Kayak Lessons: Beginner Rules and Developing Judgment

My daughter is now three years old and even though I try to let her learn about the world through experience and exploration I also give her some hard and fast rules: never touch the stove; don't play in the street; always tell the truth. When I taught people how to kayak I did the same: never kayak alone; always wear your lifevest; don't paddle beyond your abilities. But here's the thing, I don't follow those rules. None of the good kayakers I know follow them. Are we all a bunch of big hypocrites or are kayakers really just a bunch of three-year-olds?

The truth is: rules exist to take the place of judgment. Beginners (and toddlers) lack both the knowledge and experience to have good judgment so they need something to use instead to keep them safe until they have developed the judgment to make good decisions. Simple rules serve that purpose. But as you grow and develop in the real world you find out life is seldom simple and rules will never be able to guide you through all the complexities you will face in your paddling experience. At some point you leave the rules behind. Hopefully, by teaching people to follow rules that err on the side of safety, they won't break those rules until they are ready. It's not a perfect system but it works pretty well in kayaking (and many other areas of life).

So the questions comes in: when should we break the rules? For instance, I love to paddle solo. Some of my favorite memories and most rewarding experiences have happened on the water by myself. And while it's true that paddling alone is more dangerous than paddling with other paddlers of equal skill, not all danger is bad and more people is not always safer. Everything has risk, and judgment is knowing how to accurately assess that risk and make a good decision on how much you are willing and able to handle. I did a two-week circumnavigation of a remote island off the coast of British Columbia all alone (story here), but only have a decade of experience and serious devotion to developing the skills and judgment needed to handle such an adventure. I never felt at any significant risk given my abilities and equipment even though I encountered conditions in locations that probably would have been fatally dangerous to an entire group of intermediates.  But earlier that same year I made a bad judgment call that nearly cost me my life even though it followed good safety protocols - paddling a river I'd done many times before with a group of extremely skilled friends (story here). Everybody gets things wrong sometimes but it's extremely useful to know who commonly makes mistakes and why - so you can avoid them.

Studies have shown that adventure athletes are most likely to make serious mistakes of judgment at two different times in their careers. Not beginners. They tend to be pretty safe, following the rules because they know they don't know any better. But once they become new intermediates with a little bit of time and experience under their belt they often overestimate their own knowledge and skill, use their supposed judgment in a new situation, and get into trouble. It's the group that has paddled on several lakes deciding they are ready for a protected ocean bay without knowing what tidal currents are all about. It's the class III whitewater kayaker who thinks they can handle a new class III river because the rating is the same without bothering to understand how committing the run is or what type of hazards exist. They mistake their very limited knowledge and experience as a good basis for using judgment to replace the rules when they are not ready, or they misinterpret the rules because they don't use their common sense to carefully apply them.

We make this mistake so often in life as well: assuming our very limited knowledge and experience gives us good judgment when in reality we are simply clueless to the larger realities that exist and contradict our own perceptions. I see white people claim that racism isn't a problem anymore because they don't see it (reality); people with no economics training claim our economy must be doing well because the stock market is rising (reality); all kinds of folks believing gender identity is the same as biological sex because we were taught that as kids (reality). Most of us have a lot of experiences in our lives but we fail to grasp how the big, wide world is different than our little corner. We are fortunate in that we have the ability to learn from others' experiences by reading and listening to people different from ourselves and those who have studied widely. Sadly, we too often rely on our own limited realities instead of seeking out knowledge that would greatly improve our judgments. We could become experts, or at least listen to those who are.

But that brings up the other people most likely to make lethal mistakes: the experts. Not because they are pushing the limits of risk on new and dangerous adventures. No, experts are most likely to get killed doing something they've done before - a familiar run or known location. Their mistake is they use their past judgment - I've paddled this river before and survived - instead of applying their full judgment on the current situation. Maybe the river is at a higher level, maybe the weather conditions are different, maybe they are not performing at the same level they used to. Judgment is only good if it is constantly questioning itself and using all knowledge and experience to evaluate current conditions.

This happens often in academic fields. While it is the nature of scientific discovery to always be questioning itself, which does lead to advancement and improvement, it is part of human nature for the individual scientist to lag behind. As someone with an economics degree from twenty-five years ago, I can safely assert that many things I learned in college are now inaccurate based on studies and findings that have come out since. But I regularly see experts and pundits in the media quoting the same historical ideas as if the world and our knowledge haven't changed. What my training did give me, what anyone can apply, is the format to approach new information and the tools to incorporate more facts into my evaluation of what is good. Raising wages doesn't necessarily hurt employment (reality). GDP growth is not the same as a prosperous and healthy society (reality). Just because you knew something was true before does not mean it is now, and basing your decisions off old knowledge is as reckless as basing them off no knowledge.

Kayaking, like life, is complicated. Most of us are past the stage where we should have to depend on blindly following rules we learned long ago. We aren't three-year-olds anymore. But we need to develop and refine our judgment instead of assuming the simple act of growing older is enough to imbue us with wisdom. Maturation only happens through careful reflection upon our own experiences and listening to and understanding the experiences of others. The best judgment is always improving and the truest bravery is admitting what you don't know.

Kayak Lesson: Good Outcome =/= Good Decision

I have a kayaking friend who's, well, let's not call him old but just 'very experienced', and he likes to say that good judgment comes from experience - and experience comes from bad judgment. And it's true: we tend to learn best from our own mistakes. The problem is that we often don't recognize when we make a mistake of judgment because we assume that a good outcome means we made a good decision. Not true.

Because you have to understand the nature of risk is one of probability and consequences. If you run that rapid, what are the odds you'll flip? If you flip, what are the chances you'll swim? If you swim, how likely are you to get hurt (or killed)? Just because you get a certain result in a single roll of the dice doesn't mean it was likely or that the outcome was a result of skill and ability instead of pure chance. Most people, if they paddle away from a rapid, take that as evidence they made a good decision without critically examining what actually happened. Aside from leading to a false sense of confidence that will ultimately lead to disaster it also is a missed opportunity to learn from your mistakes without having to suffer negative consequences first.

Think about this in pure statistical form. How much would you bet on flipping a coin so it comes up heads? Odds are fifty/fifty, so it's worth a little risk. But if you won, would you then assume it proves you're really good at flipping coins? Would you stake your life that the next flip also comes up heads? Or would you realize your win involved a certain bit of luck and does not guarantee a repeat? If you have a fifty percent chance of returning from a kayak outing with a dislocated shoulder, you'd think long and hard before you headed out. If you chose to go and came back unscathed, and you did that again and again, the odds of getting hurt approach one hundred percent real quick - just like the odds of the coin will come up tails sooner or later (most likely sooner).

Studies have shown leading factors in deadly accidents for experts (people who have enough experience to presumably have good judgment) include underestimating familiar dangers and an unwillingness to re-evaluate decisions once they commit, even if a bailout presents itself. There's also lots of evidence that humans love to engage in ex post facto motivated reasoning: using our final position to justify the reasoning that lead to that state. We can do better, but only if we're aware of our natural shortcomings and create a decision-making model that includes our weaknesses and deliberate steps that help us identify and overcome them.

So if you run that rapid, get offline and flip, but roll up in an eddy instead of getting pushed into a sieve, count yourself lucky but also realize your decision-making was possibly flawed. If you take a newbie out on the ocean on a big day but manage to do a T-rescue before they crash into rocks and they don't realize how close they came to being reduced to sausage, instead of pretending everything is fine maybe admit it was a bad idea.

The same is true in life. My three your old daughter likes to lick things - her toys, her clothing, random objects she picks up on the ground. Most of the time she doesn't get sick, so she keeps doing it. Yet I'm pretty confident her current good health doesn't validate her decision-making, and the frequency with which she gets sick for ' no apparent reason' supports my argument that she should cut it out. And if you lie to your boss about sick days, cheat on your partner or your taxes, or spend your money on expensive vacations instead of fixing the old plumbing in your house, you shouldn't think that getting away with it makes it right. You might be fine in for the moment, but your judgment is bad and the probability of negative consequences will catch up to you eventually. So cut it out already!

Paddling Whitewater: Off the Couch

Off the couch is an expression that comes up a lot in whitewater kayaking. It often refers to the first runs of the season after a layoff of several months; when you're skills are rusty, you're not in paddling shape, and even your gear is a little bit questionable (if you can even find it in the back of the garage). Sometimes you come off the couch because of an injury, or because you've been too busy to boat for a bit. Sometimes your period of inactivity is as much as a year, maybe even two. For me it's been three years since I sat in a whitewater boat, and four years since I paddled anything of consequence. That's not just off-the-couch, it's off-the-coma-bed.

But when my best friend invited me on a weekend of paddling a classic Class IV stretch of whitewater in far northern California it was too tempting to pass up. The Smith River has long been on my list of must-do drainages, and the NF Smith seemed within reason - maybe. Jumping back into whitewater at Class IV seemed reasonable - I used to paddle much harder stuff - but it also seemed like it might be a mistake to paddle a thirteen mile wilderness stretch, a river we didn't know, a long way from home, with only the two of us. When a storm came in the weekend before and the river spiked to 30,000 cfs, I definitely had second thoughts.

But things came together like all great river trips do. I went to the pool a couple weeks ahead of time to make sure my boat still floats and my roll still works. Yes to both, and I ended up spending most of my time teaching a newbie how to roll - so that muscle still works too. I replaced the gaskets on my drysuit, and as ugly as the result looked it was completely effective at keeping me dry. I even dug up my pogies and a thermos for hot chocolate.

At the last minute we acquired some local boaters for the first day of paddling. Probably because the flows came down to an ideal level: plenty of water to cover the rocks without being pushy. They even arranged a shuttle rig from some local rafting company which saved us time and money. And as if to confirm a divine blessing on the trip the day turned out to be sunny and warm. All good, right?

Then why did I feel so nervous? Putting on I had a few butterflies in my stomach. The first several rapids were class III or easier, but each horizon line had me wondering if I was really prepared and all-to-ready to let someone else lead the way. When we got to the first big rapid which required a scout the group ahead of us was busy recovering from a piton that lead to a swim. I got out of my boat to take a look and the butterflies had grown into condors flying circles in my gut. The rapid looked fine - solid class IV, but with an easy sneak route and several other options well within my abilities, even if my boat control was a pale imitation of my past grace and skill.

I looked at the rapid for a long time. Too long. Even watching the others go down the middle and cruise through without problem didn't quell my anxiety. I chose to run the sneak and it was as easy as it looked. I hadn't really paddled anything hard, certainly hadn't executed any diffucult move, but somehow having avoided the disaster my mind had created totally changed my outlook. I breathed deeper and started to trust that I really was a whitewater kayaker and not some impostor who didn't belong.

With eight miles left to go, I slowly loosened up. My strokes became more fluid. My boat more responsive. When I dropped into one of the harder rapids without any beta or anyone to follow I simply dodged a few holes and powered through the last drop without the slightest hesitation. I wasn't exactly the graceful paddler I used to be in my memory, and I wouldn't say I was strong and carefree. But I could handle it. I knew I'd be fine. And I was. I enjoyed the beautiful scenery: waterfalls coming in every hundred yards, carnivorous plants lining the shores, and even some caves to paddle into in a pristine wilderness. That's what paddling is supposed to be about.

The day ended with the locals heading home and me and my mate camping out under clouding skies and a decision on what to paddle the next day. We checked out a stretch of the Middle Fork that was lower and easier. Nah. Too easy. Too roadside. We checked out a stretch of the South Fork Smith that was higher and harder. No go. I felt more confident but not stupid. Two rusty paddlers didn't make for a good exploratory team. We decided to run the North Fork again. Maybe be able to enjoy it right from the start this time with the confidence of knowing everything goes. We could handle it.

But we didn't have to handle it on our own. We hooked up with another crew from Oregon, who knew the river well and gave us strength in numbers. Maybe we didn't need the support, but another part of paddling the river is meeting other members of the tribe and sharing some camaraderie and maybe even a takeout beer. I let them lead the way most of the time. I still ran the sneak on the hard rapid. I had come of the couch not to restart my career but to enjoy a weekend, and as the weekend wound down with each short rapid in the final miles I knew I didn't need to improve or test myself any further. I paddled some Class IV whitewater, but I was a pale shadow of my former self when it came to skills and abilities. But I was as happy as ever. I enjoyed myself immensely even knowing it  be another year or several before I ever get back out on such a river. That was the real goal and the mission was accomplished.

Kayak Lesson: Expedition Mentality, Part 1

I am no longer a kayak instructor. In all honesty, I no longer kayak, though I occasionally get out in the canoe with my family. But kayaking is still a part of my life in that it helped shaped who I am, and a lot of the lessons learned through kayaking are applicable to many other facets of life, and I do my best to remember what I've learned in one context and see how it can benefit me in other places. I thought it might be worthwhile to point these out and encourage others to use what they know to improve what they do (and maybe who they are).

Expedition Behavior: We're all in this together

Let's say you're going on a kayak expedition. That could mean two weeks exploring a remote coastline, or a multi-day first descent of a river in South America, but it could also mean an after-work paddle on your local lake with a few friends. The same principle applies to each: everyone on the expedition is responsible for the team and we take care of each other.

If someone's food bag gets raided by raccoons, you don't let them starve the rest of the trip - everyone shares a little food because it will help them (and they will be strong enough to help you if you need it). If someone's foot peg breaks, you share your repair supplies to fix it. That's true if the break was a fluke accident or a poor decision. It's even true even if their boat is old, cheap, poorly maintained, and they forgot to bring their own repair kit. Regardless of the cause of a problem, be it chance or self-inflicted, everyone does what they can to solve it so the entire group can continue and hopefully thrive.

Some people on this expedition will be stronger than others. They'll have better skills, more experience, and better gear. Maybe that's because they worked harder to prepare, maybe it's because they have rich parents who buy them lessons and equipment. Those people will bear more of the burden than others: they'll tow the person who gets hurt, they'll explore the route and be first down the gorge. The good ones will do the extra work without complaint because they know it makes the team more likely to be successful, and they often realize they got where they are because sometime in the past someone better helped them out. It's a circle, not a line.

Now, you might like some of the people more than others. You might not want to go on another expedition with someone who constantly makes bad choices and shows no effort to learn or help others. You might want to spend some time paddling alone with the risks it entails. But while you are on an expedition, in the middle of the struggle, you know you have a responsibility to everyone else and trust everyone else to come to your aid if you need it. That's what expeditions are all about.

Life is an expedition. Sometimes it feels like we're on our own, but that's never really true. We buy our groceries from other people, drive to the store on roads built by everyone's tax dollars, and read interesting things on the internet posted by people we will never meet in person. You can try to define your tribe as an independent group, but they are really just one pod within the larger expeditionary force. Most people will treat their neighbors like an expedition member. The challenge is to treat the stranger the same way, especially the ones you will never meet. The mother in Detroit who still has to buy bottled water for her kids to drink while she showers with her mouth and eyes closed to avoid ingesting what comes out of the pipes. The father from Guatemala who has to decide if it's better to risk his children being killed by gangs in his home country or taken away and stuck in an internment camp while seeking asylum in the U.S. Life is a very hard journey for some and those of us who are having an easier time of it should use our skills and resources to help out those in need. That's expedition mentality.

Upon Further Reflection

As my regular readers may have noticed (if I have any left), I have not posted much in the past couple of years. The reason for that is simple: I haven't kayaked much. The reason for that is a little more complicated but can be summarized thusly: I have a child now. My daughter was born almost a year ago, and I am no longer a professional kayaker but a stay-at-home dad. Having a child doesn't inherently prevent one from paddling, but it does alter the choices one makes. I could kayak myself while my wife looks after our daughter, but my wife is my main paddling buddy and our daughter is too young to join us. We could get a babysitter, but then we would both be missing out on time with our child. We both choose to spend our time together as a family. It's a choice, and ultimately an easy one for me.

Most of my friends have been acquired through paddling. Everyone knows me as a kayaker. It's my identity. Many have expressed surprise, or even condolences, over my lack of kayaking. The thought of no longer kayaking seems crazy, possibly heretical, definitely depressing. How can someone whose entire life was built around a sport no longer pursue that sport? What about the livin' the dream? Again, the answer is fairly simple:

It was never about paddling

For fifteen years I worked in the kayak industry: selling them, teaching people how to use them, writing about them, playing around in them. But my dream was never about kayaking. My dream was to live a good life, be joyful, see beautiful places, soak up nature, find adventure and challenge all while surrounded by good people who cared for each other. Kayaking certainly brought me that, but it isn't the only path.

Now I get to relax (or collapse in exhaustion) in my own home at the end of a day chasing a baby around the house, I get to see the wonder of the world through new eyes, face the challenge of introducing peanut butter to an infant and figuring out how to teach her right from wrong, all surrounded by the most important people in my life who love me unconditionally and support me through all my travails. The dream is very much alive.

They say that life is about the journey and not the destination, but our choice of destination gives purpose to the journey and there are many routes to get where you want to go. If paddling brings you joy, as it does so many, then by all means pursue your passion to the fullest. But if you get the same satisfaction out of horse-riding, then canter on. Or bird-watching, or political activism, or needle-point. Whatever your choice, you will be better off if you don't confuse the activity with the outcome, the endeavor with the reward, or your own goals and aspirations with those of the people around you. I'll keep paddling, I'll post when I have something to say or show, and I hope to see others doing the same. Live your own dream and stay woke.