Wednesday, January 28, 2015

The Art of Whitewater: Fear Management, Part 1


This is the fifth in a series of posts about whitewater kayaking and some philosophy beyond the basics; ideas and concepts meant to help intermediate paddlers improve and get more out of the sport. As parts are added, these links will go live:

Part 1: Technique
Part 2: Momentum
Part 3: On or Across the Water
Part 4: Group Management
Part 5: Fear Management, Part 1
Part 6: Fear Management, Part 2

Fear Management, Part 1

The Theory

This is a tricky subject because it is very personal for each paddler and there is no right answer or single philosophy. As I worked on getting my thoughts down on paper, I naturally broke it into two distinct areas, physical fears and social fears. The physical fears are fairly objective and relate to bodily harm: fear of drowning, fear of pain/injury, fear of death. I want to take a look at where these come from and give some specific techniques that might help work through them.

But there is more going on psychologically than hoping to avoid physical harm, like fear of embarrassment, fear of failure, concern over friends and strangers, worries about being accepted. While some of these are not whitewater kayaking specific, and not everyone has to deal with them, they are valid issues and I think they are worth addressing in the realm of kayaking, The more I wrote the more I realized these social fears are quite different from the physical ones and are worth a separate post of their own. Hence the part two of fear management, which will follow shortly.

Getting back to physical fears, let's start with the appreciation that fear is good. Fear is your friend - it keeps you alive. Without it, people would kayak class V on their first day and take risks that would lead to a high mortality rate. The goal is not to be fearless, the goal is to recognize your fears, learn how to handle them, and not to let fear limit you or take away your enjoyment of a sport that does contain some risk.

On the physical side, many fears start with the very medium we operate in: water. It's a very natural, instinctive thing to be afraid of water. We can't breathe it. It's often cold and violent, and when you're upside down in a kayak it gets all the way up your nose into your brain. You have every right to dislike it. But if you're going to kayak, you're going to have to get used to water. You can learn to minimize the frequency and duration of immersion, but it will always be there.

When I teach, I start with wet exits. Mostly it's a safety thing - I need to know that if a student flips over they know how to safely exit the kayak. But it also helps them - most students feel better knowing they know how to exit a kayak. Many of them still don't like it, many still are anxious about flipping over, but it's a start. To get over that fear takes time and practice - just like any other skill that I teach. The way to get used to being upside down under water is to do it repeatedly, ideally under controlled conditions.

The same time I do wet exits I have people practice swimming their boat to shore. Depending on temperature, I might have them do a little swimming in current or I might save that for later. I try to get all my students swimming in the river, maybe even in a rapid. People tend to be afraid of the unknown. They often know what it's like to swim, but not swim in moving water with rocks and obstacles. Getting the experience, knowing how to keep your feet up, learning to push off rocks, time your breaths in a wave train - doing these things once turns the unknown into the known, and it's really not so bad.

But swimming often leads to another fear - it's not just the water to be afraid of but the things in it: rocks, strainers, fish (yes, a number of people are terrified of fish attacking them. I blame piranha movies). And it's natural to be afraid of getting slammed into hard objects, or scraped over them, or stuck against them. Learning how to protect yourself is key, learning how to avoid them is better.

So where and when do these fears come up? They often start before the kayaking. Thinking about tomorrow's paddle, setting shuttle, putting on in the calm pool. Our brains often run away with us, either knowing what dangers lie ahead or not knowing and fearing the worst.

One way to avoid the descent into darkness is to arm yourself with knowledge. Read about a run to better understand how difficult it really is. Talk to those who've done it before. Think back over your own experiences and focus on the successes. Even if you've never run a particular rapid successfully, think about your buddies who did and how they did it. Think about similar rapids, or maybe even harder ones, where you were successful. Focus on the positive, because when you're paddling that's what you need to do - positive motions that take you to the proper line.

This all applies even more to the fear that comes up when scouting. There's nothing like standing there and seeing that big drop, noting every single hazard and obstruction in the rapid, to make you worry about the outcome. Some people prefer not to scout - they'd rather have beta from friends or rely on their memory. That works as long as you know what you're going to do. Most of feel better if we take the time to see the hazards, but then spend our mental energy working out the specific actions we will take to run the rapid - what angle do we want on entry, where is the green current, where is a recovery pool, what boof stroke do I take going off the lip.

Once you have a clear picture of what to do, go do it. The more time you spend evaluating the dangers and watching the recirculating hole the more you will be drawn to it. If you dwell on fear, it clouds the mind and tightens the body, the very worst things for kayaking.

The Practice

As I've said before, repetition and persistence are the keys to improving, and the same goes for dealing with fear. What I've found to be key is to try to control the situation as much as possible, so people can deal with a single, simple problem at first, building in complexity and challenge. What does this mean?

Start in a warm pool. While standing in the water, flip a kayaker over and have them hold a tucked position and then flip them back up. All they have to deal with is holding their breath for a couple seconds while maintaining body position. If they're comfortable with that, try having them hang out upside down for a few seconds. Then maybe have them tap the boat when they're ready to come up. Have them reach forward and backward with their hands (engaging their brain for constructive action and physical reference). This is something I do before teaching someone to roll, but it's really all about helping them get over their fear so they can actually learn. Not enough people spend enough time upside down in a friendly situation before they end up upside down in a more chaotic environment.

Even if you've kayaked for years, if you aren't totally calm and in control when your kayak flips, take the time to do these exercises in a pool. Do them repeatedly over many weeks. Keep doing them until being upside down under water is a perfectly natural state of being. Then start doing it on the river in flat water. Then moving current (deep water). Be comfortable staying in your boat because it's almost always better than swimming.

As for fear of swimming, take a swiftwater rescue course. Let me repeat that: TAKE A SWIFTWATER RESCUE COURSE (and ideally a kayak specific one, like this).  If you're going to be a whitewater kayaker, you need to know how to handle things when they go wrong. Because they will, sooner or later. If you don't know how to swim in a rapid, if you don't know how to unpin a boat, or what to do with a foot entrapment, then you are a danger on the river.(As an instructor, I don't want to scare away newbies by forcing them into a SWR course right away. But this series is for intermediate paddlers - and they have no excuse for not learning the basic safety skills that are necessary for the sport)

Getting back to the fear - taking a SWR course gives you the experience, training, and practice of being in the water and that's the best way to deal with fear. Everyone I know who's taken such a course, or just practiced the skills with friends, ended up enjoying it immensely and being a better boater because of it. So there.

But even if you know what you're doing, it's still natural to get butterflies on big days, or while looking at a new rapid. The best thing is to come up with a system to deal with your concerns and get past them. Here are a number of other tactics you can employ when fear hits you on a river:

- Talk it out. One of the best parts of having good paddling buddies is the freedom to share your concerns and receive support. When I look at a hard rapid and say that I'm worried about the hole, my friends remind me I have a strong boof stroke. If I say I'm just not feeling it today, they say no problem and offer to help on the portage. Surround yourself with good people and life becomes easier.
- Be objective. Try to take your fear out of the equation and evaluate the danger level and risk factors as if they are happening to someone else. The conclusions you reach might help put your mind at ease.
- Watch the probe. Most of us paddle with people who are better than us (or just paddling better on that particular day). Let them go first and see how they do. Sometimes their ease will give you confidence, or sometimes their struggles will make you decide to walk around it. But either way it tends to give you a more certain feeling and help take some of the unknown out of the decision.
- Calm your mind. When I enter a rapid, whether I scouted or not, I have a simple mantra that helps me relax while keeping key point of technique up front in my mind. Relax. Sit up straight. Be aggressive. Those are the things I need - you might be different. But they are all positive actions/thoughts and make a real difference in how well I paddle (which makes a real difference in how often I swim).

Fear is an ever-present challenge, but it can be mastered. Like most worthwhile things in life, it takes conscious effort, learning, and practice. There isn't a single approach or technique that works for everyone, and that's fine. But work on it - try some different options and find what works for you. Start simple, start at the beginning, and never be afraid to admit your fear and ask for help. We all deal with it, some more openly than others, and everyone should accept your concerns. And I'd love to hear from folks on how they deal with fear and what works for them.


Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Old Friends and New

When I moved to the Mendocino Coast a year and a half ago, it brought me closer to the ocean and its wonderful playground. But it took me far from my many paddling friends and co-workers at California Canoe & Kayak. I've managed to get back to some teaching for them here and there, but those days tend to be hectic and my focus is on my students. I was happy when my schedule aligned with the CCK Instructor Training weekend this year - lots of great folks in one place with no students to worry about.

The point of the weekend is great - a chance for all the sea kayak instructors to get together and go over curriculum, for the more experienced instructors to mentor the new, for policies and procedures to be clarified and updated. I had run the trainings in the past, but with Sean Morley taking over responsibilities as the program's director, and lots of other great instructors stepping up to lead sessions, I was invited as a guest and given free reign to have fun. And I got to bring my wife!


On Saturday I joined the group led by Bill Vonnegut, teaching rock gardening and heading out under the Golden Gate Bridge. Tagging along were another couple visiting instructors - Alec and Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin from Chicago. With so many instructors, the session became fairly casual. Bill led us through some stroke work and maneuvering exercises, Alec and I took lots of pictures, then we headed out the gate and explored the coast.

San Francisco Bay is remarkable in the variety of paddling conditions you get on any given day within a mile of launching. Horseshoe cove was protected and flat, a perfect place for the other groups to practice stroke technique. Around the corner was Yellow Bluff, the local tide race, going off at 3.5 knots and creating plenty of turbulence for rough water rescues. And us - we had blowholes, slots, and pourovers while still in site of the city across the water. Everyone was bathed in the common winter sun (regional secret - January is often sunny and calm, June is foggy and cold).

We worked our way down to Kirby Cove for an easy beach landing and lunch. Afterward we launched and paddled around Pt. Diablo, where the ocean swell was starting to reach into the Golden Gate and create some very dynamic water. At low tide, a few of the regular pourovers were too dry, but a tricky slot with a rock in the middle made for the excitement of the day.

Each set created vastly different currents running between the rocks. Bill glided through easy as cake. I started to follow but got pushed back by a big set and took my time re-positioning. I got a nice ride and made it through without incident. Sean F. came after and lost the water halfway through, dropping down and getting pinched between the middle and outside rocks. He braced off the rock (maybe both rocks - there was a lot of bracing going on) and held on long enough for the next surge to push him free. He came through with a grunt that turned into a large smile when he was safely clear.

Alex lined up to go next and the swells picked up even more. He timed a large wave really well, but none of us expected the reflection off the wall to pin him up against the outside rock. He held on while the wave pushed, but he couldn't go forward or backward and eventually the wave dropped out and he fell into the same pinch as Sean F. Only he wasn't quite as upright. And while he held onto the rock for a valiantly long time, the set had past and no wave came to free him. He ended up exiting from his boat and swimming to freedom - with half a paddle. His shaft had broken sometime during the excitement. Alec himself was fine and soon reunited with his boat and a spare paddle, and since we were at our turnaround point anyway we headed back in.

We made it under the bridge against the ebb, hugging the eddies and sprinting against the strong current at Lime Point. It's always great to watch people discover the power of current and the secrets to avoiding it. Alec challenged me to see how few strokes it would take to get past the current right on the point. I put my whitewater experience to good use and made it in four - I don't like working hard when I'm trying to relax.

The second day was a slightly different affair. While the CCK crew worked on ACA Skills Assessment practice and procedures, Lindsay and I just wanted to paddler, and Alec, Sharon, their friend Chris joined us. The heavy fog made a trip out to Pt. Bonita less appealing, so we decided to head to Angel Island - if we could find it. One of the other dangers of being a guest and borrowing boats is that you don't always have/bring the things you might need - like a compass. Luckily, the current itself serves as a pretty good marker. We skirted the mouth of Richardson Bay and cut across from Tiburon, a grey and featureless paddle that was made fun by the company and spirit.

After another restful lunch, we launched back into the mist, hoping it would eventually clear - we really wanted the out-of-towners to get to see Alcatraz and San Francisco from the water. We rode the ebb this time and pulled out into Yellow Bluff, the largest tide race in the Bay. It was small when we got there but grew a little as we played. It never gives great waves, but it always gives you some action to enjoy. And as we played the fog lifted, at least enough to make out the general features of the land surrounding us. We called it a success and headed in, lingering inside Horseshoe Cove, not wanting to let the weekend end.

But like all things good and bad, eventually it did end. At least, the paddling did. After racking the boats on the trailer and peeling off the drysuits, we all retired to the best kept secret bar in Sausalito - the Travis Marina, right over the cove with an unparalleled view of the bridge. Most of the CCK crew had made it in as well, and a fine afternoon was passed sharing stories, catching up, and hoping for the future.

It's great to live in an amazing kayaking Mecca, and even better to have a life partner who enjoys sharing it with you. But kayaking is a large community, and it's great to know that even if you can't be a part of it every day, or every month, that it's still there for you. I'm so glad I got to see my old friends, feel lucky to have made a few new ones, and I can't wait until the next time.

Friday, January 16, 2015

A Paddler's Journey: Book Update #2

Well, it's been a while since I've said anything about the book (read this post for full details on the project). But that doesn't mean I haven't been working on it (though, to be honest, I've been working on a lot of other things so this project has gotten less attention than I had hoped to give it). There was a break after completing the first draft because I sent it out to some folks to beta read and give me some feedback. Mostly to those who were in the book, so they could let me know if I got any facts wrong.

I'm happy to say that my memory was (mostly) accurate and the responses I got were quite positive. Based on their feedback, and my own sense of what I want to accomplish, I decided that I needed to include a little more personal information to thread my life story into the paddling stories, being careful to keep the focus on the paddling and the universal lessons that we all learn from the sport.

Well, I've now completed that revision and I'm pretty happy with where I ended up. There's definitely a little bit more of me on the pages, but I didn't really add a lot of content and it still has an easy-reading feel to it. Here's an example of a bit of that self-reflection, from immediately after my solo circumnavigation of Moresby Island (video here).

A Paddler's Journey - excerpt.

At the end of every day I was alone, with no one to share what I saw, no one to appreciate where I’d been. My accomplishment held little meaning of its own—this wasn’t a race; I couldn’t win. While I had enjoyed myself in the moment, I hadn’t gotten anywhere, ending in the same place I began. I needed something more than paddling in my life.

The long road home gave me time to realize my life was already filled with something special: people. People who let me use their cabin for as long as I wanted, friends who’d do anything to help me on the river, strangers who passed along their experiences for my benefit. Through kayaking I had met wonderful people of all stripes and sizes, old and young, hardcore and soft. Maybe I wasn’t a loner, not cut out for solo missions. Maybe I needed to focus less on the paddling and more on the company. Kayaking had opened my eyes, but it was time to see life through a new filter: friendship.
*

Now I've got to let it sit for a bit and give it a full read through with a clear head. Then I'll show it to some new folks to see if it's working. Hopefully it will just need a few tweaks and be ready to publish after that.

If anyone out there is interested in giving it a read, let me know. Just leave your info in the comments with an email address and I'll be in touch. Thanks!

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Sea Kayak Symposia

I've been invited to teach at the Storm Gathering USA in March, 2015. It's an rough water sea kayaking symposium organized by my good friends Helen Wilson and Mark Tozar at Greenland or Bust. I've had the honor to coach at several great sea kayaking symposiums in the past, and since they seem to be growing in popularity I thought I'd share a little bit about what I think are the true benefits of such events.

There are different types of symposiums out there, but I'm focusing on educational events - ones with a selection of classes over several days taught by instructors from beyond the local area. This is quite different from your paddlefest type of events, where an outfitter, or group of outfitters, have a bunch of demo boats and run people through short clinics or discussions. Those can be valuable too, but they're not the focus of this discussion.

The most obvious benefit of taking classes are the things you'll learn in those classes. I'll just assume that people agree that learning in a class can be valuable (though it's fine to learn through other means as well). But you could probably take the classes through your local retailer, or find a private instructor, or just a skilled mentor willing to guide you. You could often do it cheaper, break it up over convenient weekends, and maybe at a closer location. What makes it better at a symposium?

Immersion


While learning anything takes time, and physical skills in particular take much practice and repetition, there's a certain psychological advantage to immersing yourself in something for an extended period of time. It can be tiring, both physically and mentally, but the blending, combining and reiteration of ideas you get from back to back courses really helps. It will take time after a symposium for the material learned to sink in, but there's an efficiency to getting so much information downloaded at once. It allows you to draw from a bigger base of knowledge when working to improve. It primes you for more learning and lasts longer.

Variety of Instructors


Lumpy Waters
The truth is, there are a lot of skilled kayak instructors out there. Wherever you are, I bet there are some excellent and inspiring local instructors who could teach you anything you wanted to learn. But any one teacher, any small group of instructors, is limited. We all have our own styles and preferences, our own beliefs and approaches. The more of these you see as a student, the more you'll find the way that works best for you.

Symposiums tend to bring in some of the most experienced and well-traveled coaches, who not only bring their personal experience with them, but also the experience of all those people they've interacted with in other places and at other symposiums. Again, the more variety the better. It's something that's hard, if not impossible, to find in any one area of the country.

(Another perk is that these folks tend to bring their stories with them, sometimes even a little video. If you want to be inspired, these are the people that can do it)

Variety of Location

GGSKS

Why is it better to learn someplace new? Because learning is about the new - it's about leaving the familiar behind and taking risks, even if it's just a little pride on the line. Venturing into the unknown changes your mental state and that's good - you want to be a little on edge. It forces a sharper eye and focused mind. As long as you're in an appropriate class, you shouldn't be freaked out about conditions or worried unduly about your safety (that shouldn't happen in any class). But a little bit of concern is good.

If the symposium is happening in your back yard, then maybe the venues won't be new in themselves. But there's a good chance you'll get different venues from one day to the next. Again, it's back to the benefit of variety, the chance to put to use what you learned yesterday in a new context today. It's a new way of looking at a familiar place, and that alone is worth a lot.

Safety Ratios


It might seem like a small thing, and it hopefully won't be an issue at all, but most of the events I've taught at (GGSKS, Lumpy Waters) have great instructor/student ratios. There's often a safety officer and luxuries like motorized boat support that you don't normally get in a kayak class. And it's not uncommon to have additional safety boaters in the more advanced courses. People often push their limits at these symposiums, and the organizers are prepared for it. It doesn't mean you should sign up for things beyond your skill level, but it's nice to know that when you stretch yourself there will be people there to support you.

Camaraderie


GGSKS
Perhaps I'm saving the best for last, for quite often the best part of a symposium is not found in the learning at all. It's the chance to meet like-minded people; to immerse yourself with your fellow paddlers; to meet people from diverse and interesting backgrounds; to make contacts with others from near and far. The experience of the event always ends up being something greater than the mere coursework.

I know that these symposiums can often seem expensive. It's difficult to take the time off from work, travel to a far off venue, work your body hard for three or more days. And it isn't something you need to do often. But if you've never been to such an event you're missing out. Treat yourself at least once. It's worth it - and you deserve it.



Friday, December 5, 2014

Van Damme, the local spot


I've been living on the Mendocino Coast for over a year now, but recently my wife and I moved twenty miles further south, near the town of Little River. We still have easy access to many play spots on one of the most magnificent stretches of coastline in the world. But everyone has their 'local' spot - that place closest to home, that you can revisit time and time again while always having fun. For us, Van Damme is our local spot.

Van Damme State Park is a strip of land just south of the town of Mendocino. It follows Little River from the Pygmy Forest, through Redwood groves, all the way to a well-protected sandy beach. The back entrance to the hiking trails is right down the road from our house; the beach  a little further along that same road. There's plenty of free parking, a gentle surf in all but the biggest seas, and even a beach shower for rinsing off at the end of a paddle. It gets crowded in the summer with tourists and abalone divers, but of the time it's rather peaceful.

Once on the water there are caves and tunnels immediately to the north. The angle of the shore and an outer reef of rocks keeps this area calm most days, often bathtub flat as you pass through long tunnels to emerge into the open sea. Beginners can have the experience of a lifetime within ten minutes of launching their first kayak.

Heading back south passes through the outer rocks, a fun place for advanced paddlers to explore. Pourovers and slots await skilled kayakers, fear level depending upon conditions. There's even a zipper wave on the back side when the swell direction is just right.

Continuing further south, the shoreline opens up with more caves and tunnels, many leading from one protected cove to the next. Emerald green water, lit up by the plentiful afternoon sun, shines through underwater openings and entices one to go just a little further to see what's around the next corner. Mostly it's more rocks to play in and around, but occasionally it's a pocket beach that begs you to take a break and enjoy a lazy lunch on the sand.

I've only gotten in a couple paddles out of Van Damme since our move, and I know there's lots more for me to explore and discover. But I'm looking forward to gaining my local knowledge, and I'm eager to share it with my friends when they visit. Enjoy the little video of one our recent water days: