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.

With a little help...

Not exactly from my friends (save in the indirect, diffuse way in which just having friends helps with everything), but my Greenland paddle shows progress and that's in great measure thanks to the help I'm having. It comes mostly from two sources. First, the Kayak de Mar Forum, where kind, knowledgeable souls have posted what amounts to very useful tutorials on tool tuning and use, basic woodworking in general and making of Greenland paddles in particular. My paddle-in-the-making and I are living proof of the practical value of the wisdom to be found there, as that's pretty much the only instruction I've ever received in those matters. One of these days I'll ramble about the forum in greater length. You've been warned





Then, major help is also coming from the tools themselves. Without any further experience, I might not be the best judge. I'm sure a connoisseur would take issue with the edge of my planes and spokeshaves, but I can tell that I'm doing things I doubted I could. At least, not without lots of suffering and frustration. Things so basic and simple that it'd be embarrassing to recount them here, yes, but for me it's substantial advance. The time spent properly conditioning the tools seems to be paying off now. We're definitely building a relationship here and it is allowing me a glimpse of the roots of the respect and care true artisans show to the instruments of their craft.




Using tools and watching them consistently do what they are supposed to do is proving quite rewarding and a vivid reminder of our dependence on them. I'll leave further elaboration on that to cultural anthropologists, but I have now experienced first hand how good tools can really make your day as much as poor ones can totally ruin it. And that's for just a hobby. When tools are employed to produce the means of earning your livelihood, I imagine your interest in them becomes something quite deeper than my idle wonder. I suppose that the attention European woodworking tools appear to have attracted from Inuit carvers may be related to that.





The Inuit produced ivory carvings to trade with westerners. Besides native themes, the carvings frequently reproduced foreign objects, often in minute detail. The diversity of those objects is truly notable and that includes woodworking tools. While not so abundant as the very numerous model riffles and knives in my admittedly hurried and unsystematic glance through online materials, models of tools seemed, nonetheless, reasonably common.

Paddles inside

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Namely, inside the wood block (roughly a 2 x 4) I've just bought and inside my head. I look at the 2 x 4 and compare them. So far, they are identical. That's good as, of course, the paddle in my mind is just terrific. However, although they are both beautiful, none will be much use to propel a kayak in their present state and that detracts from their appeal. Therefore, I must now resort to my craftsmanship to extract a paddle as similar as possible to the one in my head from the wood. Put that way, it sounds pretty. Problem is that, currently, all that can be honestly said of my skill as a craftsman is what m my old military card used to say of my courage: supposed.



Consequently, it shouldn't be much of a surprise that I face this task with some vague apprehension. My courage, at least for military purposes, will remain an unknown (and long may it last so), but my capabilities as a do-it-yourselfer are going to be tested and, right now, that's something I cannot take lightly. In the past, I would have cared very little whether I could produce a serviceable Greenland paddle or not, but presently this links directly with much cherished projects. If the outcome is satisfactory, there will be more paddles (Arctic kayakers managed to produce a diversity of models to tempt my curiosity) and, maybe, kayaks (dreaming is cheap...). So far, all I can say is that I enjoyed fine-tuning the tools and obtained a decent result. I'm moderately optimistic.



To sum up, I guess this attempt to build a paddle represents a challenge, a chance to learn and train, and, hopefully, a stress-reducing pastime . All at once, and all for the relatively modest cost of a bit of wood and some simple hand tools. There aren't that many hobbies that can offer so much just from collateral efforts as sea kayaking, I'd say.

And I might end up with a paddle too.