Manhattan, USA
It was past closing time at the Klepper Kayak Shop. I was putting on my coat in the back of the store, preparing to set out into the early autumn night. I had one arm in the sleeve when I heard the door jingle and I headed to the front. A warm glow from the entranceway spotlights welcomed a tall, broad-shouldered presence. I wanted to yell "we're closed" but saw him gravitate to one of our two-person sea kayaks. I approached him with my well-rehearsed greeting.
"Hello. Are you familiar with these boats?" "I've heard about them. I'm thinking of taking one around my country."
I detected an accent. "Where are you from?"
He slightly puffed his chest and with a quick change in tone proclaimed with mischief and pride, "Australia!"
"I hear the Whitsunday Islands are nice. What part of the country do you want to paddle?"
"All the way around, mate."
A gleam in his eye confirmed what he said, but did he have any idea what he was talking about? I had been involved with kayaking and Klepper kayaks since I could walk. For the last eight years since graduating from the University of Colorado with a business degree, I had been outfitting new and experienced kayakers from my father's shop on Union Square in New York City.
I had outfitted JFK Jr. for an expedition to Alaska. I had trained U.S. Special Forces in utilizing the boats for "re-con and infiltration." I knew all the Klepper legends: Captain Romer's and Dr. Hans Lindemann's solo trips across the Atlantic, John Dowd and company across the Caribbean, Carl Schotts's travels from Germany to India.
Most recently I had helped Howard Rice add his name to the list by training him for his solo rounding of Cape Horn in the smallest boat ever. A fifteen-foot, sixty-pound, single-seat Klepper.
Yes, I thought to myself, this Aussie had found ground zero for kayak expeditions. But Australia? The continent? As big as the United States's lower forty-eight surrounded by notoriously high winds, rough seas, and giant surf?
"Do you have a lot of experience sea kayaking?"
"No, but I've done some white water."
"Oh really, Class three? Class four?"
"Hard to say, I've only done it a few times."
"Do you plan to do it by yourself or with a partner?"
"With my mate, Sam. He helped come up with the idea on a climbing trip in Europe."
"Does he have any experience?"
"No. But he's a great outdoor cook."
That was my cue to get him a brochure, a price list, and a bibliography of past expeditions.
"Here's my card and some material to study. My name's Eric, and yours?"
"Tony."
"What's your time frame?"
"About a year and half."
At least he didn't say next month! I wanted to suggest a trip in the Mediterranean, which would have made more sense, but I didn't. Instead I called his bluff. "That's not a lot of time. When you want to get serious about this I can help you with your boat and give you some paddle training."
"Yeah? How about now?"
Huh? He had raised me. I could fold and say no. Or I could push all my chips to the center of the table. What did I really have to lose? My best hope was to sell a boat. At the very least I had a good excuse to get out of the office and show him a thing or two about paddling.
"Come by the day after tomorrow. We'll go out for a few hours."
"Can I treat you to a drink, mate?"
"Sure, why not."
We went to a bar down the street where he was greeted warmly from behind
the bar. Tony instructed me: "It is very important to know the bartender."
The "drink" of choice was Tequila. A few rounds into our bonding ritual I learned that Tony's occupation was international modeling, but his passion was climbing. He typically would work for six months and then meet friends in Europe where they would camper-van through the Alps from climb to climb. We talked about climbing experiences. The few drinks became several and the next morning had a luster all its own.
The "training" apparently had begun.
I wasn't sure that I would ever see Tony again, and I wasn't sure I wanted to. I didn't think my five-foot-eight-inch frame would handle any more Australian bonding rituals. Nevertheless, I took apart one of the double Kleppers and put it into its two bags…just in case.
I knew it would take a day to prepare Dieter, my father, for my possible absence the next day. He tried to run a tight ship that was chronically—terribly—understaffed. He had been managing the New York store for more than thirty-years and had a chip on his shoulder about padding on company time. He looked first at the folded Klepper, then at me.
"Who are you packing that boat for?"
"Dad, I've got a ‘live' one who thinks he wamts to go on an expedition around Australia. We're going out tomorrow for a little trial by fire."
"Ach, that is ridiculous, you can do it on the weekend."
"No, he's going back to Europe soon and he really wants to give the boat a try. I think he may just pick one up before he goes."
"On impulse"
I hestiated. "Yes."
This was the only way to clear the day for Tony and myself. Dieter had to belive there was a legitimate chance for a boat sale. Klepper boats cost almost four thousand dollars before accessries. It took unusual dedication to sell folding expedition Kayaks in Manhattan, where a substantial part of the population does not even acknowledge that they live on a island. Clients needed to have time, money, athleticism, and some mechanical ability. A rare combination.
Moreover, Dieter did not want me to get too excited about paddling and get notions to up and leave the store. HE had watched many top Kayakers come and go after a few short years of working for him. One of his friends, Eric Seidel, who helped pioneer U.S. Kayak racing in Colorado, was his top salesman. He didn't stay for the long haul.
"The racers cannot be businessmen," Dieter would grumble.
Dieter had outfitted hundreds— thousands—of trips all over the world. His roster of clients over the years included the Rockefellers, Bobby Kennedy, the Mellons, and shipping magnate Spyros Niarcjhos. His dedication to his shop had nothing to do with celebrity. Typically, he would be the last man out of the store on a Friday night if a panicked client needed a three-doller part overnighted to Mexico.
However, now German ownership was putting pressure on him to sell more and cut costs. They were talking about closing the stre.
I believed that more high-profile expeditions—and the publicity generated— could save the business. My years spent training Howard had resulted in articles in Sea Kayaker magazine, Sports Illustrated, and keynote speeches at major symposia throughout the country. Howard started a kayak tour business specializing in Klepper boats that operated out of the Bahamas. He also founded the first Klepper Society. I had a sense that Tony might have what it took to pull off another big trip. He had daring and naiveté. A potent cocktail. Given half a chance I could mold him for the task. Or so I thought.
Somewhat surprisingly, Tony showed up the next day at noon dressed in his Blundstones (a slip-on style Australian work boot), cotton sweatpants and tops.
"Ready to go, mate?"
I gave him a blank stare. He had no idea what it took to clear the decks for this "tryout." To begin with, he was improperly—even dangerously—dressed. I got him some synthetic fleece tops and bottoms, as well as wind pants and nylon anorak.
"You'll want to wear these. The water temp is under fifty degrees, and cotton clothing conducts heat away from the body twenty-five times faster when wet."
"Do I really need this?"
"If we capsize, the cotton sweats get very heavy and act like the concrete pants they put on out-of-favor Jersey gangsters."
"We're not going to capsize in one of these!" He pointed to one of the Klepper doubles. "I rowed competitively throughout university. Those boats were much tippier than these."
"It's not likely," I admitted, "but the Hudson River is not a lake or a canal. It's a tidal river with strong currents and winds that can make waves come from all directions. The Mohicans called it Great Waters Constantly in Motion."
Tony reluctantly complied, and I handed him one of the bags with the boat.
"What's this?" he frowned, hefting the bag experimentally.
"We're taking the boats on the subway uptown to Dyckman Street and then paddling downtown to Fourteenth."
"How far is that?"
"You'll see. We call it a half-Manhattan trip."
I figured I would introduce him to all the capabilities of the kayak and to a little extra workload, which I had become all too familiar with when Howard and I trained.
After a twenty-minute subway ride and short walk, we were at the small gravel, sand, and debris launch site. I started unpacking the two forty-five-pound bags. Tony immediately wanted to help put the boat together.
"It's best to watch me put together the first half and then you can help me with the second half."
But Tony was too impatient to watch.
"The front-half parts are marked in red and—"
"The rear half are in blue, right?"
Tony began assembling immediately and we had the job finished in no time. I was going to go through a step-by-step dry-land paddle system, but Tony seemed to learn by doing. I opted for the "get in the boat and follow me" method.
We maneuvered the boat to the edge of the river.
"Acchh!"Tony grunted as his beloved Blundstones flooded.
I took the front seat and put Tony in the back. Part of the reason simply was so Tony could see my stroke and copy it. Another reason is based on boat fit and balance. Tony is six-foot-four and almost two hundred pounds. I am five-foot-eight and a hundred and sixty-five pounds. The seventeen-foot-long "Swede-form" shape of the Klepper Aerius II has a little more buoyancy aft than in the front. A heavy front end can make for a very wet ride when paddling into the waves and cause a plowing effect when riding with waves from astern. Moreover, longitudinal ribs inside the boat provide places to brace the feet and provide solid contact for power and control. Ideally, we wear the kayak and do not just sit in it. The more we can merge our bodies with the skeleton of the kayak, the more our paddles work like the tail of a fish, directly affecting the movement of the whole animal.
Most self-taught kayakers mistakenly paddle with their arms and shoulders. This is what comes "naturally," but proper paddling form begins with the feet and travels through the legs, which pivot the hips and torso delivering the power to the paddle blade with minimum bending of the arms. It is akin to a graceful golf swing. The difference is that the instant you have reached the high point of your golf swing, you must switch into a perfect downstroke. One stroke after another, over and over and over with a minimum amount of resistance or variation.
To coordinate the strokes of two paddlers, to have their paddle blades optimally hit the water simultaneously, is like having two golfers standing parallel to each other one yard apart facing the same direction and timing their swings to hit their golf balls at the same time. In Olympic tandem kayaking, for instance— where a two-man crew paddles at a pace of more than one hundred strokes per minute for almost four minutes—one missed hit by either paddler can lose the race.
Obviously in expedition kayaking there is greater margin for error. But not as much as one might think. In long-range expedition kayaking the finish line may be many hours away. Mistimed strokes rob one of energy. Imagine constantly having to interrupt your paddle rhythm to accommodate your mate. It's like the guy who decides to cruise on a tandem bike.
Paddle clashing frays nerves.
I had taken another risk. I had left the foot-control rudder assembly that steers the boat back at the shop. Quite simply, that means that the boat is steered by body English and the thrust of the paddles alone. Forward paddle power has to be balanced with control from the hips through the contact points of the seat, feet, thighs, and lower back. Power without control and vice versa was not going to cut it.
The current was with us and the wind was coming from the side generating a quartering sea. If Tony didn't "get it" I would be in for a long day correcting the boat's course with stronger paddling and hip tilting to the right (windward) to compensate for the boat's natural tendency to "weathercock" (turn toward the wind).
A rudder can disguise or compensate for imbalances, but only in the short run. I had learned that lesson the hard way on a long crossing with a novice kayaking friend years ago. In reaching deeper and deeper over the long distance, one set of muscles in my back worked harder than the other. That side ached painfully for days after.
It is best to learn to balance strokes first, and then use the rudder as a bonus, not as a necessity.
We pushed off and slipped gently into the current.
The boat surged forward with our first strokes. In only a few moments we had found a rhythm, applied power, and had joined the momentum of the river current. The nuisance effects of weathercocking had been nullified.
Wow, I thought to myself. I haven't said a word, and he is really moving the boat.
This was very unusual. I had taken out countless athletic friends, clients, and associates. I had always had to make some adjustment.
I told Tony: "You seemed to have picked up my stroke very fast."
"I just keep a part of your shoulder in the corner of my eye and follow it. It's a lot like rowing."
I remembered from our first meeting at the bar that Tony had mentioned something about rowing at university. But because of the Tequila the details were a bit sketchy.
In rowing, two to eight men face backward in a slender shallow boat with their feet lashed on to small wooden boards and their butts plonked on tiny sliding seats, knees pulled tightly up against the chest. They coordinate the uncoiling of all their bodies onto the blades at the end of their oars, searching for the perfect catch. The catch is where the blade grabs the water and levers the boat forward like a catapult searching for a long, smooth glide. Ideally the catch is the same for each rower so that the exact same amount of pressure is exerted all along the boat. Rowing is the epitome of controlled fury.
"What did you row?"
"I won the Australia schoolboy championships in an eight and only lost once in two years at university."
The "eight" is the king of rowing. Eight men to a boat with one oar. The fastest of all blade-propelled boats in flatwater.
As we paddled, I thought to myself, So he's got the paddle catch, timing, power, and the boat balance. Does he have long-term rhythm and perseverance?
Competitive rowing races last about six minutes. A typical sea kayak expedition day is at least six hours. The normal stroke rate is sixty strokes per minute, like a heartbeat. Two people have to coordinate their heartbeats all day long.
We covered the twelve-mile half-Manhattan paddle in less than two hours. There was still plenty of daylight left. It was the fastest sustained paddle I had ever had. We had found that point where the boat feels like it is levitating, moving twice as fast with half the energy. This is when a double kayak is superior to a single. Where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. It is rare when two good paddlers combine well in the same boat. Tony was a natural.
But what was his partner going to be like?
Copyright © 2000 by Eric Stiller
