Dumb-Ass Trips Goes to the Sea Kayak Symposium

There's nothing like one-stop shopping when you're looking for a boat, so I went to the West Coast Sea Kayak Symposium in Port Townsend thinking there might be some used boats for sale. The three-day event is held at Fort Worden state park, where groups of paddle-heads commandeer elegant old officers housing, every car there has a kayak or rack on it, and the only shoes you see are Tevas.

I've been looking for a used sea kayak for about three years now. Renting one is expensive and daunting, and even off-putting. There's really no substitute for owning your own boat, but budget and lack of storage have narrowed down my choices. At the symposium vendors of every boat in North America bring their stuff to try out and for a $40 beach pass, you can try out anything on the beach. (Easy Rider had their sailing catamaran rigs there, which were popular demos.) I'd already decided on a rotomolded plastic expedition model Necky Narpa, but I wanted a used one. My very first stop was a Necky dealer who offered me a new one at a mind-boggling good price. Problem was, it was granite grey, a color hard to spot if I ever got into trouble on the sea. (See sidebar for the excellent book on paddling fatalities and close calls, and understand why a yellow boat is a good choice.)

When I got to the beach I saw a sign for a cardboard kayak race, which I had witnessed a few years before. It had been a wonderful event; teams built a kayak of cardboard and plastic wrap, then raced the boats around a moored ship and back. First (and sometimes only) one to shore wins. Among the contestants, there was a girl about 10 years old paddling one tidy little boat, and a strapping large man in his team's sagging craft. Another dozen boats and paddlers tested their fragile craftsmanship, some sinking with the first contact with water.

The horn signaled the start of the race and off most of them went, except that the large man in the rickety boat was trying to improve his chances by sinking the girl in her boat. He pushed the little boat down with great energy with his paddle, the spectators took sides and booed and cheered, and the duel went on in earnest for about a minute. She was a tough kid and fended off the man with her paddle like an angry hornet, finally getting away from the beach. The man pursued her in his crumbling boat. There were various sinkings and capsizes and swampings in the cold water, and about five boats vanished around the back of the ship. When they reappeared, the girl and the man were ahead of the group. We were mostly cheering for the kid, and some were cheering for the man, who they thought had the disadvantage. About a hundred feet from shore, the man's cardboard boat buckled in two and he paddled holding this waterlogged material between his knees, submerged. The girl made it to shore with her boat still in shape, and won.

But back to the beach demonstration... When I got to the very end of the beach, I was drawn to the Hennessy Hammocks display. The invention is a very clever solution for anyone who camps where there are at least two trees. You sit in the hammock through the bottom, put your feet up, and the bottom closes behind you. A bug screen keeps pests away, and a fly shelters from bright sun and rain. It's light and about $80 US. It's very comfortable.

I sat down to talk to a fellow named Zeuss who was sitting on a log selling the hammocks out of a large box. I happened to mention my quest for a used Narpa and he happened to have some for sale. Here I'd been thrilled with my first offer of a new boat for more than I was really willing to spend, and this offer of exactly what I wanted came along to add to my little basket of options. My yak runneth over, I thought. We were joined by two Canadian boatbuilders, Geoff Hudson and Mike Walker, who design a sailing kayak for their company, A Great Little Kayak Company, whose motto is "Shut Up and Paddle." We walked the beach together, admiring the glossy wooden kayaks, marvelling at the various hulls, colors and designs. Keeping a helpful eye out for used boats for me, they saw an older fiberglass boat on a car roof which they were quite excited about. I took down the phone number and marvelled that I had three excellent options all well within my budget.

We went back to our cars (which happened to be parked next to each other) and they shared their beer with me. They also admired my very old truck which started a discussion on what would go in and on the ideal yak-bum vehicle, which may become a new article for spring.

I drove home with the warm knowledge that wonderful new boating friends are out there just waiting to be met, a sound boat of my own is on the horizon, and how nicely things fall into place when one Gets Lost with a vague notion of what we want out of life. And the beer with nice Canadian guys... that was the just the icing on a perfect Dumb-Ass Trip.

Author Leslie Strom buys that sea kayak in Canada in the February 2000 issue of Get Lost magazine.