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.