JKA
Paddler
Okay, so as this thread has been derailed into rescue stories, here's a couple from me:
The first is from an unsuccessful attempt in 2006 to do a solo paddle around Stewart Island, the southern-most island in New Zealand. Well down in the Roaring Forties, with a fetch from Antarctica, it's an interesting place.
After being stuck in an isolated bay for a few days I hired a helicopter to get out, which was a sensible call given that the gales continued for another 21 days after I left. This report is after a landing on day three.
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... Breaking back out through the surf, I began to wonder if I might get to spend more time at Little Hellfire beach.
One set broke just in front, and I did the most beautiful back-loop I have yet managed. Watching the bow come right over, I got a glimpse of land before touch down. Using the wave’s energy, I quickly rolled back up and headed out for another try.
Picking my time carefully, I accelerated into a wave, trying to punch through before it broke. My loaded boat was too slow, and I was picked up and surfed backwards. Leaning as far forward as I could, I tucked into a bow rudder stroke (or is it a stern rudder at the bow, I’m not sure?) trying to stop the stern from burying and looping me again. The stern buried and flicked me over the high side and sent me surfing backwards and upside down towards the beach. This wave didn’t want to let go, and tried to steal my paddle but I had no intention of giving it up, so we wrestled for a while. Eventually it grew bored with monstering me, so I rolled up and tried to work out a better way.
Brute force had failed so I had to get sneaky. When I saw a gap, I took it, igniting the afterburners until well clear of the breakers. All my surfing practice in sea boats paid off.
Later, a check of my GPS log showed my maximum speed was 32.1 kilometres per hour! Backwards and upside down! No wonder my sinus passages were clear...
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The next report was about ten years later, a short play in strong winds in my home waters. It demonstrates the reality of skills erosion.
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...After 2.4 kilometres, which took 26 minutes, I turned around to surf downwind. As is also a normal practice, I did a quick roll when broadside to the waves as I turned, just for the fun.
The return run was disappointing, with the waves too low to get much of a surfing run. As I got close to home I headed to an area where the waves steepen, as the wind pushes over the incoming tide. After a bit of a play there I did another roll, again using the wind and waves to push me over and help to come up.
As I paddled into the waves I did another roll, this time facing directly into the wind. My rolls are completed without thought, as I’m happy that I’ve reached a level of unconscious competence. This time I came up into the wind, and the waves pushed me back under. I automatically swapped sides and set up for another screw roll but this also failed. At this point I started to take note of what was happening, and decided to do a reverse screw roll, as I was leaning back from my failed attempt. This also failed, and I was aware that I had lifted my head so I tried again, with a screw roll from the front. This also didn’t work and so I made a decision to bail.
As I grasped the release tape for my spray deck I paused, and consciously thought, “Is this the right thing to do? Yep, I’ll catch my breath and re-entry roll.” That was a very clear decision, made because I was out of breath.
I surfaced with the kayak on my right, holding the cockpit rim in one hand and my paddle in the other. I quickly orientated my paddle for a re-entry roll, my preferred and practised recovery procedure if a roll fails.
I quickly slipped into the cockpit, locked my knees into the braces, and rolled up.
Except I didn’t, my roll failed again.
On wet exiting, I kept the Nordkapp upside down, locked my legs into the cockpit and removed the paddle float from its storage bag on the rear deck. Fitting it to the left paddle blade I made sure to attach it properly and inflate both chambers fully. My preference is to do a paddle float re-entry roll rather than use it as an outrigger, as I’m faster and have fewer complications. As usual when rolling with a float attached, I extended the paddle, doing a very slow roll as the blade doesn’t move through the water.
As I surfaced I was hit by another wave and braced on the float, which was on the down wind side, as the Nordkapp had turned while I was setting up. This roll was also ugly, but, aided by the float, successful. My cockpit was half full of water, but as I had moved the front bulkhead to suit my short legs, and it has a pod-style seat, there isn’t much flooded volume. I am well practiced paddling with a cockpit full of water so stability wasn’t a problem.
Once ashore I packed up quickly, very keen to check the data from my Suunto watch.
When I capsized I had been paddling for 1 hour 8 minutes, and had covered 6.7 kilometres. My heart rate was 150 beats per minute, which for me is quite high, indicating my level of exertion. My resting HR is about 50 bpm.
The time from when I first capsized to when I was back in the cockpit having done four failed rolls, a failed re-entry roll, and a successful paddle-float re-entry roll was 2 minutes 48 seconds, and my heart rate on completion was 160 beats per minute.
A nearby weather station showed wind speeds at the time I capsized as 28 knots with gusts to 38. They were not that strong where I was.
I honestly can’t remember when I had last swum a kayak, and my wife said I must have been pissed off that my rolls had failed, but I was actually elated that this had happened!
I looked on it as an audit of my current competency, and it showed that I had become complacent and my skills had eroded...
The first is from an unsuccessful attempt in 2006 to do a solo paddle around Stewart Island, the southern-most island in New Zealand. Well down in the Roaring Forties, with a fetch from Antarctica, it's an interesting place.
After being stuck in an isolated bay for a few days I hired a helicopter to get out, which was a sensible call given that the gales continued for another 21 days after I left. This report is after a landing on day three.
---------------------------
... Breaking back out through the surf, I began to wonder if I might get to spend more time at Little Hellfire beach.
One set broke just in front, and I did the most beautiful back-loop I have yet managed. Watching the bow come right over, I got a glimpse of land before touch down. Using the wave’s energy, I quickly rolled back up and headed out for another try.
Picking my time carefully, I accelerated into a wave, trying to punch through before it broke. My loaded boat was too slow, and I was picked up and surfed backwards. Leaning as far forward as I could, I tucked into a bow rudder stroke (or is it a stern rudder at the bow, I’m not sure?) trying to stop the stern from burying and looping me again. The stern buried and flicked me over the high side and sent me surfing backwards and upside down towards the beach. This wave didn’t want to let go, and tried to steal my paddle but I had no intention of giving it up, so we wrestled for a while. Eventually it grew bored with monstering me, so I rolled up and tried to work out a better way.
Brute force had failed so I had to get sneaky. When I saw a gap, I took it, igniting the afterburners until well clear of the breakers. All my surfing practice in sea boats paid off.
Later, a check of my GPS log showed my maximum speed was 32.1 kilometres per hour! Backwards and upside down! No wonder my sinus passages were clear...
--------------------
The next report was about ten years later, a short play in strong winds in my home waters. It demonstrates the reality of skills erosion.
---------------------
...After 2.4 kilometres, which took 26 minutes, I turned around to surf downwind. As is also a normal practice, I did a quick roll when broadside to the waves as I turned, just for the fun.
The return run was disappointing, with the waves too low to get much of a surfing run. As I got close to home I headed to an area where the waves steepen, as the wind pushes over the incoming tide. After a bit of a play there I did another roll, again using the wind and waves to push me over and help to come up.
As I paddled into the waves I did another roll, this time facing directly into the wind. My rolls are completed without thought, as I’m happy that I’ve reached a level of unconscious competence. This time I came up into the wind, and the waves pushed me back under. I automatically swapped sides and set up for another screw roll but this also failed. At this point I started to take note of what was happening, and decided to do a reverse screw roll, as I was leaning back from my failed attempt. This also failed, and I was aware that I had lifted my head so I tried again, with a screw roll from the front. This also didn’t work and so I made a decision to bail.
As I grasped the release tape for my spray deck I paused, and consciously thought, “Is this the right thing to do? Yep, I’ll catch my breath and re-entry roll.” That was a very clear decision, made because I was out of breath.
I surfaced with the kayak on my right, holding the cockpit rim in one hand and my paddle in the other. I quickly orientated my paddle for a re-entry roll, my preferred and practised recovery procedure if a roll fails.
I quickly slipped into the cockpit, locked my knees into the braces, and rolled up.
Except I didn’t, my roll failed again.
On wet exiting, I kept the Nordkapp upside down, locked my legs into the cockpit and removed the paddle float from its storage bag on the rear deck. Fitting it to the left paddle blade I made sure to attach it properly and inflate both chambers fully. My preference is to do a paddle float re-entry roll rather than use it as an outrigger, as I’m faster and have fewer complications. As usual when rolling with a float attached, I extended the paddle, doing a very slow roll as the blade doesn’t move through the water.
As I surfaced I was hit by another wave and braced on the float, which was on the down wind side, as the Nordkapp had turned while I was setting up. This roll was also ugly, but, aided by the float, successful. My cockpit was half full of water, but as I had moved the front bulkhead to suit my short legs, and it has a pod-style seat, there isn’t much flooded volume. I am well practiced paddling with a cockpit full of water so stability wasn’t a problem.
Once ashore I packed up quickly, very keen to check the data from my Suunto watch.
When I capsized I had been paddling for 1 hour 8 minutes, and had covered 6.7 kilometres. My heart rate was 150 beats per minute, which for me is quite high, indicating my level of exertion. My resting HR is about 50 bpm.
The time from when I first capsized to when I was back in the cockpit having done four failed rolls, a failed re-entry roll, and a successful paddle-float re-entry roll was 2 minutes 48 seconds, and my heart rate on completion was 160 beats per minute.
A nearby weather station showed wind speeds at the time I capsized as 28 knots with gusts to 38. They were not that strong where I was.
I honestly can’t remember when I had last swum a kayak, and my wife said I must have been pissed off that my rolls had failed, but I was actually elated that this had happened!
I looked on it as an audit of my current competency, and it showed that I had become complacent and my skills had eroded...
