Firsts VII: Iqyax

As previously stated, I'm fortunate with my paddling friends. As also said, one of the reasons, by no means the only or major one, is that they build great SOF kayaks and I get to try them. The latest instance of that is an Aleutian baidarka that Xabier launched a week or so ago. His fourth SOF boat since March, by the way. He's a fast, possibly compulsive builder, I tell you.

So we went back to Cazalegas, the reservoir where Xabier's first Greenland qajaq also made her maiden voyage. Same place, but the weather today was much nicer and the public this time was reduced to just me. Another difference was that birds were by no means as plentiful. However, the marsh harriers that accompanied us in the previous visit were around again.


Aleutian baidarkas seem to be shrouded in some kind of mystique. Certainly, they have quite unique looks. They are long and skinny and have bifid bows (shared with some other Alaskan kayaks, by the way) and distinctive sterns. They are also supposed to be very fast, almost mysteriously so. Nonetheless, for some reason I have never been part of the baidarka cult. I like them, sure, and find them attractive, but regard them as "just" another great traditional kayak among a good bunch of them.

However, now I have had direct contact with one and, when experienced live, the boat has a definite imposing presence that pictures had failed to convey for me. At 5,70 m long, she comes out as a kayak of obvious substance. The 48 cm beam in no way diminishes this impression. Actually, it somehow seems to accentuate it. Plus, of course, for a not very skilled paddler like myself, such a narrow boat introduces an initial element of, let's say, respect. You know, when you cannot help but keep wondering for how long you will stay upright on that thing.


Well, as it turned out, for quite long. Surprise, surprise (at least for me): it is stable. Almost incredibly so. You can heel her quite a bit (more than the pics show and without bracing) and the feeling is always reassuringly solid. It may have to do with Xabier's lowering of the keelson's height and the consequently flatter hull. Whatever the reason, we both felt perfectly comfortable paddling her in almost no time. It is also fast, but with such a boat that's expected, almost a given.

Xabier's thinks he built more rocker into her than would be typical for a baidarka. After looking at some line drawings and pictures of other replicas I'm not sure if I see much of a difference there. In any case, the balance between tracking and maneuverability he's achieved seems a good one. She tracks well, but is still quite responsive to leans and, for a boat of her size, actually felt quite agile to me.

Xabier has definitely departed from the baidarka canon in the aft deck. Typically, it would be peaked as the foredeck and about flush with it. The cockpit would be, consequently, horizontal. Xabier has opted for a common modification in modern baidarka semi-replicas and has built a lower, flat deck aft of a now slanted cockpit. At the very least, this change makes entering and exiting the boat easier or, depending on your flexibility, even just possible. It may also help with some rolls.

All in all, I absolutely enjoyed the experience. It felt a really good boat, at least for the flat water conditions we had. The real test will be the ocean, of course, but, although going purely on gut feeling here, I sort of think she will behave well there too.

I had a fabulous time.

Virtual Gunwales (Building I)

The consequences of trying to build a semi-replica as first qajaq are becoming quickly apparent. I haven't touched a piece of wood yet, I haven't even gone beyond locating lumberyards and wood stores in the vicinity, and I am already pondering issues somewhat worriedly. For now, I mostly fret about the gunwales.

For a Greenland qajaq to obtain her sheer line, her gunwales cannot be just two long rectangular prisms. They need some amount of shaping. In fact, the precise amount that combines with their flare angle, spreading at roughly the center, joining at the ends and pinching at strategic locations to produce the desired line. The qajaq-building books provide clear, easy to follow indications so you end up with gunwales just right for the boat they help you build. Obviously, that boat is not the one I want. As I already said, I want ("I need" may actually be more accurate) to reproduce, a particular, individual qajaq. One, of course, whose sheer looks significantly different to me.


Enter FreeShip. I put my hopes to solve the gunwale shape problem on this piece of software. With it, I constructed a 3d model of DNM Lc. 43, traced the gunwales' outline on it, pretended the resulting shapes were plywood panels and then politely asked the program to unfold them for me. This proceeded without a problem and I obtained the figure on the image below (click on it, please). This is supposed to be the flat-plate tracing of Lc 43's gunwales. The shape the two long pieces of wood need to be so that when I bend, spread, join and variously manipulate them they will create the attractive sheer line I've come to love.


My main problem is one of trust. I would greatly appreciate some kind of reassurance that the form provided by my operations is actually the one that will correctly build the boat before I blissfully start trying to reproduce it in wood. Keep in mind this is the first time I do this whole thing. What I've got seems plausible, but, with my lack of experience, I'm not sure how much of a judge I can be. If I am wrong, the consequences would be quite annoying. Hence, this is a leap of faith I am finding a bit hard to take. Seems time to start asking around.

And I haven't even really started yet.

Moving

Santi has taken the trouble to edit some of the footage shot during our canyoning trip to Reunion Island and has put together this teaser for a future, quite longer movie. I'd embed the video directly here if I knew how to make the file under 1oo mb in size... Oh well.

And it was even better.

Amour Fou

I am going to start building a traditional SOF qajaq in the more or less immediate future.

No surprise here, I guess. I suppose that, deep inside, I have known for quite a while I would eventually end up doing it and I believe friends and relatives sort of knew it as well. Well, now I've gone public and it's official. Well, sort of...

Upon reflection, I'd say the junction of several circumstances has acted as catalyst. The great time I had on Alfonso's, "Greenlander from Murcia", Xabier's happy churning out of boat after boat, the extremely useful and didactic SOF construction blog by Paco, buying Harvey Golden's "Kayaks of Greenland" and the consequent repeated exposure to the many beautiful qajaqs in that wonderful book, the, in all likelihood unjustified, self-confidence boost in my woodworking abilities brought about by my carving of two Greenland paddles, etc... Alternatively, you could just say the time was ripe.
However, I'm ignoring all that good sense would recommend for a first-time boat-builder and I am not going to follow any of the trusty books that have repeatedly enabled even guys like me (I want to believe at least *some* would have been be like me when it comes to lack of skill, wouldn't they?) to build nice, serviceable Greenland-style qajaqs. Instead, I'm building a semi-replica.

It's not that I'm trying to skip homework: I own and have read Morris, Cunningham and Starr and I'm sure they will help me a lot. At least, I hope so as I am certainly going to need help. Lots of it. And, yes, some of you that may be reading this, you are right to be worried: I fully intend to pester you with silly, novice questions. You've been warned.

The reason for such a choice is quite simple, actually: I've fallen in love with one particularly beautiful qajaq. If I am going to try and build a qajaq it just has to be this one. No way around that. I'm just helpless. To at least some extent, I am aware of the added difficulties that going this route will entail and that they will be exacerbated by my lack of experience. I'm smart enough to realize that I'm likely bringing on myself quite a bit of additional worry, anguish and frustration. Not sensible enough to let that stop me, though. In case you were wondering, the boat is Danish National Museum Lc. 43, West Greenland 1834, KOG #31 and it has been built before. Brian Schulz of Cape Falcon Kayak, has produced a semi-replica of Lc. 43 that shows that indeed, the actual boat is truly as gorgeous as her lines suggest.


Incidentally, there is an episode of "The Sopranos" which happens to be the titled "Amour Fou". In it, Tony is introduced to the expression, which he later renders in a mispronounced yet, in a way, still quite adequate way as "our mofo".

I'd like to believe that won't apply to this whole qajaq building thing and I.

Arousa

About almost three months ago, I spent three great days in a sort of micro-paddling expedition in Galicia. It's been a while, certainly, but the memories are still vivid and truly pleasant.

It was Xabier's idea. The Xabier who built the first SOF qajaq I ever tried, and that by now has another two Greenland style boats under his belt, a pretty much finished Aleutian baidarka that will soon hit the water plus some non-kayaks. A one-man shipyard, I tell you.

He invited some friends and, after a worrying meteo forecast scared us off a very attractive, but rather exposed stretch of the coast of Asturias, we opted for the large Arousa Inlet. Arousa offered an abundance of interesting, yet sheltered, paddling opportunities and a chance to cross to the beautiful islands at its mouth and poke our noses out into Atlantic, weather permitting.

Thus, on a fine friday afternoon, Xabier, Jesus, Carlos, Luismi and yours truly, set out with the ebb tide from right below the Towers of Catoira, an impossing fortress built on the banks of the Ulla River to guard against Viking and Saracen naval raids. A hundred km and two impromptu bivouacs later, we returned to the same spot on sunday's noon. The weather was actually much better than expected, we did reach the islands and enjoyed a truly benign Atlantic. The area is truly a paddling jewel and we had a wonderful time. It all went so well and smoothly that we decided we would go for something bigger next summer. A week or so. Plans are still a tad vague, but the intention is firm. Indeed, I've learned that both Xabier and Carlos have already purchased tents adequate for kayaking expeditions.

I really look forward to it.


Note: No cameras on this trip. The few images there area come from Carlos' cellular phone and appear here thanks to his kindness.

Basically, the same thing

I've recently returned from holidays. Unlike most previous ones, this time they were quite long (three weeks). Also, I went to an exotic location with a lovely ocean full of humpback whales (I saw one jumping just from the coast and I even wasn't on the coast that much). However, I have not kayaked a single minute.

And this wasn't the first time I was not faithful. Earlier in the year, a couple of truly perfect long weekends similarly went by without touching a paddle either. Instead, I went canyoning.

Canyoning is something I started doing a few years earlier than kayaking and I'm no expert at it either. However, same as kayaking, I love it dearly. Up until 2007 it was my main outdoor activity and faced little competition for the larger chunks of my spare time. Then, I got my kayak... and my heart has been somewhat torn a number of times. One just has too little time for the really cool things...

I believe I like both kayaking and canyoning so much because, for me, in the end, they are largely the same thing: a way to gain access to special moments and places. Saying just that may not convey adequately the actual similarity of the experience (again: for me). As when sea kayaking, when canyoning my special moments usually come from the contemplation of the awe-inspiring places where you suddenly find yourself and are not usually associated to jumping into pools or abseiling under a waterfall: that's just what I do to get there.

And you do get to some really special places...


Note: As usual, the photographs are not mine and are here through the kindness of their authors, largely Santi and Annabella, but also (I guess, no longer sure who shot what) Sol, Miriam, and Dani I and II. You might see a few more pics (a really tiny selection of many taken) of this particular canyoning outing here. Special thanks go to Santi, guide extraordinaire and to Dolomismo, his and Annabella's company. Without them, I would not have been there.

Qajaq & Frito

I guess I am very fortunate. I have friends that build traditional Skin-On-Frame kayaks and then invite me to paddle alongside them, show me fine paddling locations, allow me to try their boats and put up with my childish glee with a smile...

One of those friends, Alfonso, is the person who carved and lent me the first Greenland paddle I ever held and used during the II Costa Calida Kayak Meeting (which he also organized). A true key point in my kayaking. Recently, he has tackled a more ambitious project and has built a great-looking qajaq (the process is documented in the highly recommended "Groenlandeses Murcianos" blog, though only those able to read Spanish will fully enjoy it). Since the Meeting, Alfonso had offered several times to show me some of his favorite paddling spots and, finally, some ten days ago I was able to accept his generous invitation.

On a warm afternoon, Alfonso, Roberto and I paddled a remarkably beautiful part of the Segura River. Upstream first (which, at times, needed a judicious mix of muscle and wise use of eddies) and then downstream back to our put in. River paddling was great fun, requring just the right amount of attention. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, we did it again the next morning. The place was the same, but the experience wasn't, as river, light, sounds, smells had changed.

Boats changed too. The first time I paddled a Fun Run Draken, a stable, comfortable and quite fast kayak that should make a great expedition boat, but the second one I was on Alfonso's qajaq. And I simply fell in love with it. It was amazingly responsive. It glided smoothly, accelerated quickly and carved tight turns. Mostly, it just allowed a degree of precise control I had not felt before and I had a wonderful time. I now dream about hard-chined boats.


And best of all was Alfonso's hospitality which went quite farther than allowing me to use his boats. He took me and threw me right in the middle of his extended family to share the good times they were having together. I certainly did. I played with the kids, talked with the adults, tasted the great local cuisine and, simply, enjoyed being there.

I told you, I am fortunate.

Coincidence

I admit that I mostly bought Adney & Chapelle's "Bark Canoes and Skin Boats of North America" because, besides the abundant material on canoes, it also dealt with kayaks and had lines for several kinds of them. I was not disappointed. Although it obviously wasn't the book's main focus, the comparatively short kayak section proved useful. I largely ignored the canoe parts of the book (that is, most of it) and it is only now that, as a sort of unexpected bonus, I am beginning to discover and enjoy the true extent of this book's value.

For example, as I haphazardly browse across it, I'm being repeatedly struck by the beauty and elegance of many traditional canoe paddles. These are objects that do not look like a shovel diverted to other uses in a pinch or a not terribly happy moment of inspiration. No. These things have finely carved, long, narrow blades that run into their shafts and hand grips along fluid lines. Very nice.

And, their good looks notwithstanding, they are tools first and foremost. These were the paddles used by Native American hunters, early explorers and the legendary Voyageurs, the crews of the mythical Maitre Canots and the Canots du Nord and on whose very ability to cover huge distances by canoe the fur trade was built. All of these peoples needed to do lots of paddling without injury nor excessive exhaustion and it seems they all tended to use paddles with long, narrow blades. Adney, recounting Voyageur practices is quite clear: "The Voyageur was particular about his paddle; no man in his right mind would use a blade wider than between 4 1/2 and 5 inches, for anything wider would exhaust him in a short distance."


And the interesting little discoveries go on (at least for me, canoe-ignorant that I am). When looking at the hand grips, many are obviously carved to be held not with the hand cupped over their top, but across them, with the forearm at a right angle to the shaft. Such design, apparently known as "Northwooods grip", or "Maine guide grip" allows for a variety of grips, providing versatility by being able to change paddle length as required. It is also conducive to the "Northwoods stroke", claimed in turn to be easier on wrists and forearms and to encourage applying power from torso rotation.


So, it would seem that in the canoe universe, recreational paddlers looking at traditional practices and gear are finding valuable stuff. Among other things, that long, narrow blades can work very well.

It sounds familiar...

Telescopic Wood

It's hardly news that paddle extension is pretty much integral to Greenland-style paddling. To such a point, in fact, that it has been argued that one of the marks of a true Greenland paddle is that its owner should be able to securely and comfortably grip it anywhere along its length. And the extended paddle it's not just for rolls and braces. Rudder and forward propulsion strokes (e.g., the sliding stroke) take advantage of the possibilities it offers as well.


Aleutian paddles differ from Greenland ones in, among other things, being assymmetric, but they superficially resemble them as they also have long, thin blades and relatively short looms. Thus, Aleutian kayakers captured with extended paddles in old photographs may not be much of a surprise either. Most such pictures I've seen show the extensions being for braces to stabilize two- or three-seat craft. Most, but not all, as, at least to my eyes, the paddler in the picture just below does not seem to be bracing .


Unfortunately, our knowledge of Aleutian paddling practices is sorely lacking in many areas (we are not even sure if they rolled their boats, remember?) and I have not come across anything about the spread, functions etc... of paddle extension in this kayaking tradition (I'd greatly appreciate any pointers, by the way). We just seem to have little more than a few images that are difficult to understand adequately.


That is also the case, even to a greater extent, for other native Arctic kayakers. Old pictures show that, at least occasionally, they held their paddles by their blades. Even though those blades were wider than Greenlandic or Aleut ones, as in the case of paddlers from the Noatak area in North Alaska (look at paddlers on the left in the picture above) or from the Mackenzie Delta (below).


Their with would suggest that, unlike Greenland paddles, full paddle extension was not a design requirement for North Alaska or Mackenzie Delta blades. It seems safe to hypothesize they did not routinely use a full sliding stroke in those areas, but detailed questions would probably require the kind of information that only a live kayaking tradition can provide. We are lucky that kayaking remained alive (if barely) in Greenland, but from what we have learned from there we can perhaps begin to guess what we might have missed from the extinction of traditional kayaking almost everywhere else.

Firsts V: Qajaq

It's been over two months since another of those first times that still seem to remain reasonably frequent in my paddling. Thanks to the kindness of Xabier, boat-builder extraordinaire and fellow inland paddler and Kayak de Mar forumite, I had the chance to paddle a beautiful (see the pics, don't just take my word for it) Skin-On-Frame, West Greenland style qajaq that he had just finished.

The qajaq's maiden voyage took place in Cazalegas, a nice, not too distant reservoir (which I was also visiting for the first time) which proved quite interesting in the bird-watching department. The male of a couple of Marsh Harriers seemed to take interest in us and stayed nearby for good chunks of the outing and in the groves at the reservoir's tail the group, i.e., Xabier, Juan Antonio (whose photographs illustrate this entry), Jesús and I saw Night and Purple Herons.

It was a bright, if somewhat windy morning when we departed from near the dam. The wind kept increasing as we paddled, bringing clouds and stirring a substantial chop. Following wind and following chop, I guess you could say as they both came straight from our sterns. When after somewhat over 6 km, we reached the end of one of the reservoir's tails, Xabier and I switched boats and I entered for the first time a SOF kayak to paddle her on the return leg of the trip.

I was surprised by how solid and robust she felt. I had abundantly read and heard that SOFs were not fragile, quite the contrary actually, but for some reason it hadn't really clicked in my mind. Well, it has now. My first thought was a pleased confirmation of how well my Greenland paddle went with the boat, but that was quickly superseded by the first hand experience of what a deep V hull does to initial stability (pretty much killing it, if I trust my first impression), but also of how secondary stability quickly comes to the rescue.

And as soon as I had the boat moving, sensations completely changed. It suddenly felt very stable and hardly tilted at all. By now the wind blowing straight against us was quite strong, to the delight of some windsurfers that had suddenly appeared. We had to work to make progress. The qajaq kept her course as if on rails, but responded well to moderate edging. It also was a great opportunity to verify that, yeah, a totally flat deck means a rather wet ride even if all you are pinching is shortish lake chop.

I enormously enjoyed those 6 km back to the put in and I think that, had I built the boat myself, the feeling would have come dangerously close to pure bliss. I don't know yet when, but I now know that one day I will just have to build a SOF.

Link (IV). There's not a moment to lose

In one of the Aubrey & Maturin series novels by Patrick O'Brian (of which I am a devoted fan), the tender Ringle, a schooner (possibly a topsail schooner, as she was of the kind known as Baltimore clippers) of Jack Aubrey's property appears at a certain moment crossing a bay closed to the north by the Cape of Bares. Commanded as usual by Midshipman William Reade and carrying Dr. Maturin, his daugthter and his fortune, Ringle, finds herself closely pursued by a strong French privateer, the three-masted lugger Marie Paule. To avoid boarding and capture, Ringle, masterly skippered by Reade and Aubrey's coxswain, the magnificent Barrett Bonden, has to literally sail a biscuit's toss from the dangerous cliffs and rocks of the Cape.

And I have just realized that said bay is what I know as the mouth of the O Barqueiro Inlet and that I was paddling just there this past Easter.

Poor Kayak

In an old entry I hinted about traditional inflatable paddling. It seems it just doesn't stop there. Apparently, folders and Sit-On-Tops were known in the Arctic too. The kayakluk, or poor kayak, from Povungnituk (north-eastern Hudson Bay) happened to be both at once.

The kayakluk was retrieval craft for ice-edge hunting. About 1.8 m long, 0.8 m wide and 38 cm deep, it was made with the old skins from a normal kayak and lacked a rigid interior frame. It was carried folded on the hunter's back and, once on the ice edge, it was filled up with snow and the thongs on its upper part were tightened. The paddler sat on top with legs stretched and employed a short paddle. According to its users, the poor kayak's main advantages were light weight and ease of transport. It seems that carrying a normal kayak on a sled often damaged its skin.

It does look like a moccasin, doesn't it?

Firsts IV: Paatit

Among the nice new experiences that Easter in Ortigueira (see previous entry) delivered, I must confess I was particularly touched by the fact that my Greenland paddle, made with my very own hands (pretty much the first thing I've ever built) actually performed very well at propelling my kayak. As already confessed, I rapidly felt very much at ease using it and by the end of the trip I was simply loving it.

Since then, it has seen water (fresh, this time) once again. Another windy day, even more so than the first one and, hence, another chance to appreciate what it can do for you in such conditions. And to become totally addicted to the absolutely silent stroke you can achieve with it and the much valued chances to come close to wildlife that it provides. Oh, for some 5 km of that outing and thanks to the kindness of Xabier, its builder, I could match my paatit with a Greenland-style SOF kayak on the return leg of its maiden voyage (another "first" to ramble upon in the near future). Lovely

The stick (obeche wood = ayous = samba and a few other names) has ended up 234 cm long and 7.8 cm wide for a weight of 850 gr. I'm absurdly fond of it.

Firsts III: Ortigueira

Note: The pictures below were taken by Luis, from Ponferrada, who kindly allowed me to use them.

Easter 2008 brought a diversity of fresh kayaking experiences of the good (very good, actually) kind packed in four days spent in the Santa Marta de Ortigueira area in Galicia, northwestern Spain.

I met new fellow kayakers, making what I hope will become new friends, and got first hand contact with the AGKM (Asociación Galega de Kaiak de Mar), an interesting and promising initiative in the national sea kayaking scene. My recently finished first Greenland paddle got its first use in saltwater. For the first time, I could lay my hands on SOF boats, a Greenland-style kayak made by one of my woodworking gurus, Paco García, and an Aran currach that travelled all the way from Barcelona, and I paddled in new, very nice places.


Under AGKM's gentle wing, what initially was to be just a gathering of friends at Ortigueira, quickly and spontaneously grew into something quite large that included semi-strangers like me, a surf-kayak clinic, a Greenland paddle-making workshop and Greenland ropes. In spite of this, the event very purposefully stuck to its original informal nature and a "We are all organizers here" motto. Of course, some people actually worked while I, for example, contributed by having a jolly good time, but I believe the prevalent spirit, a sort of gently-steered anarchy, was indeed the intended one. It worked remarkably well.

It was my first kayaking exposure to our northern sea. That stretch of Atlantic Ocean that we call Mar Cantábrico (Cantabrian Sea) and others the southern end of the Bay of Biscay. It is a beautiful coast. Over most of its length, it is conveniently sprinkled with rías, river inlets that afford protected waters where guys like me can still enjoy very nice outings when conditions out there get hairy. In Galicia, the coast's western end and where we were, those inlets become even more frequent and substantial. It is also reasonably dotted by villages (often quaint and picturesque) ports where you can stop for refreshment and good food. It is truly a wonderful area for sea kayaking.


As first exposures go, it was a tad limited, though, as the weather did not fully cooperate. For me, F6-7 winds and truly big seas (4-7 m) accompanied by rain and hail squalls made paddling unappealing in the inlets and pretty much suicidal in the ocean on Saturday and Sunday. Fortunately, there was the paddle-making shop and a lovely piece of red cedar to keep me happily busy.

On Thursday, we all paddled together and poked our collective nose out of the Ortigueira inlet from the small port of Espasante. Conditions, though milder than they would become later during the weekend, were not exactly comfortable (F4-5, about 2-3 m breaking waves) for a group of mixed skill levels such as we were and we soon returned to sheltered waters. Lesson learned, next day we split according to our abilities and daring. A minority faced F5 (later 6) wind and 3-4 m waves in an excursion along the coast. Prudently, I went with the majority and the currach for a more sedate trip down the very pretty O Barqueiro inlet to the beautiful port of Bares taking the Greenland stick out for its first trip.

Bares happens to be the northernmost port in Spain and there are occasional statements that it is also the oldest one still in operation. Its megalithic jetty is often dated to the VIIIth century BCE and attributed to either Phoenician traders or, less commonly, local peoples. However, recent scholarships is critically reviewing those claims and a consensus on a roman origin may be emerging. In any case, its an intriguing and impressive structure that has formed the beach where we disembarked for a beer and a bite of something good in a nearby tavern. We returned with a helping high tide, winds increasing to the point of occasional annoyance and growing esteem and comfort with my Greenland paddle on my part. By the end of the trip, I was totally hooked on it. For a good while, I paddled near the currach watching it move against a backdrop of cliffs, woods, secluded beaches, coves and small fishing villages in the opposite shore and having just the greatests of times.

It is truly a wonderful area for sea kayaking.