September 1, 2003

Loss of a Paddling Partner -- April 2003

Here is a vignette ... a case history, perhaps. Another paddler's story of loss of a paddling partner got me to thinking about my buddy Joel (not his real name) and how I came to lose him as a paddling partner a few years back.

It came about because Joel had a phobia: paddling beam-on to moderate seas (anything over 2 feet if close-coupled). Head-on he was OK. Stern-on he was OK. Beam-on, he was jelly.

DISCOVERY PHASE: I had paddled with Joel a couple times before I realized he had a phobia. Joel is a great kayak camping partner: does exquisite camp cookery; is a terrific story-teller; is willing and eager to do his share of the grunt work; is fastidious and imaginative at planning and preparation. And, he lives in a town on the way to one of my favorite paddling spots, so it was easy to slide him and his gear into/onto the pickup enroute. Oh, yeah, he also is semi-retired, so he has lots of free time. He likes to eat, though, perhaps too much, so he is quite a bit overweight, but has great upper-body strength -- so I had no reservations about his ability to re-enter his kayak, especially since he described to me self-rescue practices he and another paddler in his town, Tom, had done.

Anyway, he and I were part of a six-person group on our second day of week-long trip. We crossed an exposed channel in 15 knot side winds, but it was not very sloppy at all. I had my sprayskirt on, but felt no need to prepare to brace; my 50-year-old ex-wife, an infrequent paddler not gifted with extraordinary upper-body strength (but mentally very tough) was having no trouble with it. Everybody else was having a good time.

As we completed the crossing and rested out of the wind in some very mild rebound next to a rocky cliff, Joel breathlessly asked me if he could raft up. I said OK, and within 30 seconds, he had a beargrip on my upper body, and was shivering and shaking. I asked him what was wrong and he confessed he was scared out of his wits. Of what? Capsizing. I scoffed and noted that we would be in calmer waters the rest of the day.

Later on, in talking to him, I found out that he stiffened up whenever he got frightened of rough conditions, losing that suppleness at the waist and hips which allowed his very seaworthy boat (Current Designs GTHV Solstice) to ride parallel to seas safely.

On a couple of other crossings on this same trip, he outstripped the rest of the group, and it was clear it was fear that drove him. Once across, he drooped and waited behind a safe point.

ATTEMPTED CURE: I'm a long-time chemistry teacher, and proud of my ability to defuse chemophobia in introductory learners, so I figured ... no problem getting Joel over this. So, on a couple trips the next season I worked with him, with his concurrence. First we did everything the Joel way: adjusted our crossing angle so we avoided beam-on conditions; avoided afternoon paddling when the seas were worse; stayed very close to each other (less than a boat length) so he could feel confident of having another boat at hand if he did go in; and we practiced assisted rescue (primarily the modified T-rescue) in easy water ... which he had done many times before.

Then, we "removed" his training wheels, a little at a time, and we purposely sought out easy, short crossings in mild beam seas, where he and I concentrated on allowing our hips to swivel with the waves, so he could feel how well his boat would help him handle it. Finally, he was ready for the big test (so I thought): a five day trip down the Columbia River, over a stretch that has progressively longer, more exposed crossings, culminating with a 3 1/2 mile shot to our home port, more or less beam-on to a 15-mile fetch near the mouth. We practiced beam-on stuff the four days before the big bad crossing, and we talked, in camp, about what he needed to do All seemed well.

It wasn't. On leaving the last beach, as we entered the last fetch, with maybe 10-12 knots of side wind, and beam seas of maybe 2 feet, Joel collapsed. He moaned, he cursed, he wept, he despaired. No, I would not stay right next to him -- I told him I did not want to get drowned in a bear hug from a panicked kayaker. I told him we had radios and could sit in the water forever in our immersion gear. I told him to use his well-practiced relaxed-hip style. He could not do it. He locked up, gritted his teeth, and refused to go. Well, we did not have that choice. There were no shorter, less-exposed routes to shore. So, we did the three and a half miles, me a few boat lengths ahead, and him mewling in the rear, until we got near the end, when he pretty much quit, and then slowly, on his last dregs of effort, paddled up a backwater to the takeout.

THE END: That night, Joel treated me and my SO to a very fine meal at an over-the-water restaurant in town and announced that he was giving up paddling. I was stunned, and allowed that he should wait a few months and decide later. He agreed to that, and we parted. The next spring, we agreed to meet with Tom, one of our companions on the first trip I have described, at a lake in their city (some 200 miles distant from mine), to practice some rescues on rough water, thinking this would be the confidence-builder Joel needed. It was a great day for that: 25-30 knots across a mile and a half fetch made for short, choppy, energetic seas (onto a safe lee shore), just the thing we knew Joel needed to overcome. Tom and I did an assisted T-rescue (damn hard in a wind, I'll tell you). Then it was Joel's turn to be the rescuer Well, he gave it a shot, but he could not get his boat turned into the wind to reach the swamped paddler. So, we hit the beach to regroup. We could see in Joel's eyes that he was close to his limit. So we went out again, and tried again. He did it! Tom and I were elated. Then it was Joel's turn to be rescued. And, after some struggle, he did it!

We figured Joel was cured. But, his downcast expression and affect said otherwise.

Two months later, he phoned me to say he had sold all his gear and had given up paddling.

LESSON LEARNED: Beam seas had such a strong hold on Joel, none of the techniques we tried had a chance. Exposing him to those conditions only made his phobia worse. He had paddled in coastal conditions for five years, sometimes in surge channels and on rough crossings, but he somewhere in there lost it. The more he tried it, the worse it got. He could not break it. I wish he could. He was a good paddling buddy.
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Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR

Copyright 2003 by Dave Kruger.
May not be reproduced or redistributed without author's permission.
Republished here with permission.