music

Out on the water with Gordon Brown

Mention the name Gordon Brown to the average person and they will instantly think of the besuited chap who resides at No 10 Downing Street. Do likewise to the avid sea kayaker and their thoughts will turn to Skyak Adventures and one of the best-known and most revered coaches in the sea kayaking business, also author of the hugely successful Sea Kayak: A Manual for Intermediate and Advanced Sea Kayakers. Such are his reputation and credentials that I used to think that someone of my lowly paddling status would not “qualify” for a course with him. A conversation with a certain well-known Spanish paddler some time ago, however, convinced me otherwise. It is the case that Skyak Adventures can accommodate everyone from beginners to advanced.

Introductions

And so it came to pass that Alan and I signed up for a 5 day course which took place last week. As our little group of fellow trainees gathered in Gordon’s converted bothy office at Isle Ornsay on Skye on Monday morning, some modest introductions were made. I recall mentions of paddling for wildlife photography purposes, and of a recent conversion from “couch potato” status, all very benign and it seemed that these were my people. As Gordon sought to learn what skills we wished to focus on, however, I tried not to become alarmed at the frequency of mention of “rough water”, or the size of the lettering of those very words on his white board. I deny all accusations that I participated in this madness. I was assuaged only by the appearance of the word “FUN” in even bigger letters. Gordon then asked what was the one skill that we would like to take home and, for fear of appearing a bit silly, I suppressed the desire to blurt out, “roll my sea kayak dammit”, and mumbled something about kayak handling instead.

Certainly, I was pleased to note that, rather than being some sort of kayaking boot camp, fun had indeed been included on our itinerary. It became very apparent from Gordon’s affable and jocular style and his many witty anecdotes that a light-hearted mood would prevail, although he did warn us that we would know when he was being serious. I fervently hoped that I would not be the one to provoke any “seriousness”.

Out on the water

At Armadale Pier

Soon we were out in Armadale Bay practising sweep strokes and turning in and out of wind. Using these skills, we negotiated our way under the pier and I confess to the odd misjudgement which perhaps added a couple of deeply ingrained scores minor scratches to the Valley Avocet in which I found myself. This brought us out into choppier waters as someone (I remain blameless here) had suggested that self rescuing in calm waters was a scoosh and that they wished to try it in rougher conditions. All eyes fell on Alan as he wrestled his kayak into near submission only to capsize at the last moment. Gordon steered us back to less choppy waters and taught us the finer points of self and assisted rescues. The day wrapped up with a rolling clinic. I had secretly looked forward to this and duly paddled over to Gordon as he stood in the water and motioned for me to approach in the manner of Morpheus in the fight scene of The Matrix. But I was no Neo and my roll failed. It seemed that not even Gordon could work miracles. (Or perhaps they would just take a little longer?).

Tuesday at Kylerhea – off to the races

Breaking out of the tide race

Tuesday introduced me to a new concept – entering and exiting tidal races. As most of our paddling is done in the Clyde Estuary, Alan and I do not have a whole lot of experience in this field. Our group had timed our visit to coincide with maximum tidal flow, however, the absence of strong winds made the conditions – I am told – less than perfect in terms of challenge and general scariness. I was OK with this as I have not spent sufficient time practising extravagant low braces to cope well with the entry and exit process for a start. Alan has frequently chastised me for my lackadaisical attitude to this particular skill and indeed I did manage to show myself up. I think I got away with it in our morning session, but the afternoon gave the game away. Let’s just say I was getting to know Gordon quite well during our various rendezvous across an upturned kayak and upon the long paddle back from whence the tide had cast me.

In between tides, a small miracle did occur. Gordon commenced another rolling clinic and I once again signed up. Some precision critiquing from him and – up I came! In a sea kayak! Of course, that was not quite sufficient and soon he had me dispensing with my nose clip (not as terrible as I had imagined) and skull cap, trying out rolling on the move, in moving water etc.

After my various tidal dunkings, Gordon made me end the day with a successful roll and it had the desired effect. I went back to the hotel that night smiling to myself.

Wednesday – the lows and the highs

The wind obliged by getting up a little on Wednesday, to F4-5. We were back at Armadale and once again made our way under the pier to what definitely qualified in my book as rough water. We paddled over to 2 nearby skerries. Gordon instructed us to paddle between them, out into the fray and anti-clockwise around the first one, returning to its lee.

It was like a wild, bucking bronco rodeo ride on an unbroken colt all the way around! Amongst confused waves of up to 6 feet, I knew that at any moment I was about to capsize and only pure luck was keeping me upright. I was so far away from my comfort zone, I was sending it postcards. Back in the lee, to my despair, Gordon sent us around again and my luck finally ran out as I completely misread the water and got trashed by one of the many thousands of waves that were jostling for position to unhinge me. Like a smiling, neoprene clad guardian angel, Gordon materialised at my side and we resumed our acquaintance across my upturned vessel. Once back in, I was given a class in reading the black and the white water and we commenced a clockwise circumnavigation of the island. Next up, an enormous wave loomed over my bow and, to the sound of Gordon shouting “Paddle!” resounding in my ears, I did what came naturally – I completely froze and was once again trashed.

Sorry, no photos from Wednesday - this is Thursday!

I’m not going to lie to you, I was not a happy bunny at this point. My mind started spinning to thoughts of giving up completely, to my neglected bike in the garage, to my book and a cosy fireside, and so on. I started to doubt I was cut out for this sea kayaking business – it felt like my ego had been writing cheques that my ability couldn’t cash. I couldn’t help but hate observe my fellow trainees. They seemed to be coping admirably with the conditions, more than is strictly necessary for a spot of wildlife photography if you ask me. So what was my problem? As I sat in the shelter of the island where Gordon had awarded me a rest, I could feel tears welling. But something interesting happened at this point. I paused and took a breath – and somehow I knew I was OK. Underneath the spinning mind, the strangled ego, the envy, I was actually perfectly OK. They were only thoughts, after all. I started watching the manx shearwaters, the terns and the seals, and that very moment felt pretty good in fact. I even started feeling happy that everyone else was doing well – what purpose would it serve if everyone was having a bad time?

As we all met up and pulled in for lunch, Alan confessed to just having had a bit of a swim himself (the omnipresent guardian angel had appeared at his side too). But I’m sure he only did this to try to make me feel better.

Gordon suggested we swap around kayaks and I relinquished the Avocet LV to a willing taker (God bless Nick, who seemed to relish its “liveliness”). We were then informed that we were going out to do some rough water rolling practice and I contemplated what I would do during this time, apart from watch the seals. On the way out, I started to become pleasantly aware that I was doing a little better in my new kayak. Next, 2 more advanced trainees in our party were rolling in the middle of the turbulent conditions. I could only hang back, agog with admiration. Imagine my shock when Gordon turned to me and yelled, “Your turn, Pamela!”. I whimpered back that I had only just learned to roll a sea kayak the day before, and that he could not be serious, but he reminded me that I’d been effectively learning for 2 years. There’s no arguing with the man. And so I capsized. And I rolled up. And stayed up. He made me do it again, and again – and I kept coming up. After about half a dozen rolls in the rough water, I eventually failed – but came up on the second attempt, which proved that my brain could operate without air. Who knew?

Finally, a last couple of trips around the island allowed Alan and me to gain confidence by demonstrating that it was indeed possible to stay upright.

I won’t ever forget that day. I won’t forget the despair or the elation. I had been pushed to a certain limit and had come out the better. It is quite something for someone to believe in you more than you believe in yourself. I won’t forget the encouragement of Gordon, Alan and my fellow trainees. Or the little audience of seals who seemed to approve. Or the terns squawking overhead. It is captured in my memory, and feels a lot like being given a gift.

Thursday – a ring of bright water

Sandaig

As most of our group had travelled quite some distance to get to Skye, including from southernmost England, there was a general desire to do a little exploring. It had been hoped (by some) that the tide race at Kylerhea might be running at savage proportions at some point later in the week, but alas the forecast had changed and this seemed unlikely. So now was a good opportunity to do some sightseeing. We agreed to set out from Camuscross for Sandaig.

The crossing was a little choppy, but I felt good in the Avocet (non LV version) which seemed to handle it with ease. Tips previously provided by Gordon on how to improve forward paddling efficiency helped enormously.

Edal's grave

Sandaig is the former home of Gavin Maxwell who wrote one of my (and millions of others’) favourite books, “Ring of Bright Water”. It was absolutely magical to visit the scene of “Camusfearna” and I could easily envisage the otters playing about in the bay and the waterfall. After all, not much has changed in that beautiful place over the years. The house is gone now, of course, but a monument to Gavin Maxwell is there in its place, as well as the grave of Edal the otter, poignantly decorated with stones and shells. Some tears were shed as I read the inscription on the latter, written by Maxwell himself:

“Whatever joy she gave to you, give back to Nature.”

On leaving Sandaig, we paddled south-east and then west to Knoydart, stopping briefly for afternoon tea before heading “home” to Camuscross.

Friday – towing the line

The weather had established itself as definitely “settled”, so Friday morning was spent at Skyak Adventures’ international headquarters, aka the bothy, working on tidal planning. During the course of our lesson, Gordon advised Alan and me of a location not far from Cowal to which we will shortly be making a beeline to play with the tide. More later!

Towing Alan to the Cuillins

We took the Skyak minibus down to Ord where, against a magnificent backdrop of the Cuillins, we commenced practice with the many different kinds of towing that one can do, including improvised methods. It was amusing to note that all the females of our party had chosen to be towees first, followed by the the males who relished their turn a bit too enthusiastically. This was succeeded by some sort of kayak display team stunt that I haven’t quite fathomed, but looked like fun. Rolling clinic came after that and, before we knew it, it was all over and time to go home.

Having taken leave of Gordon and our other new friends, our minds were filled with the sea and kayaks as we headed down the road to Cowal. We came away from our week in Skye so completely encouraged and enthused that it was actually difficult to imagine going for more than a couple of days without being back out on the water. We were greatly looking forward to continuing to work on our skills. So it’s no surprise that on Sunday, we were out on Loch Eck and – notching up another day of achievement – I rolled my very own Nordkapp LV.

When I’m at the pearly gates
This’ll be on my videotape
My videotape
…
No matter what happens now
I won’t be afraid
Because I know
Today has been the most perfect day I have ever seen

Videotape, In Rainbows, Radiohead

But I’d rather be here than be anywhere
Is there anywhere better than here?
You know these feelings I’ve found they are oh so rare
Is there anywhere better than here?

Rather Be The Verve, Forth

No matter whether it’s battling the roiling seas off the Western Isles, or going for a tootle up/down the Clyde, I’m fast realising lately that there are few places I’d rather be than on the sea. The adjacent photo of me is one of my favourites, not because of my understated style and elegance, but because I look so darned happy. It’s all natural, not a bit of it posed – I really couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear.

The weather in Cowal has been nothing short of dire recently. We can’t remember the last dry day. Any hope of a last burst of summer is rapidly diminishing, and this can leave one feeling a little depressed. Saturday wasn’t the most inspiring day to go a paddle, yet we knew that if we stayed in, we’d go mad. So we hopped down to the bottom of the road and jumped into the Clyde again, as it were.

Kayaking past the PS Waverley

The Cowal Highland Gathering was in full swing, so we thought we’d take a wander up to Dunoon to soak up any atmosphere that might have worked its way out on to the water. On the way, we passed the PS Waverley (when I told my neighbour this later, she marvelled that we must have been paddling at quite a speed – she’s so funny). The skies appeared more like those of a nuclear winter as opposed to a late summer’s day. Even so, I instantly felt my mood change just simply being out on the water and observing the passing scenery and wildlife. Of course, that’s what happens when you find yourself living in the moment and uncluttering your mind, a state readily facilitated by kayaking.

The Gantocks

We paddled around the Gantocks, the infamous rocks upon which many a ship has run aground (including the Waverley!), although conditions were quite unthreatening for us. Indeed, the little wind that there had been lessened to non-existent and the river resembled the proverbial mill-pond as we returned. This gave rise to some extended rudder strokes practice as we veered and looped our way homewards in extravagant turns and zig-zags. The casual observer must have thought we really didn’t have a clue about how to get our kayaks under control (but we did, so).

And so we were back by tea-time, ready to rinse down our kayaks, our dry suits, our boots, our BAs, our spraydecks, ourselves. Yes, there’s a bit of preparation and de-(un?)preparation involved in this activity, but with each outing we become more efficient and I’ve yet to conclude that it isn’t worth it.

We’ve been frequenting lochs recently. We were in Loch Lomond last weekend, in Kilbirnie Loch on Thursday night and Loch Eck yesterday. The predominant theme has been getting wet self rescues. We even did a bit of eskimo rescuing yesterday – the first time in our sea kayaks. Eskimo rolling was attempted, but it served to convince me that my work awaits me at the pool first of all. Still, it was worth the ice-cream headache to build on a feeling for what it’s like to roll a sea kayak. The good news is that I don’t think I’m any worse at it than rolling a pool boat. My hip flick still goes on an occasional leave of absence. To me, it’s a bit like a missing limb, I can feel it’s there, even when it’s quite evidently not. Still, what I lack in skill, I make up for in bloody-minded obsessiveness tenacity.

I’ve been reading several online discussions on the Nordkapp LV and it’s very interesting to learn the varying opinions on suitability. Comments about its “instability” abound. I read of one person who gave up their Nordkapp LV in favour of a UKSK Explorer as they were tired of “having to think” about the kayak when on the water. In contrast, another person stated that they were selling their Explorer in favour of their Nordkapp LV because the Explorer was “too boring” in comparison. Someone else mooted that the “instability” issue is overblown and that, where there is any perceived primary “instability”, it is in order to afford greater secondary stability and impressive maneoeuverability, particularly in rough conditions when it is “rock solid”. Then there is the issue of fit. Views have been expressed in various forums that the Nordkapp LV is still too big for a smaller, lighter paddler. But I found when testing it that everything sat where it should, and that the kayak felt comfortable and nippy (unlike others I tested which felt cumbersome and bulky). There may be some nuances that fall short of absolute textbook perfection, but that leads me to question – what is the perfect fit for a smaller, lightweight paddler? A totie wee Avocet LV? That’s a bit like having to shop in the kids’ clothing section. And even early thoughts on the Rockpool Isel suggest that it might only be suitable for very short camping trips. Not that I’m planning to circumnavigate Iceland or anything (not quite yet), but 2 or 3 nights would be good.

Yet another poster chipped in to a US forum with a comment to the effect (and I paraphrase), “You’re all a bunch of gear-heads”, and opined that it’s not about finding the perfect boat, it’s about learning to paddle any boat (within reason). Wait, this is sounding familiar … yet I do believe the poster was from Minnesota, and not the Garnock area (at least, they said they were).

Short of having a kayak built to spec (and what kind of odd little boat would I end up with?!), I am happy to acknowledge that I am a novice and that I wish to learn. In other words, I am happy to “fit” a kayak that I am comfortable in and that has a lot to offer me. It’s easy to be torn in different directions by the trends and opinions that are out there, but I think you have to trust a bit of instinct as well.

I hear that you and your band have sold your guitars and bought turntables.
I hear that you and your band have sold your turntables and bought guitars.

I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.

But have you seen my records? …

You don’t know what you really want.

Losing My Edge LCD Soundsystem

I’m trying to save the trees
I saw it on TV
They cut the forest down
To build a piece of crap

I went back to the store
They gave me four more
The guy told me at the door
It’s a piece of crap

Piece of Crap, Neil Young, Sleeps with Angels

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the conversation during our Arctic trip often turned to the environment. During one such interesting discussion, our skipper, Mark, voiced his concern that the attention focused on global warming was overshadowing the equally grave issue of global pollution. Those whose lives are closely aligned with the sea perhaps have a greater awareness of the extent to which humanity has fouled its abode.

I am reading the thought-provoking book, The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. In the chapter entitled “Polymers are Forever”, referring to a study of beach samples by the University of Plymouth, it states,

“About one third turn out to be natural fibers such as seaweed, another third are plastic, and another third are unknown – meaning that they haven’t found a match in their polymer database, or that the particle has been in the water so long its color has degraded, or that it’s too small for their machine which analyzes fragments only to 20 microns – slightly thinner than a human hair.”

“This means we’re underestimating the amount of plastic that we’re finding. The true answer is we just don’t know how much is out there.”

“When they get as small as powder, even zooplankton will swallow them.”"

It is with incredulity that we then learn that many cosmetic/toiletry products contain “exfoliants” which are actually plastic beads.

“”They’re selling plastic meant to go right down the drain, into the sewers, into the rivers, right into the ocean. Bite-sized pieces of plastic to be swallowed by little sea creatures.”"

Read the rest of this entry »

Discipline is what I’ve been applying to my rolling practice. Yes, I’m still showing up at the pool – perhaps not every week, but enough to keep some sort of moderate momentum going. Alan’s hurt his shoulder (we were warned), so he has been acting as my coach. We’ve been using a paddle float, minus paddle, to learn body movement/hip flick etc, and I made great inroads – on one side at least. Everyone has a good and a bad side, apparently. My bad side is my left side. It’s kind of weird, there’s just not the same “power” there at all. It almost feels like a blockage between my brain and my left hip/leg. So, I have been successfully doing complete rolls up on to my right side using a barely inflated float which, for me, is a big improvement from my early days of terror (see below). Read the rest of this entry »

I feel it coming apart,
Well, at least I tried,
I can win this war
By knowing not to fight

Me, I’m Not, NIN, Year Zero

Back at the pool practising eskimo rescues and, what do you know, like a moth to a flame, like a missile seeking heat, I honed in on precisely all the things you shouldn’t do most with a good dollop of irrational fear mixed in. Alan performed a few near perfect rolls, even managing to wait while inverted until I blundered into position as rescuer. Next it was my turn and I made the interesting discovery that something happens to my brain when my head is underwater. Basically, it stops functioning – a bit like when you get a blue screen of death on a PC. Or it enters a parallel universe where there is no up or down, all logic is suspended and the only thing that resides there is the specter of a watery grave. Read the rest of this entry »

Lest anyone should think that I have nothing to report other than our kayaking lessons, we are in fact in the throes of preparing for our belated return to California. We were supposed to go last year, but got caught up in the terror alert du jour (the scary liquids one) and decided to postpone. This is our first trip back to the Bay Area since we lived there for 5 and a half years, returning to Scotland in 2003. It’s going to be fun/emotional/weird/unsettling all at once. It’ll be great to go hang out with our friends, but it will also be strange to re-visit our lives over there now that we’re back and have essentially moved on. The really fun part is returning and not having to check in to the cube farm. It is immensely satisfying to know that we are free from all that, no matter where we are located. Read the rest of this entry »

Try to save myself, but myself keeps slipping away.

Into the Void, NIN, The Fragile

I’m still obsessing over self-rescue techniques. Alan and I duly went along to Garnock’s club night and very beneficial it was too. Richard, the kindly coach who offered to help us, lost no time in getting everyone out of their comfort zone by encouraging us to experiment with balance. This led to some early entries into the Loch as most of us failed to reach the pinnacle of balancing achievement, ie standing in our boats. Alan and I have promised never to call our boats “tippy” (whilst comfortably seated in them) again. In contrast to Loch Eck, Kilbirnie Loch was quite warm, albeit a bit browner. After some expert demos from Richard, we were soon ducking our heads underwater and positioning our kayaks overhead ready to push them up and turn them back to an upright state. This wasn’t really happening for me, unfortunately, as the kayak above me merely pushed me further underwater it seemed. Ultimately, after my assisted rescue produced a double capsize (cringe), Richard showed me how to place the kayak high on to my shoulder and then push it up and turn it over. This worked much better and I succeeded in emptying out the bulk of the water. Read the rest of this entry »