I like kayaks, and I’ve paddled them in most kinds of water, from rowdy Class IV–V drops to quiet beaver ponds to the margins of the ocean. But as much as I appreciate kayaks’ sleek lines and inherent seaworthiness, I was a canoeist before I was a kayaker, and canoes still stand high in my affections. My first boat was a fire‑engine‑red fiberglass 16‑foot tandem canoe. It tempted me down from the mountains and got me out on the water, giving me a mobile platform for birding and photography into the bargain. I’ve owned a lot of canoes since then, of course, including 20‑foot freighters and 12‑foot pack canoes. As much as I’ve loved these boats, though, they all shared one drawback, a shortcoming not seen in kayaks: there’s a big hole at the top that lets in water — sometimes a great deal of water. It doesn’t take a novice canoeist long to discover the problem with this arrangement. One misstep on boarding, one ill‑considered lunge to grab at a hat caught up in a gust of wind, one big breaker taken over the bow and…well, I don’t have to spell it out, do I? It’s swim time. Still, canoes aren’t quite as vulnerable as this would suggest. Folks have been traveling up and down wild rivers in heavily loaded canoes for centuries and living to tell the tale. They’ve even fitted canoes with sails to cross big lakes and ocean bays.

OK. Canoes leak at the top. But canoeists often take their boats where swamping is more than a theoretical possibility. That being the case, just how do you keep water out of a canoe?… Read more…

 
Send a Comment