‘Blog’

Two years ago I traveled to Washington to help my friend Bob Kelim build my first skin-on-frame qajaq. I remember the excitement of taking it on the water for the first time… the snug fit, the slightly unstable feeling from never being in a kayak of such low volume, my first roll in it. I even remember hearing a Merle Haggard song playing loudly from a truck parked in the parking lot… Mama Tried. I was happy that the qajaq not only floated, but moved in a straight line… and I had played a huge part in building it.

Over the past few months the qajaq had begun taking on water. The skin was cracking, and the bottom of it clearly showed three distinct marks on each side from where my heels pressed against it depending on whether I was doing layback rolls, forward finish rolls or just out for a paddle in the majestic Pacific Ocean or one of the lagoons nestled amongst the redwoods where I live.

The qajaq needed some TLC, and I took it to my friend Michael Morris’s house, to begin the process of re-skinning it. As Michael stood over it with a sharp knife, I was surprised by all of the memories that jumped through my head. I had looked at this as a project, a chore in a way, but as I looked at my qajaq I thought about all of the places that it had been… the rolls I’d learned in it and the rolling demonstrations that I’d done. I was concerned that this project might change my qajaq. Would it be the same?

The sharp blade slowly cut the skin, and I was happy with how intact the frame remained. There were two broken ribs, the one at the very front and the one at the very back. I have never used a seat or any kind of padding, and Michael and I laughed that the rib that I sit on had taken on my shape of my butt. The cockpit had two small cracks, and there was a thick line of packed sand on the bow and stern, probably picked up from many beaches, many surf launches and landings and the sand that inevitably had been knocked off my feet from hikes on beaches that only kayakers can get to and explore.

Michael and I stood in the rain, hosing off the sand and laughing with the memories of paddles of the past two years. Now my kayak sits in his garage, slowly drying. Soon we will fix all the flaws that have developed over time, each with its own memory. It has been two wonderful years, and I look forward to the new memories that will surely form as this qajaq once again hits the sea.

Fall is here, and with it arrived colder temperatures, crisp clean air, the first storms of the season and a wild and unpredictable ocean. But before any of this happened, there was one last 2009 symposium on the California coast. The Traditional Arctic Kayak Symposium (TAKS) is a three day kayaking event that rotates locations throughout California. This year it took place in San Simeon, a small oceanside town in the southern portion of the state.

I arrived the morning of the second day because I had been instructing the week before in Italy and had to squeeze in a couple of days of “regular” work before taking off for another kayaking event. After quickly pitching a tent I headed to the beach, which was filling with beautiful handmade qajaqs, baidarkas and paddles.

It was wonderful to work once again with Dubside, Greg Stamer and Brian Shulz. Greg worked with students on strokes, Dubside taught forward finishing rolls, I taught layback rolls and skin on frame rescues and Brian went from one group to the next, helping out where he was needed. Other participants chose to play in the surf break or lounge on the beach, while the rest challenged themselves by trying to make it across the slack line that Dubside had set up between two posts.

The event was a success and included a group paddle, rolling demonstrations, surf play, presentations by Brian Shulz and Greg Stamer, harpoon throwing, an interactive ropes demonstration and a silent auction.

I was in the water for most of this event, and unfortunately didn’t get very many pictures. The few that I took can be found in the gallery.

After the symposium the tour of the islands began. There were about 40 participants and up to 16 nautical miles of paddling each day. Gravita’ Zero lent me a Tahe Marine Reval Mini, and despite being just over 15 feet long, it was easy to load four days worth of gear and food into it. The kayak proved to be extremely maneuverable, and was perfect for the extensive rock gardens, tunnels, caves and archways that encompass the Aeolian Islands. The storms of the past few days had cleared up, leaving both the sky and the water a rich blue color. Fluffy white clouds lingered above each of the islands that dotted the Mediterranean Sea. Everyone’s spirits were high as we left Vulcano, the location of the symposium, and began our journey to three of the other islands.

Over the next four days we paddled along the islands Vulcano, Lipari, Salina and Panarea. Each island has its own special features, and we encountered stunning cliffs, sea caves, tunnels and arches. During the crossing from Lipari to Panarea we stopped halfway to swim and eat melon in the warm afternoon sun. Dolphins entertained us with a playful show of leaps and tricks, and a large sea turtle meandered past, lifting his head to look at the group of kayakers before diving into the depths of the sea.

At night we cooked together, laughing under the moonlight and enjoying the company of new friends. Plates were passed from one person to the next, as everyone wanted to sample the dishes of their neighbors. People slept in either bungalows or tents. During the day we stopped to rest and swim on beaches or at the small towns on the islands. Each island seemed to be famous for a different yummy treat, and I tried many of them, talking to the people that lived there and becoming mesmerized by the beautiful scenery, traditional Italian houses and charming verandas and alleys.

During my visit to Italy I realized that there is something special about this group of islands that sits at the very bottom of a country the other side of the world from my home. Magic lingers there amongst the warm air, the volcanos, the dark blue water and the wonderful people. As my plane flew away, I took one last look at the islands, trying to lock it all into my memory. When the last of them disappeared from my view, I smiled, closed my eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.

(more pictures can be found in the gallery)

After more cappuccinos and hot chocolate croissants, Justine, Barry and I headed to the beach for our first day of classes. I was teaching Greenland rolling, and Justine and Barry were teaching “Fun and Balance.” It was wonderful to work with Tatiana Cappucci, an Italian woman woman with a talent for Greenland rolling and instruction. Tatiana was kind enough to translate for me, and I realized once again (this happens to me often), that it is somewhat pathetic that I am only fluent in one language, when most people in Italy speak two or three.

Gravita’ Zero, an Italian outfitter, lent me a Tahe Marine Greenland to use for the classes. Tahe Marine sponsors me, and it was nice to use a kayak that I was familiar with. The students were wonderful, and despite the language barrier and the intermittent thunderstorms, all of us were laughing and having a wonderful time in the water.

After the classes we headed to lunch. The food in Italy is wonderful and unique, and a very tasty but unexpected combination that I especially enjoyed was cheese with honey poured over the top. None of us were scheduled to teach in the afternoon, so we came back to the hotel for a little rest before Justine and Barry’s slideshow presentation on a circumnavigation of New Zealand’s South Island.

The following day I had a another Greenland rolling clinic in the morning. I spent the afternoon exploring the town and decided then and there that I want to study Italian. It was somewhat of an adventure to find an ATM machine, sunblock and postcards, and it was days later before I found stamps so that I could mail them. The thunderstorms were still rumbling in the distance, but nobody at the event was bothered by the flashes of light and the loud rumbling filling the air. That evening I did a slideshow presentation on the Greenland National Kayaking Championship, which I attended in 2008. I had never had a translator for a presentation before, but Gianfranko Liotta made it very easy for me, keeping the humor light and the audience captivated.

The following day was a race. I opted out of competing and instead decided to hike along the volcanic headlands to find a high spot overlooking the sea to watch the competitors charge between the islands. The clouds were starting to clear, and the beautiful scenery was mesmerizing with the sparkle of the late morning sun. When the first racers came back into sight, I made my way along the rocky hillside to watch the finish. Eugenio Viviani soon crossed the finish line, exhausted but with a huge smile on his face.

That evening Tatiana and I did a Greenland rolling demonstration in the swimming pool at the hotel before heading to a restaurant for more slideshows and another fantastic meal. The symposium was coming to an end, and the following day a four day tour of the islands would begin.

To be continued…

After four flights and 20 something hours I arrived in Catania, Italy. Francesco Petralia (the organizer of the event), Justine Curvengen, Barry Shaw and Gianfranco Liotta (another organizer) met me at the airport. I hadn’t slept in a long time and was exhausted. With some cam straps and a little creativity, we all piled into the car with bags filling the trunk, surrounding us and tied to the roof. Then we took off for Paola’s (Francesco’s mother) house.

The town was everything I’d heard about Italy but not really expected… small bakeries, gelato stands, very old houses with verandas and olive trees. I was greeted by Paola who kissed both of my cheeks.

We stepped out onto the veranda and food began appearing on the table. Olives that were grown by Paola, fresh bread, two kinds of cheeses, a bar of salami, eggplant, pasta and homemade wine. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was and began to consume the spread while I listened to Paola talk about the process for preparing olives.

After the wonderful food and friendly conversation we drove for two hours and got on a ferry for the island of Volcano. The island is a volcano, as are all of the Aeolian Islands, and after the 1 hour 50 minute ferry ride, the beautiful island came into view through the darkness of the night. We drove from the ferry to a charming hotel, becoming a little overwhelmed by the sulfur smell seeping out of the volcano.

After being up for so long I slept well through the night and met Justine and Barry for breakfast at the pool. After two cups of very strong, and very good, cappuccino, a hot chocolate croissant and some bread spread with Nutella, we decided to go on a hike up the volcano.

It only took us about 45 minutes to reach the rim, but it was a somewhat difficult climb with steep terrain and sizzling hot air. We circled about half of the rim (the rest had very thick, sulfurous smoke covering the path). Our excitement quickly grew as we stared across the Mediterranean Sea, picking out beaches and tunnels that we were eager to explore.

After hiking down the smoking volcano, and a wonderful lunch in a cafe, Justine, Barry and I decided to paddle around the island. It was already 3 p.m. and the sun sets at around 7, so we figured we had tons of time to do a slow, leisurely, playful paddle around the island, which we estimated was about 10 nautical miles.

As we paddled the wind picked up a bit. It wasn’t bad, but it was certainly slowing our progress. We played in the rocks as we circled the island, stopping frequently to take pictures. I did a roll and was surprised by how salty the water tasted. I was also surprised by the dark blue color that the water possessed and the warm, bubbly spots where hot lava boiled far below.

Justine was paddling past a small cave-like feature and called Barry and I over, commenting on the steam and the warmth that was coming from the small alcove. Her and I both hopped out of our kayaks into the warm water and swam over to the natural hot spring, set in the cave. Barry jumped out as well and was very considerate in securing the three drifting kayaks with a rope to the rocks. Each of us took a turn sitting in “the hot spot.” When I was sitting there I could smell the sulfur, although I wasn’t too bothered by it until I suddenly felt like I didn’t have enough oxygen, got lightheaded and a little panicked. I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t decide if it was my imagination or not, but when Barry sat there he jumped up and said, “I can’t breathe, and I’m dizzy.” I confessed that I’d had the same problem and we all got out of the cave, cowboy jumping back into our kayaks.

We continued to go around the island even after a lighting storm started. The lightning continued, increasing steadily until we had flashes every few seconds.

Then we came to a sea cave. Each of us moved through a large archway, making a sharp left turn into a cavern that was mysteriously lit up by blue light. It was amazing. We slowly made our way out of the cave, lingering a bit in the magical glow. We went around the lighthouse at the end of the island, still watching the lightning as the sun started to set. Justine had been monitoring our distance, and we soon realized that the 10 nautical mile prediction was far from accurate.

After a little while we came to a second sea cave. Justine made her way in first, pausing to make sure that there really was light at the end… signaling an exit. She thought she saw something and began her descent into the cave. I followed with Barry close behind me. I couldn’t really see Justine, but I thought I could slightly make out the outline of her head… although in the pitch black of the tunnel it might have been my eyes playing tricks on me. A couple of times I heard the sickening crunch of a kayak scraping against a wall.

About 1/4 of the way through the tunnel, although we didn’t know the length at the time, there was an opening to the left. “An emergency exit,” as we had heard it referred to back at the camp. We didn’t take this exit and continued our way through, occasionally startled by jumping fish. At one point I had my paddle across my lap and was using my hands to take a picture. My paddle suddenly became jammed on each side of the wall and I was brought to a halt. It took some pressure to release the paddle from the walls on either side of me.

When we came out of the tunnel we picked up the pace a little. The sun was going down, the wind had picked up and the lightening strikes were becoming more and more frequent. I think that all of us were getting a little concerned as it got darker and we could barely make out the cliffs. None of us had a light, and after each volcanic headland we expected to see the campsite but didn’t, and quickly moved onto the next headland, wondering if the campsite was around that corner. The lightening meanwhile was coming every 5 seconds or so, and Barry both jokingly and nervously commented that he was going to fight me for my Greenland stick, since he wasn’t so enthusiastic about holding a carbon fiber paddle in the storm.

Finally the campsite came into sight. When we pulled up onto shore it began to rain. It was some of the strongest rain I have ever been in. Justine’s GPS was reading 14 1/2 land miles. We drove back to the hotel in the rain and hail and quickly dropped off our wet gear before heading into town for dinner. When we walked into the restaurant we were greeted by a table of kayakers. They were part of the symposium and invited us to join them.

During the meal I tried many interesting and wonderful foods… a pasta dish, octopus… which I loved, a fish that was brought to the table whole before it was cut and served. We ate the fish, and I even tasted the brain, which wasn’t horrible, although I’ll admit that it was difficult to get over the fact that it was brain. There was a tomato salad, lots of bread and something that was called white pizza, a kind of bread with seasoning and parmesan cheese, but no sauce. I also tried a biscotti dipped in liquor. After that we headed back to the hotel, where I was very glad to see my bed. The following day the symposium would begin.

To be continued…

As I write this I find myself chuckling. A year ago if someone would have told me that I’d be writing a blog, I wouldn’t have believed it. I figured that if I started one then I would have to maintain it. But I’ve given in. I write in a journal regularly anyway, so I’ve decided to share some of my kayaking adventures with anyone that wants to read about them.

I am not planning on going back in time and writing about the past, although I will say that each place that I have kayaked holds its own unique magic. Two weeks ago I returned home from The Vulcanoa Marathon Sea Kayak Symposium in Italy, where I taught rolling, performed a rolling demonstration, presented on my experiences at the 2008 Greenland National Kayaking Championship and did a kayaking tour of the Aeolian Islands, a group of volcanic islands off the coast of Sicily, Italy. In the next day I’ll be writing about my experiences there. On Monday I got back from San Simeon, California, where I instructed at TAKS (Traditional Arctic Kayak Symposium), which I also intend to write about.

After that the “kayaking season” is pretty much over for the year, which means that “my season” begins. This is the time of year when the Pacific Ocean transforms into its winter state, often with strong winds, swells exceeding fifteen feet and wind waves to dance and play in. Unlike most of the west coast, I live in a place where there is usually enough protection from the incoming swell to be able to launch “relatively easily,” even if the ocean is in one of her winter moods. Humboldt County, California is my home, and there are a group of friends that I meet every Sunday morning; rain or shine, flat or ferocious, and we go out and play in the magical waters of Trinidad and surrounding areas.

Whenever I kayak in a new place I collect a small amount of the water that I kayak in. More often than not, it’s collected in a plastic water bottle that I find lying on the beach and I quickly scribble the place and the date on the bottle, trying to get a pen to work on the damp plastic. When I get home, I pour the water into a more attractive container and label it clearly, placing it on a shelf behind glass. This water collection has grown significantly over the past year, and I expect it to grow even more in the coming months.

Enjoy.