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.