By Derek Edwards.

I’m from Southern California. California isn’t famous for kayaking like it is for surfing (beach boys didn’t sing a lot of songs about kayaking), but we’re still out there. And some of us are a little more careful than others. You don’t have to look hard to find stories of near death and mishaps on the water. Some go prepared, like these siblings who survived capsizing in urban rapids surrounded by concrete walls. But, plenty of others don’t and get by on sheer luck, like this kayaker who almost drowned in a Carlsbad lagoon before being spotted by a group of anglers. If he’d been wearing a life jacket, he might not have needed such an incredible stroke of luck to get saved.

I’m not proud to say that I’ve leaned on lady luck a little too hard in the past. Thankfully I’m still here to share the tale.

Christmas on Kaweah

My buddy Jeff takes a lot of dumb risks with his health. He’s one of those friends that never really moved on from high school. Great fun to hang out with, but just no regard for safety. We had been paddling for years, and for years, I could never convince him to wear a PFD.

During Christmas vacation we were both visiting family, and after awhile, got tired of binging cheesy Christmas movies with his folks. So we planned a weekend trip north to Sequoia and hit up some light rapids on the Kaweah river.

After a three hour drive we unloaded the car and I realized that Jeff had brought a wetsuit, but no PFD. Now the Kaweah river doesn’t have the worlds most dangerous rapids; but it’s no slouch. Several commercial rafting companies offer trips to tour some exciting class 4 rapids like Suicide Falls, the Slickies, and Cyanotic. With high waters some of these stretches can quickly become a challenge even to experienced paddlers.

Bad Decisions

I called Jeff a few things I won’t bother repeating here. Against my better judgment I went ahead and loaded up for launch. We were three hours from home and the nearest store was a good 40 min away. I rationalized we’d be fine – this wasn’t our first rodeo. In retrospect I’m still kicking myself for this decision. This story doesn’t end poorly, but people have died wandering into that exact river for a swim.

We took off down the water, and for an hour or two everything was perfectly fine. Our blood quickly warmed up with some aggressive paddling as we navigated obstacles like old pros. The day took a quick turn after running through a 4′ chute.

I don’t recall exactly how it went down because it all happened so fast. One second Jeff was right behind me, the next there was an empty kayak scuttling away upside down. My heart stopped as I scanned the froth for Jeff. Even with a wetsuit the water was cold enough to shock the system and lead to trouble. A few meters downstream his head popped up with a panicked look on his face. I raced towards him as he struggled towards a rock jutting out of the water.

When I finally got to Jeff he was in rough shape. Shivering and spitting he clutched perilously to his safeguard. I knew I had to act fast before things turned from bad to worse. The rock was about ten meters from a sharply inclined bank, but it wasn’t too steep to climb up. Between Jeff and the shore the water was deep enough and moving too fast for a swim. I pulled my kayak half out and cursed myself for forgetting a throw bag, which would have made rescue a hell of a lot easier.

Rescue

Instead I grabbed some rope and tied my own lifejacket to it. After wading out a few feet into the waist deep current I braced against a boulder and chucked my makeshift lifebuoy out to Jeff. After four attempts Jeff grabbed the life jacket. He was still struggling but was able to get control of himself just long enough to grab the life jacket and slip it on. I yelled out to hold on tight and prayed that my knots, and my legs, would hold. I wedged my shoes between two rocks for extra grip. Fist over fist I reeled Jeff back to shore like a leader man hauling in a grander.

On the bank I took a moment to catch my breath while Jeff leaned against the sun-warmed granite and stared off into the middle distance breathing heavily. I scanned the river for his kayak but it was nowhere to be seen. From capsize to rescue the whole event had taken less than five minutes. Both of us were exhausted. And Jeff was still reconciling his recent near death experience.

It took us a while to hike back to our cars; which was especially fun given we were on the wrong side of the river. We didn’t speak much the way back, but I did make Jeff carry my kayak.

Looking back I’ve spent a long time angry with both of us for how things happened out there. And I think I’ve reached a point where I need it to make sense, you know? I can’t change that day—and thankfully, I don’t have nearly as many regrets as I could have had. But I think that part of me feels that if I can at least use our story to warn other people about the importance of a PFD.

According to the U.S. Coast Guard, 70% of recreational boat deaths are drownings. Of the people who drowned, 86% were not wearing their life jackets. A PFD isn’t a guarantee of safety. But it goes a hell of a long way towards keeping you alive if worse comes to worst.

Lessons Learned

Always, always, always Wear Your Life-Jacket.

Based out of Southern California Derek Edwards is a seasoned outdoorsman and adventurist.  You can follow along his adventure over at his blog Outdoor with Derek.

The post Swept Away on the Kaweah River appeared first on Yak Logic.

By Jody Baker

Cinch up your spray skirts, this story is a long paddle.

I’m sharing this misadventure to demonstrate the importance of staying calm and not letting problems compound and spiral out of control. We learned to keep a steady head in our training courses. And this was our first real life experience with serious trouble. 

We are a group of four experienced sea kayakers. For 7 years we’ve practiced progressively more difficult and remote trips on the coast of British Columbia. We all have practice with assisted rescue, self rescue, navigation/dead reckoning, weather sense, etc. Over time we’ve developed confidence in extended ranges and a level of comfort in big open water.

The Expedition

Our trip was ambitious but well within our capacity. We would paddle out from Fair Harbor in Kyuquot Sound on the West Coast of Vancover Island to camp on Spring Island. Altogether it would be about 30 miles of paddling each way. One paddler was equipped with a dry suit, while the other 3 had wetsuits. Everyone has the standard equipment for expeditions: seaworthy boats loaded with camping gear for 6 days, charts with campsites marked, compasses, etc. We had one radio among the four of us.

As we set out from Fair Harbour the weather forecast was pretty grim: steady rain for days but windy. The weather service was predicting strong winds, up to 30 knots out on the open ocean. Our plan to head to Spring Island in exposed waters was quickly scrapped. We figured we could hunker down on the lee side of Rugged Point and explore from there if the weather allowed. We could monitor the weather on the radio, but there is usually a big difference between the forecast out in open water versus the Sound and its channels, which is usually much calmer. One side of an Island can be rough, the lee side like glass.

Base Camp

While the weather continued to worsen another problem emerged; our radio. We paddled about 7 nautical miles and camped the first night on Union Island and quickly discovered our new radio wasn’t working, which meant no weather updates. It turns out high mountains have a tendency to block radio signals. No weather forecasts left us heading into unknown water conditions.

The next day we moved on toward Rugged Point, another 7-8nm with no knowledge of the forecast,, ready to turn back if things got too rough for our most nervous paddler. The rain continued to pour and the three people in wetsuits were getting cold, which was worrisome. Coming around Union Island on the windward side exposed us to the open Pacific. There were some swells and chop but nothing we hadn’t handled before.And the weather was improving throughout the afternoon.

It warmed up a bit and we stopped for lunch and to change into warmer clothes in a magical little bay. After crossing Kyuquot Channel, a nautical mile of open water, we arrived safely at Rugged Point to a tidy campsite with a big beach. Our plan was to  settle in for 5 nights for some local exploration, and move on if the weather improved. The first night was a bit windy and the surf started to churn more violently.

From Bad to Worse

The next day in the late afternoon we were doing some light rock-climbing when our companion took a hard fall. She had broken a rib and injured her neck from whiplash. Immediately we knew this was serious, and bad. Her breathing was labored and we knew that these types of things can go from bad to worse in a hurry. We rang for rescue on the emergency channel, but got nothing but silence on the radio. Throughout the evening her condition remained stable. But she wasn’t paddling out, that much was clear.

It was time to consider our options: we had an injured paddler, limited rations, and no comms, but were otherwise in good shape. Flagging down a fishing boat was considered, but the weather was so bad that there were no boats in sight. Our injured comrade suggested we tow her back to Fair Harbour. We’ve practiced tow lines before, had tow belts, and knew how to do it.

But that idea was quickly rejected: getting her into a boat would be difficult enough, and launching through the surf strenuous. But if she were to go over in rough water, she’d never get back in the boat. Viable landing spots, which were flat patches of gravel, were few and far between. The trip back was mostly miles of rugged rocks that were constantly pounded by the sea, She also only had  a wetsuit, so any amount of time in the cold Pacific water would spell a quick and frigid fate. We decided that she should stay put in the campsite, warm and dry in her tent.

After some deliberation we calmly decided that the best option was for our two strongest paddlers to head back to Fair Harbour. Leave one paddler to care for our injured friend with the hope they could flag a boat.

The Return

Before the envoy could set out the weather started picking up. The wind started to howl over the point, with giant old growth trees whistling over our heads. Our tarps were snapping in the wind and the surf was rising on the beach, even on the lee side. There was a spring tide overnight and the surf was crashing a few metres from our tents. Nobody slept very much that night.

In the morning our luck finally started to turn for the better. The weather was settling, still raining off and on, but the surf had died down considerably. After a big pancake breakfast we turned to the beach and looked out at the sea. It looked doable from the beach.

The tide charts showed a big flood tide peaking at 2:00pm. Two of us, one with a dry suit, decided to go; it was now or never. The vanguard packed a tent, enough food for 24 hours, stove, and sleeping bags in case we were forced to shore. Our friend helped us launch past the surf before turning his attention back to our injured friend. The water was choppy with swells, and both of us were scared. Not so much of the water conditions, but scared about how much was at stake. We needed to get our injured friend to a hospital in Campbell River ASAP. It was 70km on logging roads and another 1.5 hours after that.

One Last Curveball

As we had hoped the conditions improved the further up the channel we paddled, to the point where we enjoyed a nice swell to our backs. With the tide, light tail winds and swell pushing us we were 3-4 knots without hard paddling.

During the return paddle nature decided to throw one last curveball at us. The two of us were paddling along calm waters when we caught a glimpse of an animal surface and dive back down. A minute later it comes up again, closer, and it’s not a seal, it’s a sea lion, close enough that we could hear it snort. It’s moving along side one of the kayaks, headed in the opposite direction; and it looks huge: as wide as the boat and almost as long. It raises its head to breathe just 18 inches from the boat, right at the cockpit.

Then it freaked out, turned its body over, raised its tail, spinned around and dived. Floating behind us it looked at us, and all three of us were thinking: WTF over? 18 inches to the left and he’d have knocked one of us over, and not the one wearing the dry suit. Crazy stuff can happen on the water; we were lucky once again.

Rescue

We paddled the 13mi back to the village in just under four hours. After arriving we couldn’t send out a boat without us in it – we needed to be there to guide and help load our injured friend, gear and two boats left on the Point. There was no water taxi with kayak space available. The local band (Americans would say ‘tribe’) rescue unit didn’t answer the phone, nor did the RCMP rescue over in Zeballos.

Luckily a super nice guy came in from fishing and offered to go back out with one of us and help. He worked charter fishing for 30 years and he’s now “fishing for his band” as he put it. He could handle a boat which was good because getting all the gear, two big sea kayaks and an injured person into a fishing boat was quite the ordeal. The surf was rough, and , the boat deck was high. Our captain couldn’t get too close to the beach and the tide was running out. The dry suit paid for itself 10 times over in that situation. To our savior Allen, Thanks! You’re the best and we’re sorry you were late for supper.

After several hours we managed it unload our friend and gear and collapsed in our warm, dry, cabin by 8:00pm or so. We had good luck follow bad and we’re all feeling a bit more confident and competent. Our friend received treatment for her cracked rib and took the next two weeks to recover. She’s looking forward to our next trip.

Lessons Learned

• Know the area and do your research. We should have known our radios wouldn’t work.
• Wear dry suits; they’re worth the money.
• Bring an SOS GPS or satellite phone.
• Most of all, when you get into trouble, stay calm and don’t panic. 

If you enjoyed Jody’s story consider taking a gander at his Instragram page where you can keep tabs on his latest adventures around Vancouver Island and British Columbia.

The post Big Trouble in Little BC | Rough Weather and Rescue appeared first on Yak Logic.

By Gregg Rockett from The RockettMan.com

I used a lightweight fluke anchor the first few years I kayaked. I was fishing relatively docile bay waters with sandy bottoms in the Miami area. This anchor type worked perfectly and never presented any issues for me.

When I moved to the Washington, DC area I often found myself navigating waters with a rocky bottom, like the Potomac River. In certain sections of the water just down river of the Chain Bridge the river bottom is a ‘garden’ of giant boulders. This also happens to be prime fishing area for shad, bass and catfish. So anchoring in this section of the river is key to catching fish.

I quickly learned that a traditional fluke anchor was a liability on this water. When the flow was low and the anchor wedged into structure on the river bottom, the remedy was to paddle upstream of the anchor and give a good tug or two to dislodge the anchor. But on one occasion the current was too strong for this maneuver, and in fact I was in serious risk of capsizing because of the pressure of being stuck downstream of an anchor that wouldn’t budge. After a tense couple of seconds, and almost taking a dip, I figured the only remedy was to release my anchor.

Back on shore, a fellow kayaker suggested I consider using thick chain link as a more practical option, even in the absence of bottom structure. Besides rarely getting hung up, a heavy gauge chain link can be doubled and tripled up to provide different levels of drag for slow-drifting in current.

So I purchased a 6 foot length of ¾” chain link and plastic sheath to cover it from a national hardware supply store and now use this as my anchor. The ends of the chain attach to a snap link that is secured to a length of rope, and cleated down to the deck of the kayak. I haven’t had another white-knuckle moment since!

Lesson Learned

Match your style of anchor to the water you’re fishing.

Gregg Rockett is an avid fisherman and can be found on various waters surrounding the Washington D.C. Metropolitan area. If you want to read more about his adventures in fishing and life you can do so at The RockettMan.

The post Anchoring on the Rocks appeared first on Yak Logic.

My brother in law and I had gotten our first kayaks in Spring and we got hooked hard. We were going just about every chance we got to the local reservoir and exploring nearby lakes. Father’s day was coming up and my sister and I conspired to bring my Dad into the yak game. My father is an avid cyclist so we didn’t think he’d have any issue paddling. I knew from campouts in Boy Scout that he wasn’t a great outdoorsman. But I didn’t think that would really matter.

We outfitted my Pops with an Ascend 10T, lifejacket, and paddle. Our first outing together was on the upper Potomac River. My brother in law and I had explored a few different areas and decided to take my Dad to a new spot where we could paddle about a quarter mile to a bridge. The first part of the morning went great. The water was a little choppy and the wind was blowing us away but we were able to land a few near the pylons. After a few respectable bass my Pops announced he had a little rumbly in his tumbly.

The wind had died down and the fishing had picked up. So we told my Pops to paddle back and hit the head. The better conditions should have made for a short trip to the marina, which was only 100 yards from the launch. We kept fishing and kept an eye out for Pops. About an hour and half later we made him out on the horizon meandering back to the bridge. Once he was back in earshot we asked him what happened…

“I couldn’t make it to the bathroom so I shat in the woods.”

After we stopped laughing and all the fish had been properly scared we got the full scoop. Apparently a quarter mile is a lot longer when your bowels are tying themselves in knots. So he ducked off the side of a trail dropped trousers and covered it up with leaves. Then he shimmied to the marina bathroom and cleaned up. He was a good sport about and we had a great day of fishing, and he still goes out with us when he can, but damn if we don’t tease him about it as much as possible.

Lesson Learned

Go poo before you go kayaking and always keep a roll of toilet paper on you.

The post Emergency Toilet Paper appeared first on Yak Logic.

My truck has a ladder rack with two blue funoodles wrapped on the cross-braces. It comes in handy for transporting my 17′ canoe. Or when I can’t use the truck bed. My friends and I had planned a weekend fishing trip at the South Fork of the Shenandoah River. I had already loaded my Bonafide SS127 on top of the ladder rack the night before. It wouldn’t fit in my truck bed with the camper hitched up. While I was loading it I kept the paddle attached to the yak. I assumed it would be secure with just the bungee tie down and a leash.

Before the trek south I had to drop my daughter at day care and finish a few other preparations. My two year old girl and I were singing Baby Shark and driving down the parkway when all of a sudden I heard a “Whooosh” followed by a “Snap”. I quickly glanced in the rear view mirror and saw my paddle doing somersaults behind me. Luckily, it was early enough in the morning that there wasn’t any traffic and I had the road to myself. I quickly pulled over and hoofed it back 50 yards to scoop up my formerly airborne implement. Some might say that leaving your child to grab a paddle is bad parenting; and those people would be correct.

Once I got a chance I found that the bungee had un-clipped, or maybe was never clipped to begin with? The paddle leash had snapped apart at a weak point. My best guess is that once I started going above 60 the paddle head acted as a wing of sorts and started to vibrate. The vibrations in turn led to the bungee snapping and it flew free, breaking the leash. Other than a few small scratches there was no serious damage to the paddle – so props to Bending Branches Paddles for roadside durability.

Lesson Learned

Take the 30 seconds to disassemble your paddle and put it in the cab or bed. Don’t let it fly away.

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