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by Nick Callanan
One my high school friends who has come rafting with me a bunch of times expressed interest in learning to whitewater kayak.
And like any encouraging friend, I loaned him my kayak and equipment, dropped him off at the top of the Kennebec Gorge and said, "Go for it! You'll be fine!" Then I got into my truck and headed to the nearest phone booth to tell his mother of her son’s unfortunate demise.
No, seriously. I would not recommend paddling in whitewater until you can roll your boat up 50 times on your left and 50 times on your right without a missed roll. Otherwise, the first time you paddle out into whitewater, you'll suddenly find yourself upside down in the water with rocks and riverbed flying by your face. You'll think: "I can't breathe. I can't scream for help. And I can't find Nick anywhere to strangle his dumb ass!" Then you will pull your spray skirt and you will be participating in a sport related to, but nowhere near as much fun as whitewater kayaking. This sport is known as whitewater swimming. And believe me, after you try the exciting sport of whitewater swimming a couple times, you’ll be ready to give up on whitewater kayaking.
I took my brother Zeke out for his first rolling lesson a couple weeks ago. He is a first year rafting guide with North Country Rivers. Although new to the river scene, Zeke, two years younger than me, has always been better around water than I: He used to be on the swim team in middle school, he actually taught me how to dive headfirst and now he's picked up guiding a hell of a lot faster than I did five years ago (to my credit, I still tool on him in hoops and cribbage…).
Anyway, we brought my boat and gear out to the public swimming area on the other side of Wyman Lake and I gave him a few pointers (before I continue, I must say: after weighing my pride against the prospect of having a family member to kayak with, I really do want my brother to succeed as quickly as possible at whitewater kayaking. This was not going to be an exercise in revenge):
"Okay, hot shot. We are only going to be out here until you get frustrated, or I get sick of looking at you. This is supposed to be fun, so as soon as it isn't, we're done for the day.
"Secondly, chill out. Take a deep breath. Relax your body, especially your hips, and relax your mind. We are in three feet of water and you will be fine.
"Now. You need to be comfortable underwater. I want you to flip over in the kayak and count to 45 while you're underwater. While you're counting, look around, listen to the water and accustom yourself to being upside down in the boat. Then, pull your skirt and I'll see you back up here on the surface."
After Zeke's first out-of-kayak experience, we floated the boat to shore, dumped out the water and he secured himself into it once again.
"All right, Zeke. I want you to explain to me, in words, what needs to happen in order for you to successfully roll this kayak."
This was the most important step in my own personal journey from kayaking wuss to kayaking wuss with a roll.
"Uh, basically I reach out of the water with the whole paddle, rotate it so the face of the power blade bites on the water, then stroke downwards while I roll my hips upward towards the sky."
I had loaned Zeke a copy of William Nealy's Kayak to study a week earlier and he had obviously read it.
"You got it, Bub. Now, when you roll over this time, I'll be standing next to you in the water and holding your power blade, and you're going to practice the hip movement using my hands for leverage instead of the water. We're going to do this a few times."
We did. The first couple times, Zeke barely managed to muscle himself back upright. I told him to relax his hips and to practice gyrating back and forth along his hip axis. Zeke obliged and began rocking to and fro, into the water and out of the water, very quickly. This scene must have appeared strange - two grown (in body) men with odd-looking instruments dancing together in the water - because as soon as we began, four gaping children were quickly herded into a minivan by their mother and sped away to safety. Don't forget your seatbelts kids.
Despite the unorthodox visual effect, this exercise seemed to help my brother, because during the next few attempts I felt much less resistance from his blade, meaning he was using more finesse than muscle.
"Okay Zeke, next exercise. Now, you are going to roll over and put your hands into the 'set up' position and then let me guide them to where they need to be. You should be watching where I put them from underwater. When I let go, roll up! Okay? Go!!"
He flipped over and stuck his hands out of the water so his paddle was parallel to his boat. I grabbed his hands and helped him to rotate the paddle until it was perpendicular to his boat, but still out of the water. Then I let go.
He pulled down on his power blade, rolled his hips upward and - just when I thought he might get his first roll - Zeke suddenly craned his head out of the water, sucking for oxygen, and killing any chances of a successful roll. The boat immediately flipped back over, submerging him. I grabbed his blade and helped him to resurface without wet-exiting.
"Dude. You almost had it. All you have to do is keep your head down. Relax, and keep your head pinned to your right shoulder [he was rolling on his right side]."
We tried this exercise a few more times before I felt comfortable that Zeke at least understood the basic mechanics of his right handed C to C roll. In the midst of these attempts, he figured out how to use the lake's floor as leverage, so I stopped standing beside him and began to skip rocks.
He calmly flipped over five times, each time missing a roll, and each time using the floor to roll up. I told him not to rush his movements.
Then on his sixth try, Zeke exaggerated each of the steps: flip over, set up hands to be out of the water and parallel to the boat, rotate paddle until shaft is perpendicular to the boat, pull power blade down and roll hips upward while keeping head pinned to shoulder.
He rolled up with ease. I lost it.
"Yo, you just accomplished in 30 minutes what it took me 30 days to figure out. That's it. Get the hell out of my boat. We’re going home."
Email nick [at] noumbrella [dot] com with your questions, comments and concerns.
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