|
On Sale Now!
|
|
|
 |
Judy treated her seasickness with Pepto-Bismol and Advil from the first-aid kit stowed in her day hatch. She also pulled out a 10-inch-long cylinder of two-part plumber’s putty. Rob emptied the contents from his stern compartment, including a soaked tent and a dry suit that weren’t protected with dry bags.
A plan quickly emerged. To make a stiff patch, Steve cut a thin plastic cutting board into two four-inch octagonal shapes. Rob poked a small hole in one of them and ran a line with a knot through it. Steve mashed up a bunch of putty, formed it into a ring and stuck it on the plastic that Rob had strung. Scott took it in hand and stretched a long arm into Rob’s stern compartment, where Rob grabbed the string and pulled the patch into place on the hole from the inside. A second patch was prepared for the outside, also with a small hole that the string was drawn through. A knot in the string held the whole patch together. A few wraps of duct tape finished the job.
At this point, both Judy and Beth thought the trip was over for them. Judy thought her seasickness had made her a liability to the group. Steve thought we had three options: First, Judy could walk out the eight-tenths-mile trail to the Second Beach parking lot. From there it was about a mile and a half to the marina. The rest of us could haul her kayak and gear up the trail, or someone could paddle her kayak back and return by the trail. Second, we could all paddle back to the marina and call it quits, or perhaps leave Judy with her vehicle and start over. Third, we could wait a few hours—it wasn’t even noon yet—and, if Judy felt up to it, reassess the conditions and decide whether to continue. We decided to wait. Judy lay down and rested.
An hour later, she was feeling better but still thought she shouldn’t continue with the trip. Steve knew that this was Judy’s decision. If we continued with the trip, he needed to keep Judy safe through a surf launch, something she had worried about from the beginning. The stop at Second Beach was not a planned one; we would have to launch into wave sets hardly broken by the sea stacks offshore. Steve felt this would be the toughest thing Judy would face. Judy was less concerned about the launch and more about the seasickness she might suffer afterward. We idled on the beach for another half hour and Judy felt better. She was ready to continue. The rest of the group launched first, stroking one at a time through the surf.
Steve decided to launch Judy with a swimmer-assist. He thought if she capsized in the surf, it could indeed be a trip ender. He helped her launch from the shore and steadied her kayak by hanging on to the stern as she nosed out through the surf. When they passed the last breaking wave, Judy paddled out to join us. Steve swam back in. He dragged his kayak to the water, hopped in and punched through the surf to join the group.
Judy felt nauseated again when we reached the bouncy, refracted waves of Teahwhit Head, the headland between Second Beach and Third Beach. We ducked around the corner and found a protected pocket beach for an easy landing and a precautionary short break. Judy was ready to paddle again in 10 minutes or so. We crossed some mild swell fronting Third Beach, then scooted behind the rock reefs and sea stacks of the Graveyard of the Giants. It was easy paddling. We soon beached our boats at Toleak Point, set up our base camp and spent the next two days paddling and exploring the wild coast. Rob’s kayak survived the trip well—no water leaked into the repaired stern compartment.
Club trips usually begin with a leader posting the outing, along with a trip rating and description. Unlike guided trips, group members share responsibility for preparation and outcome. Open-coast trips come with risks, so kayakers must be prepared. Steve began by sending the group an email with a detailed description of the trip and what conditions we could expect. Participants showed up prepared, with appropriate gear and thermal protection. At the put-in, Steve followed up with a thorough check of everyone’s gear and special needs. He further detailed the plan.
Leaders often function best when they act more like facilitators. Steve did this by presenting options to problems whenever feasible. This approach allows participants to grow, for example, by choosing to take on more challenging conditions than a professional guide would lead clients through. A guide usually looks for a healthy margin of safety for clients; club participants can opt to paddle conditions closer to their limits.
At the put-in there was some resistance to putting bear canisters in the cockpit, for good reason. As Beth experienced, entrapment becomes a possibility in a capsize. Steve, realizing this was a safety issue, offered us the option of not using them. While they can be made safer by tying them in, the kayaks would need attachment points installed. A few different sizes and diameters of canisters are offered both commercially and from the park station in Port Angeles. The smaller canisters would probably fit in a hatch. In our case, it would have been preferable if each of us had stopped at the station and checked the canisters for fit. This wasn’t practical for those working the day before. The station office closes at 6 P.M. We were lucky that Beth kept her cool when she felt her legs trapped by the canister.
Kayakers sometimes assume that bulkhead compartments will keep their contents dry. Most hatches leak a bit of water when immersed or submerged. Water can also seep through bulkheads and fittings. While nothing in Rob’s aft compartment was damaged, water-soaked food, clothing, charts or electronics could reduce your comfort and compromise safety. Fractured hulls are uncommon, but anything you don’t want wet should be packed in a dry bag. In the event of a ruptured hull, dry bags or a float bag will keep the damaged end of the kayak afloat.
In coastal travel, much like long crossings, it’s important that the group stick together. A group spread thin can quickly lose contact. Fortunately, the capsizes occurred after Steve had caught up to the group. We had three wet exits, and I was temporarily incapacitated. Only Steve and Scott remained able to render immediate assistance. We were lucky to have a bit of land close by. Of course, keeping everyone in the group on a “short leash” doesn’t always have to apply. You can spread out a bit if conditions are safe, then tighten up when conditions warrant.
The capsize melee that was a result of our decision to go inside Crying Lady would have been averted had we gone to the outside of the sea stack. With no breaking waves, the main risk would have been a bouncy ride for Judy, possibly worsening her seasickness. The inside route offered a bit of adventure, and the conditions looked reasonable.
Steve had passed through the inside of Crying Lady a number of times. A good leader assesses risk and strives to create a quality experience for the group. The challenge of the inside route was one of the reasons we had chosen to paddle the exposed coast. Going inside could be a fair test of our skills—a useful bit of training to prepare us for times when we might be forced to take on higher risks. Steve assessed the inside route with that in mind and thought it fine to proceed. I don’t think that was a wrong choice.
We would have done better, however, if one of us had called a halt. We could have reviewed paddling through surf and put on helmets. We had helmets on our decks, but none of us stopped to put them on. “I’m not going to surf,” I told myself before I proceeded. It’s difficult to judge surf conditions from the seaward side. You’re low to the water. You see only the smooth backs of the wave crests. The white foam of breaking waves is on the shore-side hidden from view. A pause at that point or sending a capable paddler ahead to scout the passage would have been prudent.
Beth could snap off roll after roll on flat water, but after her first capsize, she failed in two attempts to roll up. Few paddlers would persevere for a third attempt. Surf and cold water make rolling more difficult. It’s particularly difficult to roll up from shore-side, where you’re likely to be bucking the curl of the wave. It’s better to roll up on the seaward side, where the passing wave might help. In rough conditions, it’s very useful to be able to roll on either side. If one side fails, try the other.
Beth hadn’t yet learned her offside roll. Her attempts happened to be on the seaward side. Her set-ups looked good. She just didn’t roll up. Cold water can sap your will, stiffen your neck and throw you off your routines. You might move too quickly, and sometimes stiffly, through the set-up. The paddle blade doesn’t push high enough and digs too deep on the sweep. You want to get out of the cold, and your head comes up first rather than last. I remember my first cold-water rolls in Deception Pass: I couldn’t think. I was only able to roll because I’d practiced rolling enough to make a reflex of it.
I rolled up with the two paddles in hand, I suppose, because I had a quiver of roll options. Years of kayak surfing made it possible for me to keep calm. Once submerged, I didn’t have to think long about options. Bringing two paddles around for a conventional screw or C-to-C roll would be difficult. I went with an alternate roll, more like a hand roll, with the paddle to push off for the finish. This can be simple and effective in surf, especially with an unfeathered paddle: The push off both blades provides plenty of force. With this method, it made little difference that I had two paddles instead of one.
My first mistake was to work on getting Beth out of the water instead of reaching calm water beforehand. I had thought, wrongly, that Beth was wearing a wetsuit and a dry top and could be getting chilled. I should have checked. She was in fact wearing a dry suit and was neither cold nor panicking. A pause here to consider all of the options would have been useful. It’s important for participants, not just the leader, to pay attention to the abilities, assets and weaknesses of everyone in the group. Taking note of what paddlers are wearing, who’s carrying what gear, paddler concerns and limitations is a responsibility to be shared by everyone.
One course of action here would have been to tow the kayak, with Beth hanging on to the stern, out of danger. By trailing in the water, she would have created enough drag to keep the boat from surfing. Still, it wasn’t the worst choice getting her out of the water. We could have paddled to safety as soon as Beth entered the cockpit and skipped working the spray skirt on while the next wave set bore down on us. Rob could have easily cleared out of the way, and in a few paddle strokes, we’d all have been out of there. Then the worst-case scenario might have been a broach and recapsize. The bigger mistake was towing in surf. That stretching towline cocked the boat like a catapult. I poorly assessed the dangers created by trying to execute standard rescue routines in surf.
The 35-foot towline Rob carried was shorter than the 50-foot line generally preferred for big ocean swell. I was surprised by the shortness of the line, but in surf, either length courts disaster. Steve demonstrated by “short-roping” Beth’s kayak that a much shorter line can be useful. It allowed him to bring in a boat quickly. His comment about the capsize incident was brief. “Towing in surf is risky. There may be some occasions for it, but not many.”
Rob had difficulty getting the belt off after he had wet-exited. Recall that Steve had given him the towline, and he had not practiced with it, much less practiced taking it off under stress. Tow belts are designed to release and slide off easily when they are under a load. After Rob capsized, the line was slack. He needed to use both hands to pull the belt off.
Our decision to go on with the trip was, on many levels, the most engaging. Steve rightly decided that we would wait on the beach and take a long breather. The rest gave Judy time to recover from her bout of nausea and the rest of us time to compose ourselves after capsizing. When Judy voiced her doubts to Steve, he didn’t push her, but his confidence helped her realize we could continue. A less-experienced leader might have removed Judy from the trip or turned everyone back, but Steve knew that it’s often best to “get back on the horse.” Judy, for her part, says she won’t do a coastal paddle again until she solves the problem of seasickness.
We finished the trip without further incident. I’m glad for that decision to paddle on. The whole experience, no doubt, will make us safer paddlers. As Rob put it, “We learned so much more than in a clinic.”
Gary Luhm left his engineering career in 1998 to pursue outdoor photography full-time. His specialty is sea kayaking, and he vowed 14 years ago that he never wanted to be the subject of a Sea Kayaker Safety article. You can reach him online at: www.garyluhm.com |
 Steve turned on his VHF radio at the La Push Marina parking lot. It was well before 9 A.M., the scheduled meeting time. Five other kayakers on a kayak club outing would soon join him that August morning for a three-day, nine-mile trip south along the Washington coast to Toleak Point. He listened to the weather report: five-foot northwest swell, light winds. A threat of coastal fog was a concern, but he could see that conditions were good.
Steve stepped out of his vehicle, lifted his kayak off the roof rack and readied his gear for the launch. An expert sea kayaker, over the past 15-plus years he has led many club trips and clinics on the outer coast. He rated the trip a Class IV to V, on a scale of I to VI, because of the variable conditions, open-coast exposure and possible surf landings. With the favorable weather report, Steve looked forward to having an enjoyable summer adventure.
Judy arrived next. She was a seasoned paddler, but she had told Steve before the trip that she had only limited experience with surf launching and landing. Steve knew that there were many protected beaches on this stretch of coast, and given the strength of the rest of the group, he didn’t think Judy’s level of skill would be a problem. I was next to arrive, followed by Beth and Rob, then Scott. Beth and Rob had some ocean paddling experience and had worked aggressively on their skills, including rolling and assisted rescues. They were looking forward to this trip as a test of their skills. Scott was an expert paddler and in great shape. (He would later win the sea-kayak division of the 2005 San Juan Challenge.)
Introductions weren’t needed—we had all paddled with each other before. As we were packing, Steve did a gear check and reviewed the trip plan. He asked who had spare paddles, VHF radios or towlines and if anyone had any special needs. He instructed us to set our radios to 69, the channel we’d use to communicate with each other.
I told Steve I didn’t want to be involved in any rescues—should they come up—because I’d injured my shoulder. I’d even left my towline at home, because I didn’t want to make myself available for towing. Steve carried two towlines on his person: a 50-footer on a belt and an adjustable-length line, set at a short length, in a PFD pocket. He tucked a third, short line under the bungee on his front deck. He had an additional belt-towing system, which he handed to Rob. Scott and Judy had towlines as well. Judy stowed hers in her day hatch. All of us had PFDs, helmets and flares. Steve and Rob each had a GPS. Steve said he wanted to stop at James Island at the mouth of the Quillayute River to be sure he got a waypoint. If we returned in fog, he said, it would be crucial to be able to make our way to the narrow river entrance between James Island and the jetty that protects the waterway.
Although it was the height of summer, the cold water of the Pacific required that we wear thermal protection. Rob wore a wetsuit, as he prefers its reliability when paddling around rocks—a cut or tear won’t compromise a wetsuit as it would a dry suit. I prefer a dry suit because it keeps me warm at campsites and on breaks. It can be overly warm for summer paddles but is still my choice for cold-water immersion. Judy and Beth were also in dry suits. Rob put on his Farmer John wetsuit, with a thin, long-sleeve neoprene top. Steve wore a wetsuit and paddling jacket. Scott chose to wear a shorty wetsuit, his choice for mild conditions.
|
|
|
|
|
