Studies program presented on a journey that'd made, taking a month to circumnavigate the Scottish highlands, a journey of about 540 miles. You can see video from their expedition at Zander's YouTube channel.

Day 3
On the third day we were paired up with Josh Hall, of South Carolina. He's an Instructor Trainer in the ACA scheme (possibly, I may have misheard, an IT Educator). By the third day everyone was feeling a little tuckered, and with long drives home for many, it was a short day, with a one-way paddle from the Five Islands area up to the Knubble Bay area, then back.

This was a fairly relaxed journey, with time to play in various features. By this point I'd built some confidence in paddling up and over diagonally-set rocks, going in on the peak and paddling out as the water receded. Though, at one point, I'm pretty sure I left some red plastic on a rock !

A sunny day.

Setting a fit of the spraydeck. 

We paddled up the eastern side of Macmahon Island and entered Goosneck Passage as the water ebbed. This gave us a bit of current to play in and practice ferrying against, and we attained our way to a small rocky island in the middle for lunch.

Landing at Gooseneck Island.

We headed down the western side of Macmahon. One curious feature we noticed was that, while the water was ebbing, we were going against the current as we headed south - but then part of the way through, we had current with us. As near as I could figure, the passage was like two bowls next to each other, with the northern half ebbing north into Gooseneck, and the southern half ebbing south into the Sheepscot.

Shore along Robin Hood.

Close to a house.

Around the passage.

With the completion of this voyage, the Rendezvous came to an end. I made several new friends and saw a few old ones, and met some amazing coaches and picked up some top tips from them. More than anything else I got practice in an environment and features that I rarely get to, and that was tremendous.

While New York City has strong tidal currents and a certain cachet amongst paddlers, it's short on traditional sea kayaking features such as surf and rocks. After all, it is a natural harbor. So I go further afield to get those experiences.

The Rendezvous was a great experience and I highly recommend it as a go-to event. I hope to attend next year - but regardless I expect this won't be the last time I paddle in this part of Maine !

The Winter Troupe

It was cloudy, nothing but clouds overhead, with predictions of 100% rain in the afternoon. "Cats and Dogs," said the trip leader, "this afternoon all hell will break loose." We planned to be back before then. With almost no wind, today was going to be a good day for a trip north, practicing skills along the way. This was a trip out from the shop at Pier 40, with two clients and three coaches.

We left about two and a half hours after high tide at the Battery, meaning we'd have mostly slack on the way up - a good way to gauge un-assisted speed of our students.

Just north of Pier 40, on the right edge of photo.

Paddling north was fairly uneventful; it may not have looked like it but it was a brilliant day. With almost no wind, and little traffic, we could practice some of the more fiddly stokes, like hanging draws and draws on-the-move.  Our clients worked on edging and bow rudders.

Sauntering past Pier 76, or about 36th street.

It was a relatively warm day for winter - air temperatures in the high 40s. The water temperature was 47 - cold, but not terrible to touch.

Nonetheless, we did not see a lot of riverfront pedestrian traffic, just a couple of fishermen.

Circle Line terminal, around 40th street.

On the calendar this was a trip to the Intrepid, NYC's retired aircraft that is now an "air/sea/space museum". The giant box on the deck is temporary cover for a space shuttle. I made my usual joke about it being the one with low miles.

The Intrepid, viewed from a kayak on the river.

Since our group was doing well speed-wise, we pressed on to Pier 96, only a few blocks further north, past the cruise ship terminals.

Pier 96 Embayment.

We took some water and took in the view before deciding to head back. By the time we were heading out, a thick fog had rolled in, and hose with lights switched them on.

Then came the rain.

Rain.

It came hard, pelting our boats and even the water rather loudly. I pulled up the brimmed hood of my drysuit. The rain wasn't bad; wind would have been worst. It lasted about ten minutes, and both the rain and the fog rolled away by the time we were past the Intrepid.

Tailgating, Kayak-style.

On the back we had our students practice edging and using edging to steer their boats. One of them had a habit of stern rudders to keep straight, and the other would do a sort of reverse-sweep/pry move that just completely killed momentum. Edging is a great way to make course corrections on the move, while still propelling the boat forward.

Actually, edging is good for a lot of things. That is just one of them.

Almost back.

When we got back to the Pier 40 embayment, we didn't go straight in. These guys are signed up for a rescue class later this winter, so we're taking as many opportunities as we can to let them practice. That requires a victim, and so the trip leader (who is also the head coach) asked me if I was prepared to get wet.

Well, I had been on the fence about attempting a roll, but sure, this cinched it.

We picked a rescuer, and I did a roll. The water was noticeably cold, and when I came up, I needed a moment to let the ice-headache effect wear off. It's only going to get colder, and I have a goal of rolling in the Hudson at least once a month this year. I'm building up a tolerance.

With that out of the way, I capsized and exiting the boa. My rescuer came over and performed a pretty decent rescue, talking me through a heel-hook. At one point, hanging on to the stern of his boat, I made a semi-faux grimace at the cold to one of the other coaches, but indicated I was OK. I have learned that its better to float my entire body on the surface. Among other things, the water is warmer than five feet below!

After talking though improvements he needed for the rescue, we had that student go in and the other rescue him. The main note for both was paddle management, and also boat control - using deck lines to dump, right, and put the boat where it needs to be for the rescue as quickly as possible.

I'll tell you, speed is key when the water is cold.

I went in one more time for the lead instructor to demonstrate a good rescue. After that, we were done - a good thing because I was ready for hot tea.

Drysuit Paddling

The first thing I feel is the impact of the water. If I'm perfectly lined up it's on my shoulder; if not, I take it on the cheek, cool brackish water slapping me in the face.

Then I'm under, and I feel my drysuit crinkle around me, air rushing to my arms and legs. I pull myself over and then sweep myself up.

Or, if I'm practicing re-entry and roll, I'm out of the boat, my feet in the cockpit while I sort my paddle, my legs inflated with whatever air was in the suit, and then I take a breath, stuff myself back in, assume the position, and roll on up. After than I'm sitting in six inches of water and wondering if I should even bother wringing my hair out.

At the shop, some of our students and other clients bought drysuits and have asked to continue paddling into the winter. So we've had a gradual introduction to drysuit paddling. For the record, the water temperature has been in the 50s Fahrenheit and dropping, yesterday 54 F.

Here are my observations.

Entering and Exiting the Suit: It's important to check and double-check all zippers; it isn't difficult to leave that last half inch open. Be sure to grab and hold open the gaskets and not just poke through them. Absolutely bilge the suit of internal air, not just before going out but every couple of hours if possible.

We had one student who, on a wet exit drill, could not get completely over because he had so much air in his suit. This made getting out of the boat difficult, flopping around like a fish until his legs were free.

Range of Motion: Drysuits allow for a range of motion, but do make the paddler bigger all around. I have to adjust my PFD sizing when I go to the drysuit, and I feel like I fill my boat more than I do in the summer, wearing only sandals and rash guards. I notice this the most getting in and out of the boat.

Temperature Management: This might be the biggest topic so I'll give it several grafs.

First of all drysuits keep you dry; they do not keep you warm. A drysuit is essentially a Ziploc bag shaped like a person, or a drybag for people. To stay warm, wear layers underneath.

One challenge in this part of the season, and in early spring, is that the air and water temperatures are very different: yesterday the water was in the 50s but the air was in the 30s, low forties by the time we were on the water. In the spring it's the opposite: the air warms up to the 60s but the water is still in the 50s, leading people to underestimate the potential risks.

On top of that, being on the water, and immersion in water, tends to be colder than street weather. Without protection, humans lost heat twenty-five times faster in water than in air. Even fully layered and in a drysuit, that water felt colder than the air did on land yesterday. Even out paddling, the proximity to water, with exposure to the wind, makes it feel colder.

Last weekend, one of the other students felt overheated as we talked through the float plan in the cozy confines of the classroom. He disappeared for a bit and, as we learned later, stripped down to his trunks. When he capsized later, he felt it. He was not in long enough for it to be debilitating but he was longing for his layers.

Second of all, drysuits work in both directions: as you paddle, you're going to sweat, and that sweat isn't going to leave the suit. So, however many layers you wear, you'll want to make sure you've got something that will carry that moisture out away from your body. Most athletic wear does this, and drysuit manufacturers have their own lines of products meant specifically for this in drysuits.

What you want to avoid is a scenario like the following: It's cold, so you dress warmly. You paddle for an hour, and then the day turns sunny. Now you're hot and sweaty and beginning to wonder if the drysuit was overkill. Then you stop for lunch, clouds obscure the sun, and now you're cold and clammy until you start paddling again.

So, layers: stay warm, manage moisture, and practice gradually.

A Visitor

I was surprised when I read the email: Coach Gordon Brown will be visiting New York Kayak Company Saturday afternoon.

The best advice I've gotten is to work with as many coaches as possible, take what I like and leave the rest. That said, Gordon's pretty well known and highly regarded, running a shop on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. He coached a couple of my coaches, and has an excellent book and DVD series. If you're into sea kayaking, you've probably heard the name.

Several people showed up and we settled in to hear the great wisdom of this world-renowned instructor. The first thing we did was learn a little eskimo song and dance:

We gathered in a circle.
We learned the words, presumably in Inuit.
We hunched over and passed our hands from our knees, o our neighbor's, then back, then our other neighbor's.
Then we learned more words, repeated the motions, grabbing our nostrils and alternating left and right earlobes.
The we did it all again and adding some folding arm motions.
At the end, we jumped at the ceiling.

Wisdom received, we watched a slideshow about paddling in Scotland, and had some Q&A

One bit I was happy to hear about: how to encourage a student who has hit a plateau. This is an actual challenge I've been working on for about a month now. Gordon gave me something to try - more tools for my toolkit, as they say. We'll see how it works out.

It was great fun, and the first time I've seen some of my paddling friends in months. As the winter months creep in, I'll be thinking of Scotland and, perhaps, one day paddling around some stacks and muirs myself.

Winding Down

While things have slowed down a bit this month, the paddling season isn't over. I've had a couple of my regular 1-1 students out this month - in conditions that raised their cackles but ultimately gave them a bit of confidence. At least, I think that's what happened!

The past couple of weekends have featured a fair amount of wind coming from the west. On two separate occasions I took a student over the the Pier 26 embayment after a quick lap to ensure they were comfortable in the wind. Wind has a major effect on kayaks, generally catching the back and turning the boat towards the wind. So, for these students, having gotten good at turning the boat with sweeps and edging, this was an opportunity to practice the same when Mother Nature was being less agreeable.

They noticed that it was harder to turn away from the wind, but easier to turn to. When the wind picked up, or if ferry wake brought in higher waves, they got a chance to feel the boat broach a bit and either help or hurt their turning. This made for good fun on some of the edging practice too, though neither went in the water.

The Coach

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.

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.

Instructing on the Hudson

I had another opportunity to instruct this weekend, this time at my "home" club, the Inwood Canoe Club. Located just below Dyckman street on the Hudson River, Inwood is the oldest continuously operating paddling club in NYC -as far as I know.

This year there has been a lot of interest among new members in getting training and certifications. Several took a class last week at Lake Sebago, and wanted to practice this week before next week's formal assessment. So, I took my notes and put together a day-long cram session, based more or less on the Coastal Kayaking (Level 2) curriculum put forth by the American Canoe Association.

Overall, it went pretty well. I had about five or six students at a time. A couple could only make the morning, replaced by others who could only make the afternoon. Those were there all day certainly got a workout!

In the morning we focused on strokes and maneuvers: forward stroke, sweep stroke, turning in place and turning on the move, stern rudders. We paddled up to a little place I like to practice near Spuyten Duyvil. It's relatively sheltered from current and other conditions, and worked well in the morning. Then we paddled back to the boathouse for lunch, rest, and some land-based discussions on signals, protection, and safety.

In the afternoon, the current picked up in the opposite direction. We spent some time on edging and braces. One long-time paddling was astonished by edging. "It changes my life," he said, going on to say, "I never thought a long boat could turn like this." Of course, he promptly capsized while turning a little too sharply without a brace, but he still loved the new (to him) concept.

My little protected area was not as protected against flood current as ebb, so while we did a little work there, I decided to move us across the river. We still drifted a bit with the tidal current, but not nearly as badly, and we managed to practice some rescues and towing. Contact tows in particular proved to be a hit, since few people have proper tow ropes when they need them.

After that, we paddled back across the water, got out, and washed up. Everyone was pretty well tuckered, but mostly happy with the results. For those going on their assessments next week, I hope it helps. For everyone, every day on the water is a day to improve skills.

For me - I learn from all my students, because everyone learns in a different way. Additionally, I got experience managing a group, and changing conditions. Not all my plans worked out, but I am more or less happy with how things did work out, and I have better ideas on how to manage things next time.

Fire Island Class

Well buckaroos, I wound up teaching a class out on Fire Island for the Appalachian Mountain Club. The AMC is an extensive organization - the New York/New Jersey chapter alone has 8000 members - that does all kinds of outdoorsy things. The group that runs their cabin out on Fire Island, near Bay Shore, had a notion to offer an introductory kayaking class, and their original instructors had to cancel at the last minute.

A mutual friend connected me with the organizers, and after some back and forth I agreed to go out Friday night, meet the students over dinner, teach Saturday, and lead a couple of short trips Sunday. In return I got free room and board - on Fire Island, not a bad deal.

My students, after a day of paddling.

The students were all novice kayakers. Some had a little experience on lakes, or in one case the East River (which is impressive), but no a lot of time. I started with the basics: torso rotation, turning in place, forward stroke, and so on, and by midday most of them were able to paddle around our little embayment in a proper figure-eight path.

In the afternoon, a few opted out to go do other activities - shop in town, relax on the beach, even sailing. It's hard to compete with sailing - the wind does all the work. However, for those who stayed, we went over bracing and rescues, and then a small number went out to circumnavigate East Fire Island with me.

Throughout the weekend our biggest challenge was a steady westerly wind that kept blowing us across the little bay we had. We'd practice, reset, practice, reset, and so on. I took everyone a little farther out to do the Raft Routine - a couple of tricks I learned from another coach to demonstrate rafting up, and the stability that comes in a rafted group.

Kayak Cowgirl giving instruction, probably "torso rotation".

I was fortunate to have a really good assistant, a member with some BCU and whitewater experience. Part of the time, I was also assisted by someone who knows the waters well. They were both great to work with, and to have available for helping shepherd the group.

Our trips were short. The wind pushed against us, so we only got about a mile each way. However, we were near proper traffic routes, and crossed in front of a marina, and so talked about how to read buoys and negotiate with traffic.

I got positive feedback overall, and that was all the sweeter for it being a group of complete strangers. If I were to do it again, with a little more noticed, I might organize it differently, but overall, this was a great chance to practice group management.

Practice, Practice, Practice

All the major coaches were at the dude ranch this morning. There was a lot on the schedule - a river trip, a trip to the Statue of Liberty, a kayak class, an SUP class. However, clients failed to materialize for half of these activities, and so I was nicked by one of the senior coaches for a practice trip to Morris Canal.

The highlights? As usual, a bit of role-play,with me as the trip leader bringing across two paddlers at the top of my ability to teach. I caught some major helicopter prop wash, which was awesome. I paddled deep into the Morris Canal, and got some clarification on some stern rudder techniques and cros-bow rudder practice - not to mention tips on group management, trip leading, and finding lessons to teach on the way.

The key point to the first is that as a coach, or instructor, I have to tailor my style to my students' abilities. Most of my instruction has been to new paddlers, but dealing with somewhat experienced paddlers is a completely different style. There's less micro-management, and the teachable moments are completely different.

As far as the prop wash goes: there is a helicopter landing pad on the waterfront, in front of the Goldman Sachs building (appropriately enough). It's possible to paddle underneath that pier, which is topped with what is more or less just a metal grate, which allows air to flow. Our lead coach led us underneath, to a choppy area he likes to practice in, and I was passing directly below the landing platform right as a helicopter came in. Oh my God, it was like five seconds of intense weathercocking - all of a sudden my boat was being pushing sideways and downwards. I actually edged towards the spray, and when I came out, my left side was soaked and my right side was dry. It was an intense experience.

In the canal, we talked a bit about traffic, and did some more lessons and learning. We went back behind the marina, to where it becomes marsh before hitting a dead end. We paddled back and took a break for lunch.

We did have one client, a woman who had bought a boat and some kit but did not have a lot of experience. We took turns teaching and demonstrating techniques. I learned a little how to make kayaking seem fun. By the end though, the other assistant and I were practicing rolling and rescues. Turns out my forward sweep rolle is better than I thought.

It all flows out to the sea.

Certification

Well buckaroos, it's been a while. The cowgirl took a couple of weeks off for a well-deserved vacation, before coming back to NYC and diving right into a certification course.

Why get certified? I've known plenty of paddlers who are really good, yet are not formally certified, or who once were but let it slip by. I've also known some people who were certified, but who did not really know what they were doing. Out on the trail, it's the skills and not the paper that will keep you upright and headed in the right direction.

That said, there is something to formal instruction. I've been fortunate to have a variety of coaches in a variety of settings. There is a distinct difference in the experience of a structured learning approach as opposed to some  talented cowhand showing you some rope tricks. The latter is good for working on specific skills, while the former, done well, ties it all together.

I enjoy sharing knowledge and experience. While I consider myself an intermediate paddler, there are people who come to me for tips and advice. It's hard not to mimic my own coaches and pass down the oral traditions I have received.

Thus, it is with more than a little pride that I can say I passed an introductory coaching exam. I passed a Level 2 ACA Coastal Kayaking Instructor exam. There's some paperwork to go through, and I'm being careful about doing more teaching than assessing, but it's nice to say that after two full weekends, not to mention the cumulative experience of the past eight years and my various coaches, I'm finally certified to teach the sport I love.

Trip Leader Training

Today's work at the NYKC ranch involved trip leading practice. There were four of us, including our lead coach. We took turns leading a trip out of Pier 40, to about Battery Park City, then across to Jersey City. In each leg we played different roles, with focus on me and the other new girl.

I was up first. We talked about how to decide where to go. Current was flooding north, and we expected a weather system to move in from the south as well. Generally outbound trips go against the current, so as to have an easier time on the way back, especially if something goes wrong. I announced we would head south, probably not farther than Battery.

Our lead coach agreed and asked me to paddle out a bit so he could confer with his colleagues. The way coach and leader training works in these situations is, other participants role-play certain activities and attitudes intended to challenge the leader's ability to maintain the group. I knew that was what was being planned, and mentally prepared. I'll call my companions Winken Blinken and Nod, with Nod being our lead coach.

We set out. I asked Winken to take lead, and she never did; it wasn't clear at first if she was meant to be another assistant for me and Blinken and Nod were our clients, and I eventually treated her as a third client. She lagged behind, and I checked in on her, and kept Blinken and No from racing off.

Blinken kept racking forward, and I'd have to tell him to hold back. So did Nod, but he was on the opposite side as the other two, intentionally dividing my attention. Then, Winken started keeping up, but drifting out into the main channel of the river. I managed to keep the group together, and we pulled in near Pier 26 for an assessment.

We took turns, starting with me. I talked through what I saw, and what my concerns were, and I got it mostly right. the main criticism I took away was that I came off as a bit bossy - which frankly is criticism I've gotten before, and something I mean to improve on. Winken said that while I came across as confident and firm, I also seemed a little nervous, which was true. I was being assessed !

Next, we went across the river, this time with Winken as the trip leader. Now I was in on the conspiracy. Nod asked me to alternately race ahead and lag behind, while he and Blinken flanked and distracted Winken.

This was a little tricky because she put me on point to lead us across the river, aiming for the Hyatt hotel on the Jersey City waterfront. So, I left, I mean, I paddled as quickly as I could, outpacing the team. Eventually, she pulled me back, asking me to hold up for the group - so I did, even allowing them to pass, and then lingering behind. When she caught me out, I pointed to river tour vessel slowing making U-turns and said Iw as unsure about it. To be fair, Winken is new to these waters, so she might have actually had the same concerns.

As we approached the opposite side of the river, Nod brought our role-play to a close, and we rafted up in an embayment in front of the Hyatt to talk about how the crossing had gone. One thing that was different for her was that she got more involved in conversations than she needed to be, inhibiting her ability to manage the group. It's a touch balance, especially when running a trip with people you don't know - keeping a firm rein on a disparate group of paddlers, while keeping up a friendly patter so everyone is having a good time.

From there, we paddled back pretty easy. By then, the current was turning slack, but was still mildly north. We performed a ferry crossing, aiming for the inward Holland Tunnel blowers from about Pier 26 on the Jersey side. There was some light traffic heading south, but slowly, and we managed to avoid it.

Once back, we said hi to our friends as they finished putting the ramp in, unloaded, and washed up. As a bonus, we'd all been paddling Tiderace boats, which are amazing. I will write about them separately as I get more experience in them.

Canoe

Another day at the ranch, working with the other coaches and assistants. We practiced paddling canoes, both solo and double.

I have to say, it's remarkable what one forgets when it is not practiced regularly.

My J-stroke was all wrong. I'd paddle out into the embayment at Pier 40, get weathercocked by a steady breeze from the east, and then be unable to turn or paddle against it. My C-stroke was even worse. While I did OK on the right, my brain just wasn't mapping it right to the left. I'd be thumbs-up and backwards.

Fortunately, through some instruction from the lead coach and by practicing with one of the other assistants, it started to come back to me. The wind would still 'cock me, but I was able to adjust. I got a a point where some edging and a C-stroke would get me where I needed to go.

Edging is different in a canoe. Unlike a kayak, you edge the deck into the opposing force, rather than the hull. That is, if I want to turn right, I tilt to the right, lifting the left side out of the water.

I also learned how much a difference trim makes. Even someone as light as the cowgirl puts the fore of the canoe four inches out of water when she sits in the back. Paddling solo, I sit in the middle, or ate least further forward.

By the end of the day, I was able to maneuver a narrow figure-8 course set up by our lead coach, around two pilings, and then backwards past a floating dock and two other pilings. It will take some work, but I think I will get the hand of it.

Games

I spent some time this morning at Pier 40, working with some of the instructors there to try out some games. I'll be assisting there this summer, and it was good to meet the team - including my old coach.

I arrived early, and as nice as it was, the regular paddling season felt right around the corner. I say "regular paddling" because at this point, I've paddled all twelve months in the year. But this morning was sunny, and relatively warm, and I could spy the Freedom Tower, the Statue of Liberty, and the Holland Tunnel blowers right across the way.

I pulled out my iPad and did some work - a little research, and a little email. Then, I caught a glimmer out on the river, and I watched until I was certain they were paddlers. They were very far out, but as they came closer, there were five, a group out of Valentino Park in Brooklyn, on their way into a weekend-long trip up the river.

My coach showed up, and talked to them - some he knew. We all talked about boats, and people we know, and paddling horror stories. For them, it was a pit stop, and as the rest of the crew arrived, they saddled up and headed out, while we pulled out boats and suited up for practice.

It's going to be a fun summer - like so many, too short.

Even Cowgirls Get the Blues

Well, we get colds anyway. I was hoping to paddle last weekend - a long weekend due to Martine Luther King Jr Day - but I developed a sore throat that got worse and worse, to the point where I went to the doctor and got some antibiotics. I'm afraid that strands me on land this weekend too. I'm on the mend and don't want to wreck it.

Meanwhile, planning continues for the coming summer. There will be some good weekends for paddling out to Sandy Hook, and maybe Jamaica Bay. I'm also looking at some teaching assistant opportunities, and looking to level up some of my certifications. Gotta work on that roll! So while I'm not physically on the water, I'm there in spirit.