Kayaking and Rock Climbing
I was able to get out and do some kayaking over the weekend.
For some time now, I've been interested in paddling around the Hudson, WI area. I was able to view the St. Croix from Stillwater down to Hudson from the air when I flew home for the Labor Day weekend. This made me realize the distance from Bayport to Hudson is not nearly as far as I had previously thought. So, on Sunday I drove over to Bayport and dropped my boat in the water.
There was a pretty strong south wind blowing. Since the St. Croix runs north/south in this section, this meant that the waves were large enough to be interesting (12" - 18" is my guess, maybe with some at 24"). I'm still getting used to the kayak I purchased at the start of this season, a QCC 500X, so anything other that still water requires me to pay attention.
The paddle down was pretty straightforward. Although I was paddling with the current, the wind was a much bigger factor, so I had to work pretty hard. In general, I've learned to care more about the wind than the current, so there was no surprise there. Nearing Hudson, I saw a really cool looking railroad bridge. Passing that, I realized that some of the tiny islands were a) pretty much solid sand, and b) the local party spot for any power boater from miles around.
I think I saw a bit of downtown Hudson as I paddled by, and made a mental note to return on my motorcycle sometime to check it out. I like old downtown areas, as long as they have not been 'modernized'. I guess it's a nostalgic part of me that wants to believe that Mayberry and Sheriff Andy Taylor really existed somewhere. That may not be the case, but I keep the dream alive that one day I'll move to a small town somewhere where folks get along, are not spiteful of each others differences and respect their neighbors. That dream keeps me going when I get really frustrated with the world.
Paddling back upstream was a bit more interesting. The wind was behind me, so I expected the rate of progress to improve somewhat. To this end, I opted to return on the east side of the river and cross over once I reached Bayport. This worked out nicely, since I got to see the river from a different perspective. As I started the crossing, the waves became larger and more interesting. Nothing as intense as the 2.5 mile solo crossing on Lake Superior I made up in Canada a few weeks ago, but interesting anyway.
I started to think about how kayaking has some of the same elements that I used to really enjoy about rock climbing. The thing I liked most about climbing was that the rock didn't care about who you were - either you could climb it or not. The rules were there for all to see - gravity didn't make exceptions. Strength and balance were rewarded with progress. Working in software, my career has exposed to changing rules, inept management and stuff that even Dilbert would shake his head at. How refreshing it was to engage in an activity where everything made sense, where I had control over the outcome.
Kayaking is a lot like that. Waves take the place of the rock face, while the boat itself is a surrogate for my climbing gear. The wind creates the waves, in differing patterns. My job is to figure out what the waves are doing, then balance my boat accordingly. The waves don't care about my job, my joys and fears, my relationships, my bank account or what music I listen to. The waves don't even care that I exist. They will continue on their merry way either way. I embrace this indifference, and use it challenge myself. If I fail, it will be my fault - it is not as if the waves had a grudge against me in particular.
Like climbing, their are small failures and large ones. A small failure is simply flipping my boat and having to get back in and pumping it out. A larger failure, like a major mistake on a major climb, could be running into bad weather and barely surviving for a variety of reasons. Or, I suppose, not suriviving at all. Either way, it's my fault. The only way to get better is to continue going out in conditions where you can handle failure, like the waves I encountered on Sunday. It's the same thing with climbing. When you master entry level climbs (e.g., 5.7 or 5.8), you continue to push yourself to intermediate levels and beyond. As the difficulty level increases, so does the price of failure.
Even today, I can vividly recall climbs 10+ years ago where a fall would have meant certain death. The rock would not have cared, and that's how I like it.
Just me and the rock. Or the waves. Tough to beat for an enjoyable Sunday afternoon.
For some time now, I've been interested in paddling around the Hudson, WI area. I was able to view the St. Croix from Stillwater down to Hudson from the air when I flew home for the Labor Day weekend. This made me realize the distance from Bayport to Hudson is not nearly as far as I had previously thought. So, on Sunday I drove over to Bayport and dropped my boat in the water.
There was a pretty strong south wind blowing. Since the St. Croix runs north/south in this section, this meant that the waves were large enough to be interesting (12" - 18" is my guess, maybe with some at 24"). I'm still getting used to the kayak I purchased at the start of this season, a QCC 500X, so anything other that still water requires me to pay attention.
The paddle down was pretty straightforward. Although I was paddling with the current, the wind was a much bigger factor, so I had to work pretty hard. In general, I've learned to care more about the wind than the current, so there was no surprise there. Nearing Hudson, I saw a really cool looking railroad bridge. Passing that, I realized that some of the tiny islands were a) pretty much solid sand, and b) the local party spot for any power boater from miles around.
I think I saw a bit of downtown Hudson as I paddled by, and made a mental note to return on my motorcycle sometime to check it out. I like old downtown areas, as long as they have not been 'modernized'. I guess it's a nostalgic part of me that wants to believe that Mayberry and Sheriff Andy Taylor really existed somewhere. That may not be the case, but I keep the dream alive that one day I'll move to a small town somewhere where folks get along, are not spiteful of each others differences and respect their neighbors. That dream keeps me going when I get really frustrated with the world.
Paddling back upstream was a bit more interesting. The wind was behind me, so I expected the rate of progress to improve somewhat. To this end, I opted to return on the east side of the river and cross over once I reached Bayport. This worked out nicely, since I got to see the river from a different perspective. As I started the crossing, the waves became larger and more interesting. Nothing as intense as the 2.5 mile solo crossing on Lake Superior I made up in Canada a few weeks ago, but interesting anyway.
I started to think about how kayaking has some of the same elements that I used to really enjoy about rock climbing. The thing I liked most about climbing was that the rock didn't care about who you were - either you could climb it or not. The rules were there for all to see - gravity didn't make exceptions. Strength and balance were rewarded with progress. Working in software, my career has exposed to changing rules, inept management and stuff that even Dilbert would shake his head at. How refreshing it was to engage in an activity where everything made sense, where I had control over the outcome.
Kayaking is a lot like that. Waves take the place of the rock face, while the boat itself is a surrogate for my climbing gear. The wind creates the waves, in differing patterns. My job is to figure out what the waves are doing, then balance my boat accordingly. The waves don't care about my job, my joys and fears, my relationships, my bank account or what music I listen to. The waves don't even care that I exist. They will continue on their merry way either way. I embrace this indifference, and use it challenge myself. If I fail, it will be my fault - it is not as if the waves had a grudge against me in particular.
Like climbing, their are small failures and large ones. A small failure is simply flipping my boat and having to get back in and pumping it out. A larger failure, like a major mistake on a major climb, could be running into bad weather and barely surviving for a variety of reasons. Or, I suppose, not suriviving at all. Either way, it's my fault. The only way to get better is to continue going out in conditions where you can handle failure, like the waves I encountered on Sunday. It's the same thing with climbing. When you master entry level climbs (e.g., 5.7 or 5.8), you continue to push yourself to intermediate levels and beyond. As the difficulty level increases, so does the price of failure.
Even today, I can vividly recall climbs 10+ years ago where a fall would have meant certain death. The rock would not have cared, and that's how I like it.
Just me and the rock. Or the waves. Tough to beat for an enjoyable Sunday afternoon.
posted by Aras at 10:23 PM
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