If your broken heart should need repair,
then I’m the man to see.
I whisper sweet things,
you tell all your friends,
they’ll come running to me – james taylor

As you can see we received our new toys from Don Beale. Mary has a nice new traditional paddle to replace the one I so rudely broke during a bad attempt at forward sweep roll. Unlike some of the black paddles Don has done in the past, Mary’s is actually a solid paddle that has been oil stained. I won’t dare share the secrets of Don’s magic here, but the end result is that you have a black paddle that allows some of the wood’s natural color to come through. The effect is a black paddle with golden accents where the grain is well defined, and depending on the light the paddle will change color to become more of a deep red. It’s very beautiful.And here’s a side note. Before I broke Mary’s first paddle I was getting fairly competent with the forward sweep roll. Now I’m suffering post-traumatic stress and suddenly have a block. I’m so paranoid that I’m not using the paddle at all. Oh well, we’ll work though it. Don also made me a nice black Norsaq as well. So I’ve got a lot of work to do.

Mary has moved her rolling success from the GP to the Euro now. Cool. But since she’s now walking around the house hugging her new Beale, I don’t think she’ll be pulling the Euro out again for awhile.

Visit Don’s Website at: Beale Paddles

Will somebody tell me where the bathroom is?
There’s a potty over there
There’s a potty over here
There’s a potty over there
A potty over there
There’ s a potty everywhere – bobby jimmy & the critters

Ok ya’ll, I know. Some subjects you just don’t want to talk about. But then on the other hand we all want to know the answers. Every kayak coach at one time or another gets the “potty questions”. Obviously one of those questions is what to do when you gotta go and you’re out in the great unknown. If you’re going to spend any time exploring in your kayak it’s going to happen. So now is a great time for a little potty talk.When we’re out on an island somewhere, dealing with “human waste” can be a pretty interesting task. You never want to be the walking by the campfire and heading off into the woods with a couple plastic bags in one hand and a little spade in the other. Yeah we’re all grown up here, but still!! It’s actually pretty amazing that you never seem to see anyone heading off into the woods. I guess we all pick opportune moments.

I’m not going to spend time here lecturing you on stewardship, and certainly there are times when you may just dig a hole and bury waste. But in most cases you should carry out. Up until now the best way to do that was with double bags and Tupperware or the innovative “Poop Tube”. But last weekend at Canoecopia I was introduced to a new convenient high-tech solution from Restop Products called the “Wilderness Waste Containment Pouch. They have come up with a bag within a bag solution to contain & carry out waste as well as neutralize all the nasty stuff.

Here is a bit from their website:

“Using a scientifically formulated blend of polymers and enzymes in specially designed plastic bags, human waste is first contained and then converted into environmentally friendly waste. The polymers gel upon contact with liquid, safely containing the waste, and the enzymes begin to consume the waste products. When there is nothing left for the enzymes to feed on, they consume themselves, leaving basic salts and water. The result is an environmentally friendly and sanitary bag that can be disposed of in any trash container.” – Web Link

The part we’ll all like is how easy it is to use in the wilderness. The WWCP is sold as a 5-pack and is packaged in a mesh bag for easy carry out. Each pouch includes toilet paper and a moist antiseptic towlette as well. You will find you can easily lay out the wide mouthed (do you have a better term??) top on the ground (or a 5 gallon pail) to create an easily usable commode. Then when you’re done the the upper bag folds into the lower triple layer barrier bag, which then zip locks closed. Then because of all that fun scientifically formulated stuff that’s way above my head, you can just carry it out and toss it in the trash. Cool, huh!?

But, as Lavar Burton says, “Don’t take my word for it”. Check out the website. Not only do they have photos of the “Restop” on Mt. Everest, but you’ll also find a nice little flash presentation as well.

The Restop Wilderness Waste Containment Pouch can be orderd directly from their website and is about $13.00 for a pack of 5.

*image provided by Restop. Thank you.

But sometimes,
We remember our bedrooms and our parent’s bedrooms
and the bedrooms of our friends
Then we think of our parents…
Well, whatever happened to them?! – arcade fire

I awoke from a terribly normal dream this morning. In it I was lying in bed awake in a second story bedroom I used to have as a child. The room was lit by the orange glow of an elevated street lamp. A highway passed behind our house right at my bedroom level only hidden by a small thicket of scraggly bush and stunted trees. Outside an open window, a strong breeze carried warm summer air twisting around the room. I could hear the hiss of leaves rise and fall with the speed of the wind. An old silver maple swayed just feet from my window. I got out of bed and hung my head out the open pane. I could see the grass dancing in circular patterns below me under the soft spotlight of the street lamps. At moments when the highway was silent and the wind would abate, I could just slightly pick up the distant sounds of the river spilling through the shallow rocky terrain below the high steel bridge. The house is gone now. It was removed to give clearance to a new highway and an even higher steel bridge.I don’t really long for the past. I don’t have “glory days”. I’ve always felt as if tomorrow will be better than today. Sometimes I have to give it a little help though. And if truth be told, even then, tomorrow does not always live up to expectations. But all in all forward is better than back. I don’t know if it’s a motto, a credo, or just the result of an often shaky past, but I’m always gazing with fondness on things to come.

When I wake up from those “little moments” dreams I do feel loss though. Not for the time or the place, but for the sound of the wind, the summer’s night air, the smell of wet dirt, distant lightning or the helicopter seeds of a silver maple dropping to the earth below me.

I remember dreaming once that I had traveled to Ireland. There was a small town whose streets ended right on a small rocky protected beach. I can remember old rusty trash cans lined up right at the end of each little dead end street in my view. The clouds were heavy and the air tasted of rain. I saw a little blond girl running up to join her parents who were slowly walking up the beach toward town. I thought to myself, yeah, it’s about time I go explore the the place a bit. I took maybe two steps toward the little town, then I woke up. I remember feeling depressed all that day. I would have loved to not to have woke up from that one. I was tempted to get a plane ticket and go on a search for that little beach. But in the end I put on my degrading restaurant uniform and went off to work in Wisconsin Dells.

Odd the memories that cling. It’s a good thing that the past is the past. At least I feel that way at the moment. Today is pretty nice too. I’m cool with it. Barring all the little strifes of daily existence, life is good. And life after all is exactly like where you are right now. But I still dream, and sometimes I wish I could spend a little more time with my head stuck out the window on a breezy summer evening. I don’t think I’d even mind if in my dream, the neighbor’s dog barked. Well, not too loud though.

-d

You spin me right round, baby

Right round like a record, baby

Right round round round – dead or alive

Ok so spring is here. Apart from Wisconsin of course. The north half of the state was buried in snow just a few days ago and down here in the more temperate south are expecting up to 8 inches of snow tonight. Anyway as I was saying, spring is here!

The big pay off of last nights pool session was that Mary got her plain old normal sweep roll with the GP. As most of you know, her first success was when she switched from a standard Euro and then learned the extended paddle roll with the GP. She’d been working on that quite awhile. Then last night in a short flurry of me going “ok, shorten it up 3 inches, shorten it up 3 inches,shorten it up 3 inches,shorten it up 3 inches. .” suddenly she was rolling with a standard grip. It got a bit harder after she realized she was actually doing it, but in the end she had 3 successful sweep rolls. Of course it’s now time to practice, practice, practice. . Hey, did’nt we just do that??

-d

Home, don’t it seem so far away
Oh, we’re travelling light today
In the eye of the storm
In the eye of the storm
Home, to a new and a shiny place
They’re coming to america – nd

If you were the pragmatic type and finding it hard to get work in your home town, you would probably move to a nearby city before you would move your family across a continent or across an ocean. To take on an epic journey, you need epic motivations. Makes sense to me. However those more “educated” chaps think differently. They tend to feel most human migrations in the past were nothing more than the search for human comforts; food, shelter, avoidance of conflict, etc. But if that were true, why would you pack up your family and travel a few thousand dangerous miles through sometimes inhospitable climates, rather than relocate to relatively near by locations with ample food & shelter to satisfy your needs!? An interesting question indeed.Sometime in history I like to call “A very long time ago”, a small group of Jomon people left their homes in northern Japan and headed north into the artic. In time they ended up in North America. (would you stay in the artic??) We know they did this as anthropologists have found a variety of artifacts including skeletal records of stone age east Asians in various locations in North America. The most well known of those are the remains of Kennewick Man who died somewhere around 9,300 years ago in Eastern Washington State. Ok, so we know they made the journey, but why?

From our perspective today it’s a bit hard to imagine what those folks were thinking. In fact, when we look back at more recent history, first explorers very seldom had “pragmatic” reasons for their ventures. It’s hard to imagine the early Vikings crossed the Atlantic for no other reason than they had run out of food in Europe. No, usually the first explorers seemed to have a more personal or spiritual reason for their quest. Then as news of climate, ample food, riches, etc., are carried back from their adventures, you begin to see a migration of followers. Theirs is a journey into the somewhat known with an assumed goal. Pragmatism is nothing if not the minimization of risk.

Yet, in the case of the Jomon travelers, they were the “first” explorers. They had no idea what they would find. No riches or even food to be sure of. Remember, the first part of their journey was passing OUT of a temperate zone and INTO the cold artic north. Still they took their families and paddled into the unknown. The best we can tell the climate was fine and there was plenty of food on land and in the sea for hundreds of miles up the coast. You can certainly imagine a bunch of good reasons that someone may have left their home to start life a new. You can even find reasons to travel a good distance to do it. But why would continue to pass up a variety of good locations and keep heading north? Obviously the weather would become less favorable as you traveled. If your only goal was food and shelter would’nt alarm bells start going off at some point? There has to be more to it than that. Which of course is the subject of, “In the Wake of the Jomon” by Jon Turk.

It certainly would not take a genius to figure out what a tough journey these early mariners must have experienced. But sometimes you have to immerse yourself in a world you are trying to comprehend. This is what Jon did. Not to prove anything to anyone, but to sensually understand a past that had been niggling at him and connect with it. I can only imagine that as the pontoon crossbar of his craft was breaking in the middle of a storm, he was pretty sure that the Jomon had to have some deeper reason to take this on other than a better fish sandwich.

Well, Jon has some thoughts about this subject and lord knows it’s a better plan to let him tell it than have me hacking away at his theories. So I have a couple things for you. First why don’t you check out he website at http://www.coldoceans.com/ and if you’re really interested in this debate and the sailing/paddling adventure he took on be sure to get a copy of his book, “In the Wake of the Jomon” which is available here.

If There’s Rock Show
At The Concertgebo
They’re Got Long Hair
At The Madison Square
You’ve Got Rock And Roll
At The Hollywood Bowl,
We’ll Be There, Oo Yeah . . .wings

Sometimes experiences hit you in one big cornucopia of colors and sounds and other times you perceive large events in a series of little snap-shot moments. That’s how Canoecopia passed for me this year. I have all these little moments that I can remember but just beyond them everything is out of focus. So for the next few days I’ll write a bit about the “little moments”.Interestingly even the photos this year seem to be more focused on one person or some small element of the event. Fasinating. So, Let’s just look at some pictures. (top gallery) And yes, I was sure to get a couple of Nigel Foster’s Rumour, as well as the Valley Rapier especially for Josh! We were impressed with Impex’s Force Cats as well.

I only turned on the camera for a moment and ended up with a full 30 minute rolling demo by Mark Schoon of Carpe Diem Kayaking on digital video. . . and in widescreen format as well!! That’s what happens when you can’t bring yourself to hit the “stop” button. I expect I’ll be watching it a few times. . Mark was my BCU 4 star training coach in Georgia last fall so it was nice to see him again.

d

white queen how my heart did ache
and dry my lips no word would make
so still i wait
my goddess hear my darkest fear
i speak too late
it’s for evermore that i wait – queen

After a couple days running around in Madison at Canoecopia it feels strange to sit here again at the computer to write. I have a bunch of things that will have to be talked about when I have more time but today we’re heading back to Madison for the last day of the event. So here’s just one quick little story to tell.Somewhere in England exists a dark angel. In the vicinity of Nottingham lies imprisoned an insane seraph. She can never be released. Consider this a warning to the people of the UK and to the world. Beware lest she escape to bring darkness to your land.

The story of how she came into existence was shared with me by a man who luckily escaped before she could silence him. He left England with only the clothes on his back and this saga. I dare not identify him for he fears that his whole existence is only spared in payment for his silence. But I feel I must warn you, so is with some trepidation I share this story.

It was a sunny (scratch that) cloudy rainy day when somewhere in England the enchanted men of a secret valley began to create an angel. From the genetic lines of her forbearers they brought her into this world. Each line of her perfect body was meticulously measured and molded by the skills of craftsman’s hands. Even without soul and without life, the rumors of her beauty began to cause the men of the valley to steel away from their daily tasks to get a momentary glimpse of her naked form. Townspeople remarked upon the activity that never ceased while this first true perfect being was being brought into the world.

In time artisans were called in to create for her a shield of such light as has never before been seen among mortal man. By the blessings of shaman this enchanted shield would reflect the inner greatness of all beings and frame them in the visage of mother earth. All who gazed upon her would only see the best within themselves. She would bring light to the world. But no one had attempted such spells before. And something in her creation did not go well.

I am told that at the time of the blessings, the shaman left the room in tears. Everyone around VCP could only imagine that these were tears of joy at such a marvelous creation. They could not have perceived to the true nature of what had come to pass. No warning was shared, no moment was taken. It seemed all was well. Days passed and they grew to have affection for their new charge. The white angel was now a living soul. Everyone was taken by her beauty. Yet, now with self will, she controlled the power of her shield and choose not to reveal it’s reflection. Maybe in a flicker of passing thought someone may have seen this as odd. They had after all, held out so long to see her magic revealed. Yet her gift was for those of the inland seas and they came to feel it was well that she did not reveal herself to her creators. Soon it became time to send her across the sea to her new home.

It is here our story turns. My confidant was the one chosen to escort her to the vessel that would carry her across the great Atlantic. At first he said all seemed well. The sun had been peaking through broken clouds all day and the occasional sunlight had put him in particularly good mood. As for the seraph, she rode to the docks in silent glory. He confessed to stealing an occasional glance at her in the rearview as he drove. They arrived in good time and he went about making arrangements for her boarding. Before long she was being removed to the large cargo ship looming near by. It was then as she was about to be carried aboard he noticed that something was wrong. At some distance he noticed something dark. A seemingly innocent black rectangle in a small recess in her otherwise perfect form. He felt a trembling in his chest as his mind brought into focus what he saw. He began to utter a vulgar phrase under his breath. It was a cable skeg!! At that moment he knew . . . she was an angel of evil. Yet before he could deflect his gaze, her shield began to come alive. He was being drawn into it’s reflection. White became darkness and forms began to appear. But in it was not the goodness of his soul he saw, but the reflection of black angry clouds and tempest seas tossed in a terrible gale. He saw himself struggling to stay a top towering waves, swimming alone, and being carried into sharp monstrous rocks. He saw in the refection of his own eyes a pit of terror as his mirrored self was enveloped into a great wave. Then suddenly the reflection was gone. The vision of his death faded into white as the shield once again became opaque. Time passed, a bird chirped angrily from under a tin over-hang, his thoughts returned to the world around him.

In those moments he could easily have let her go. “Americans” he thought, “are such twits anyway”. But indeed he was a man of good heart and he stopped her escape. And that is how she came to be locked away in a hidden location somewhere in England.

In great haste the craftsman were again called forth. They worked endlessly. No one could guess as to the number of nights or days. No one ate, and sleep came as a mist as hands continuted to work. This time each moment of creation was guided by the hands of the shaman who again wept as this new being came to life. But now as never before and with such joy as she could not have imagined. This new white angel shared her reflections freely with anyone who would gaze upon her glorious shield. They saw within only the goodness of blue skies, calm waters and most of all, their own inner beauty.

Within moments of being too late, the true white angel was again brought to the docks for her voyage to America. But this time all the people who taken part in her creation were there. In their laughter and tears they watched as the vessel she was on slipped below the distant western horizon. They could only feel envy in knowing that another such as her would never come into existence in this life.

Yet a battle is about to be waged. My confidant still fears the angels dark twin. Thus he came to America to warn me of what may come to pass. Rumors of the evil angel’s escape are beginning to spread. No one knows where she may go. England? Spain? New Zealand? We can’t be sure. And what’s more, he fears that she has minions who are right now planning the creation of a black angel who will be in everyway a replica of the white twins. Only this one is to be shielded in the darkest cobalt. He warns me that it will be also be sent right here to the Great Lakes just miles from our location. One can only guess at the reasons. It may be as early as July when the black mystical Acuta arrives. What then? What evil plan has been hatched?

Please take this warning. If you see a white Acuta with smoke colored lines. Look closely. Look for her dark hart, the wire skeg is the key. Do not be deceived. But do not look into her refection! I pass on this warning in the sprit of good fellowship. Take care. Stay well! Here on the shores of the inland seas we will gather to protect the true white angel so that she may share her reflection with all who seek her out. We will keep a wary eye out for the coming of the black one. We will discover its mission and somehow, we will tell the world.

Stay tuned. . .

Translation: The Valley Rep tells me they made the first version of my white Anas Acuta and at the last minute he noticed it had a wire skeg. So they made me another one. So there is an Acuta just like mine sitting at Valley. They tell me they’ll sell it over there. Dave from Two Rivers just ordered an all black Anas Acuta. We’re going to have to get them together.