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July, 2006
No Boofing Here: I'm in a Kayak and I can't get out!
By Randy Randall
I like my kayak. I can't say I love the boat, because Mr. Rogers taught us that you can't love something that can't love you back. But I really, really like my kayak - except for a very few small problems. Like there's no motor, except me of course, so I don't get the privilege of paying $3.50 gallon for gas at the local marina. I also miss out on paying the local marine mechanic his $75/ hour labor rate for changing the oil and winterizing my nonexistent motor. Then too, the kayak only has room for me, so I can't very well be cajoled into taking my near-do-well brother in law from away and his heavy-set wife and their three obnoxious kids all out for a pleasant afternoon on the bay.
"Oh well, too bad," I tell my wife, "the kayak's only big enough for one."
Since there's no huge trailer to pull I miss out on the need to own one of those monster Ford 4 x 4 super duty trucks. They look so macho and beefy like they could go most anywhere expect past a gas station. Ah well. And I can't keep up with the jet ski's and bowriders that go whizzing up and down the pond carving circles, jumping wakes and throwing out large rolling waves that rush across the lake, crash against the shoreline and flood out the loon's nest. Nope. I can't take part in those frivolities either. My kayak is too slow and pokey. I have to content myself with gliding silently along the shore and sneaking up on those unsuspecting loons, surprising the beavers in their pond, and paddling amongst the flocks of ducks that raise their families here. By the way, did I mention I really really like my kayak?
Still there is this one thing - getting out. How do you get out of the darned boat? That is, short of falling out or dumping or doing what the kayak folks euphemistically call a "wet exit". When you're a sixty year old male with arthritis, lumbago and who knows what else wrong with every joint in his body, uncoiling yourself from the cockpit is no small feat. The old muscles just ain't what they used be and levering myself up and out of the cockpit has presented a real challenge. You may imagine how I envy you young folks with so much agility, and flexibility.
Getting in is relatively easy; kind of like sitting on your bum in front of the fireplace or easing down into a hot tub. And once you're in, the seat is sinfully comfortable. Sometimes I just like to cease paddling and let the boat rock every so gently on the little waves stirred up by the evening breeze, lean back, relax and soak up the sounds and sights and the feeling of being out there on the water in the wide wide world. Ah, but exiting; now there's the rub, as someone famous once wrote. I've tried everything, believe me.
The usual routine is to run the boat in alongside a low dock and drive the bow hard aground. With the boat stable in the mud I can grab the sides of the dock and help myself up and out. This works most of the time, but if the kayak is afloat even a little bit it tends to slither like an eel out from under and you may find yourself doing a face plant on the beach. I also do what I call the side saddle dismount. For this I bring the boat in parallel to the shore right in the shallows and then swing my feet up and out over the side of the boat, which is no mean feat in itself. Then I yell to a friend who comes over and gives me his hand and pulls me up to me feet. This method works really well except for the necessity of having a friend in my back pocket. I suppose though in the interest of safe boating I shouldn't be going out alone any time, but of course it happens. Staking a friend out on the edge of the pond so he'll still be there to help me out whenever I choose to return is a little hard on the relationship.
Finally I said to myself there has to be a way to do this, so went to see some pros at a rather well advertised outdoor school. The young instructor was ever so nice and when I told him my dilemma he quickly said, "Oh, no problem. Here's what you do," and he proceeded to demonstrate.
"See," he said, "first you put the paddle shaft behind your back."
"You do what," I said. "You gotta be kidding."
"No no," he said. "You position the paddle behind your back right here on the deck just behind the coaming and let the blade touch on the shore. See," he said smiling a huge grin, "you form a kind of stable tripod with your paddle and the boat "
"Ah huh," I said.
"Now, you grab the paddle shaft and the edge of the coaming with your two hands and …"
"Wait wait," I said. "You do what?"
"Well, see," he said, "you have to grab the paddle shaft and the boat at the same time and then you push yourself up and backward;" and with that he gave a little grunt and lifted his butt up out of the seat onto the back edge of the cockpit. "There you go", he said. "Why don't you try it?"
Well I did and knew right away that method wasn't for me. The exercise of paddling had been great for my arms and shoulders and had even helped tighten up the old abs a little, but there was no way I could maneuver my old arms behind my back, and at the same time grip the boat and then push my 180 lb frame up and out. No way.
So there you are. I've contemplated this problem a lot, usually while sitting comfortably in the kayak waiting for some unsuspecting friend to come strolling by and offer me his hand. Sometimes it's been a long wait.
If only there were some hand holds, or maybe a sky hook. Back in the winter old Dad had his shoulder operated on and when we went to see him in the hospital in the orthopedic ward, there was this pull-up bar rigged over his bed. It had a little metal triangle hanging down over his head Dad could grab hold and pull himself up to a sitting position so he could enjoy eating more of that award-winning hospital food. But I took notice of the trapeze and thought, now that's what I need for the kayak, some kind of crane. Since then I've invented a number of sky hooks in my head, all thoughtfully designed to help me get out of the kayak by myself, but there seem to always be installation flaws, like where would I attach the legs, or how strong must it be? Every design seems to require me to butcher the kayak so I can find anchor points for legs or poles. I know someday, someone is going to figure this out and make himself a whole lot of money selling Kayak Sky Hooks to old guys like me. I wish him well, and also wish he'd hurry up and get something out onto the shelves in the sports stores soon.
I tried tying a stout line to the bow of the boat that I could pull on. It didn't help much. I have a friend who has a bad back and his solution was to go single in a two person boat. This way he has a huge cockpit and has room enough so he can roll forward onto his knees, then he can grab the gunwales and push himself to his feet. This of course works fine until his wife decides she'd like to go along, but then again when she accompanies he sort of has a built-in friend to give him that all important hand up.
Maybe they could change the seat? Remember Agent 007's Aston Martin with the ejector seat and how it blew that bad guy right through the roof? Nah, too violent and kayaking after all is a gentle sport, at least they way I practice it. A 93-year-old neighbor has just acquired one of these electric scooters the elderly use to help them get around. His will do 25 mph and when you press the right button the seat rises up automatically, but to put that kind of seat into my kayak would mean adding a 12 volt battery and that would be way too heavy and complicated.
So here I am, late in life but still getting out and enjoying the heck out of my touring boat, only I can't find a good way to leave it. Anyone of you who might have a good solution or method or some gimmick I could build, please write a letter to the editor and let me know about it. Oh, and while you're at it maybe you could tell me how to deal with vicious leg cramps when you're in your kayak out on the broad ocean and a mile away from shore?
Randy Randall and his family have owned and operated Marston's Marina for over 50 years. Find them on the Saco River, two miles downriver from the village of Saco, or on the web at www.marstonsmarina.com
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