Amazing

I was conducting a paddling skills assessment at a lake yesterday, aided by friend and fellow instructor Jean Kostelich of Two Geeks @ Three Knots. While there, I ran into some other local acquaintances, people who are more skilled paddlers than I, and we got to talking. Our conversation went along these lines:

You got any plans this fall? What about that thing we went to in Groton?

Gotta wait and see about my schedule. I'd love to go. I also want to get some [n] training.

Really, with who?

[name]. I find his style really works for me.

Yes he's good, I only met him last year. You going for your  [n] ?

Maybe, but what would I do with it? Conditions around here are only so much, and very few paddlers are up to that level of paddling.

Yeah. In NYC people say I'm an amazing paddler, but I go up there and I realize where I'm really at. You know, just average at best.

What constitutes amazing? I think it's only human to think in binary terms: I'm a beginner or  I'm amazing. Where one places oneself on that limited spectrum might depend on the events of that day. If you try something new, that pushes your limits, how well you do will color your self-perception.

I for one can say that I felt pretty darned amazing the day I capsized while surfing a three-foot wave and rolled up on my less-elegant side. But then the next day I repeatedly failed a re-entry and roll.

Some folks who keep at their paddling will develop a third model. The wording is always awkward. What's an "advanced beginner" or "intermediate". In my own work I've settled on "improvers", covering a wide range: from "has the basics down" to "can do everything I can and be better at it too."

The truth though, is that paddling skills are a spectrum, and each skill in itself can run on a spectrum. I've seen plenty of paddlers with good forward and turning strokes but weak or ineffective braces. I've seen some amazing rollers who have messy draw strokes. On top of all this, there's experience in conditions. Strokes that work in rough water will work in flat water, but unless practiced correctly, in those conditions, fear in the "brain" part of body-boat-blade-brain will wreck the best efforts of the other three Bs.

Hence, most of the best paddlers I know will say they're "OK". "Just OK," because paddling is a practice. It's an ongoing activity and achievement. I might have an amazing bow rudder one day and a terrible on the next. Or crack six rolls consecutively one day but then muscle one the next.

Amazing? It's all in the eye of the beholder.

Rolling v. Not Having to Roll

A friend, fellow paddler, and L4 instructor dropped me a note recently. He's away on a trip using a borrowed boat, a Valley Aqunaut, which is the normal-sized version of my own Argonaut - the Argonaut is essentially the HV Aquanaut.

"Rolling this boat is no fun at all. Every time I have trouble capsizing I think of you."

This is because one fine day we were out practicing rolls and he coached me to get in a setup position and lean over till I went in.

I did not go in. I couldn't. The boat edged, sure, but would not capsize.

This come from someone who's a very good roller - forward, backwarrds, greenland or euro blade, hand rolls - he's very good.

As I've learned to roll, I've had to learn to really throw my weight over the side, and often carve my way into the water using my blade - rolling the boat in, more or less, before I can practice rolling up.

It's nice to know I've learned to roll a boat that's a bit of a challenge to rolled.

Rollin' on the River

In case you missed it, I took a short at rolling on both sides last week.


The water is still a little chilly - I wouldn't make a practice day of it!

A Day of Everything and Nothing

I needed a day off. On the one hand I love planning grand paddling adventures, and a friend had organized a circumnavigation. However I have one of my own planned later this week, and I wanted a day of no commitments. Saturday was that day.

In the morning I went out with some friends on a trip organized for our club. We didn't go terribly far - about three miles each way - but when one paddler expressed interest in a canoe, I volunteered to go with. We paddled a Penobscot 17 there and back, switching from back to front at the halfway point.

That's right, the Kayak Cowgirl paddled a canoe. I had to learn canoe for my 2 Star, and practice it a bit downtown. A lot of kayak strokes come from canoe. It's like the Middle English of paddlesports.

After that journey, most paddlers left, but a couple wanted to practice rescues to qualify for special privileges in the club. I stayed and shepherded that a bit. The candidate passed, and then she and her beau left.

My friend and I got lunch, and snacks for the circumnavigators who would be coming through later. When we got back, the sun was shiny so we ate lunch in the shade - but by the time we finished our sandwiches, the sky was cloudy with no sun in sight.

Some visitors came by with kids, and after I finished some minor gear tweaking I got in my boat and did some tricks.

After that, my friend - canoeboy - got in a kayak and we practiced edging and leaning, and turning on edge. Then he spotted me on some rescues. Still gotta work on on my right-setup roll, but my re-entry and roll works. I can't wait to try it in a drysuit.

To polish it off I did some scramble rescues, as we tried things we've seen other people attempt and fail at, and some things that should fail but, bizarrely, work. Thoroughly soaked, I landed, got nto dry clothes, and cleaned up before going home.

I love nothing days. They have the most variety.

Attention

After a long week, I wanted some simple paddling this past weekend. No commitments, no schedules to keep, no tides to make. I slept in, did some chores, paid some bills, and headed up to the Inwood Canoe Club, where I keep my boat.

I took it out, and went through some basic maneuvers - turning, turning on edge, running a slalom of buoys using edging as much as possible and paddling as little as possible. I played a game where I would paddle into a slip, then back out and turn backwards into the next slip, and then forwards out to the next, and so on.

Then I got to what I love most: sculling for support and rolling.

For the laity, sculling for support is basically moving the paddle back and forth horizontally for support. Done correctly, it allows the paddling to lean pretty steeply over, even practically capsizing before coming back up. I'm working on extended sculling, to lay on my back, sideways, without pitching over.

I've also got a solid, reliable roll. I worked on this quite a bit last year, and this year have gotten it nice and consistent, and I enjoy showing off in front of non-paddlers. I still have a lot to improve on, working on harder conditions and using my other side, but it's good - I can roll my boat.

Near the boathouse is a restaurant with open seating overlooking the river. There's also a small pier where people can enjoy the view, and sometimes fishermen perch there. I like to paddle out and show off so I did that - rolls, sculling for support, and so on.

After a while, I remembered there was another boat I wanted to paddle - a pretty boat, a Boreal Design Ellesmere, that is just my size. Paddling that boat is a dream - with hard chines, it holds an edge incredibly well, and turns on a dime. I did some more sculling, and some rolls, and headed back.

I decided to try some self-rescues. The tricky thing about this specific boat is that it has an ocean cockpit - meaning it is round, and a little harder to get into. I hopped out of the boat, floating in the water, and then scrambled back on. Then, I had to put my legs in.

I couldn't. At that angle, I basically needed backwards-facing knees. I would try to twist myself in and almost fall in - eventually, I did. I scrambled back on, and fell in again. Fine, I thought. I scrambled back, sat in the cockpit well with my legs dangling out, and paddled back to the dock.

I had a snack and then went back out in my boat. I paddled back to the pier. As I approached I saw some men shuffling out. A new audience!

As I approached, I notices some of them had reflective tape on the cuffs of their pants, and that their pants were held up with suspenders. A couple had collared shirts with badges on them, and I saw logos on the rest: FDNY.

A woman on the pier made a circling motion with her arm. One cue, I rolled.

I paddled closer. Now they were all lined up on the pier, looking in my direction.

"You aren't all here for me, are you?"

They all nodded.

"I'm OK. I just come out here to practice."

"Well could you practice someplace else," said one jokingly. Half-jokingly, as I thought about it.

"OK." I was feeling rather chuffed. I had actually moved someone to call 911 - which, is not a good thing, taking away resources. It wasn't my call though - I was perfectly fine. From now on I'll practice closer to the boathouse, or with friends.

Maine - Day 1

If you're late to camp, you will miss the briefing about which well has been bleached, and which is more potable.

I learned this lesson the hard way - thankfully, not too hard - when I woke up early Saturday morning and took a swig from the bottle I had filled the night before. We'd gotten in late, around midnight or so, and after pitching tents, pumped water from the well at the foot of the cabin. When I took a sip in the morning, it was . . .sprightly, like extreme toothpaste. Turns out that the potable well was up the hill, near the kitchen entrance.

We were there for kayaking. Saturday, Sunday, and Memorial Day, we paddled in the vicinity of the Sheepscot Bay, out of an Appalachian Mountain Club camp at Knubble Bay. Each day brought us new adventures.

Day 1, Saturday, we spent time in tidal streams. We started low and worked our way up, practicing ferry techniques in progressively stronger and bigger streams. Eventually, we had a competition against a somewhat complicated stream, with multiple smaller tributaries, each of us working our way up based on how we read the water.

After that we paddled on and came to an overfall near a point of land; the feature was called Lower Hell Gate, reminding JJ and I of our feature here called Hell Gate. Unlike its New York cousion, this was a proper overfall, or I'm told like a hole in whitewater lingo, as the water spilled over from one elevation to another to form a bubbling cauldron releasing into a strong bit of current. Coach encouraged us to nose in, edge away from the fall, and ride it.

We did. I'm happy to say I took two runs facing with the current and came off alright, while I saw others capsize. Then I tried nosing in, and facing the point of land, talking to our coach on the land, my tail towards to direction I would follow to get out.

I rode it. I "edged like a mo'fo'" as other paddler put it. I smiled. It was great! And then suddenly I was underwater, in 50 degree Maine spring water.

I looked at my toggle. It was so inviting. And I hadn't rolled in a while. With that, I gave up and popped out. I should have rolled but I didn't. I have a ton of excuses and I'm not happy with any of them.

In short order I was rescued. I was cold, but out. I paddled around a but was done.

We landed shortly after and I asked, what had I done wrong? What had any of us, and there were several who capsized, done?

"You leaned back. Ever so slightly, but it was enough to drive the stern down, just enough to catch."

So, posture.

This is funny because when I teach, I always push good posture, to the point of sounding like a nineteenth century schoolmarm. And some people just insist on a nice, lazy, lean-back paddling posture. However it really makes a difference, even in flatwater paddling. Your posture affects the trim of the boat. Use that fact to your advantage.

After that, we paddled back to camp, with a few more tidal streams, and some rolling practice at the end. JJ even let me test drive her Avocet, which was a marked change from the P&H Delphin I'd been paddling.

We landed, tied up the boats and laid out our gear before breaking for dinner. In camping, you really do rise and set with the sun. I'd been up since 0530, and after dinner was so exhausted that I was ready for bed by 2100.

I slept soundly, looking forward to our next adventure the the next day, whatever it might be.

Dedication

It's hard not to feel dedicated when you find yourself part of a line of people carrying whitewater boats over should across fifty yards of snow eight inches deep, from their storage spot underneath some stadium bleachers to the indoor pool, and back again later on. Especially after the session, effectively a full workout, the cold night air is refreshing, cooling off all the heat worked up inside.

It's a bit of effort to get out there as well. Bereft of my car-equipped friend, I took the PATH train all the way out to Newark, and then local light rail to New Jersey Institute of Technology's campus. It was about an hour commute, and remarkably cheap if you think about it, but still, an hour each way, plus another forty-five minutes to get home once I'd got back to the city. I was a tired pup the next day, but in a good way.

I've been working on my right-setup roll. I've got my left-setup roll down, both a sweep and a C-to-C (and, more often, what I actually do is like a sweep-to-C). On the opposite side I am developing the fluid body motion. I know what I need to do; my reflexes aren't cooperating.

Step one, getting my hip flick. I realized that I simply wasn't snapping my hip as well, so I practiced that a bit.

Step two, getting the paddle in the right place. I feel like I'm not reaching far enough with my forward (that is, left) arm, and I'm diving the paddle. I'm rotating, but at a cockeyed angle.

I am improving. I've been able to do one or two of these per session. I'll give it two or three shots and then if I'm running out of air, I'll switch and come up on the other side.

One more thing: nose plugs. These make such a huge difference for practicing. True, in a real life situation you won't have them, but for practice, going in repeatedly, they're great. Without them, a couple of rounds of chlorine will force me to take a break. With them, I can go, and keep going, and really take the time underwater to figure out what's going wrong.

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.

Rolling Practice

I took a shot at rolling practice this evening - solo.

What happened was, I went down to work at the Pier 40 ranch, but there was nothing scheduled, so I took the time to paddle north against max current a bit, and then practice in the embayment.

I spent a lot of time practicing my sculling for support and high brace, working myself up to try a roll. The first time in I always have to work up the will, but once I'm dunked, I'm like a little fish. So, after some procrastination, I set up, and went in.

I swung and I missed. I set up again and dove the paddle. I tried again and - what was this? The back blade seemed caught on something. It wasn't happening. I popped out and went into a paddle float self-rescue.

Damn.

I pumped water a bit, missing paddle buddy. The nice thing about having someone to practice these things with is that they can perform a bow rescue, or worst case, pull the boat out and dump the water. I did the next best thing: I went to a dock, got out and dumped water, and then got back in.

Back to basics.

One really great learning trick one of my coaches gave me was to start with an extremely high brace. Instead of a 360 roll, basically I go into the water with the paddle already in position; after hitting the water. I just pull myself up. I tried some non-extreme braces first, and then went in.

I got up, and went back in. I got up, and went back in. By now my paddle was so far out of position that all I could do was return to the standard, lean-forward position, and try an actual roll.

I came up. I came up. I had flubbed what I tried to do, and actually made it up. While these were very simple conditions, that is exactly what rolling is meant for: recovering when something goes awry.

I noticed two women who had been watching for a bit, so I paddled over to say hello. Turned out it was Johna, of Wind Against Current fame, and a friend of hers. "I saw you setting up and thought you would try that," she said. She congratulated me on my setup and execution, and we chatted a but more before they left, and I paddled around a bit.

I considered going in, but I wanted to try a proper roll. I did some more bracing, and then set up for a roll, and came up. Thrilled, wet, I looked towards the sky; it had been overcast all evening. The Floating the Apple people came into the embayment, in their might white-hulled gigs.

I did one more roll, and called it a day, thrilled that I'd been able to rolle consecutively, and on demand, even though I totally flubbed my first attempt.

Rolling

This cowgirl was finally able to roll her boat, at least once.

I won't go into the different kinds of rolls, or rolling techniques. I will say I rolled using a technique I had not previously had success with, where basically my hands are in the position they are when I paddle. The idea is, if I go in when under way, I'm not going to be taking time to set everything up just so.

I tried a second time, and flubbed it. Actually, what happened was, the paddle seemed to get tangled on something behind me on the back deck of my boat, likely the paddle float. So, I'll be looking for a different way to dress my boat.

What's important is, I did it. My boat is a bit large for me. I tend to pry myself out of the boat rather than righting it. So, I know it can be done. All it takes now is practice, practice, practice, and pretty soon, I'll be kayaking in Carnegie Hall.

Sculling for Support

This evening I tried something called "sculling for support". It isn't new to me, but it's the skill I seem to be focused on improving lately.

Sculling for support is basically moving the paddle back and forth laterally on one side of the boat, and then leaning over the side of the boat, relying on the moving paddle to support you. It's not a move you make in motion, in the field, so to speak. It develops a skill that is useful in bracing and rolling. I'd like to get to where I can scull myself up from an inverted position.

People who are really good at this can lay the boat on its side and rest part of their weight on the PFDs (life jackets). The look frantic, but they're actually in a stable position as long as the paddle is moving, with the boat perpendicular to the water. If they go under, they scull themselves back up.

I can almost do what this guy is doing in the first clip:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTk5trsqyhk

This guy . . .I'm not there yet.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inUjVzRiOaQ