Gear Hounding

Be forewarned. Unless you’re an outdoors person with a bent for paddling, this will be of limited interest.

Our paddling group is a couple months away from a southern expedition, but already the excitement is building. The emails are flying thick and fast in anticipation, as are the cell calls, with participants getting amped for fun in the sun.

My route took me by an outfitter this afternoon, so I stopped in to shop some gear. The cell phone rang. It was one of the paddlers who had come to a lull at the office, and he was jonesing to jaw about the trip. He asked where I was.

“Don’t you already have like one of everything made from past trips?” He’s of the age where “like” is like part of every sentence.

“Maybe.”

“So, it’s easier for you to buy than find?”

“Maybe.”

He had nailed me. The stuff is probably in the garage, barn, shed or crawl space, but who knows? I thought it would be interesting to see. So, when I got home, I started the “dig.”

It was very close to an archeological dig, as the gear was layered in strata corresponding to year of expeditions. The closer to the core of the earth, the more interesting the relics became.

At the very bottom was wool. The rule of cold weather paddling is that you don’t dress for air temperature. You dress for a possible capsize and swim.

Decades ago, when I began paddling, neoprene paddling gear didn’t exist. Scuba wetsuits were around, but they weren’t cheap. And, they didn’t bend where you needed to. I began paddling with canoes, which required kneeling. Wetsuits were made for straight-legged kicking.

So, you wore wool, which insulated even when wet. In theory. I found matted wool underwear, socks, gloves and surplus German Army pants.

I also found one stab at upgrading. I forgot that I had attempted a do-it-yourself wetsuit. You received a pattern, roll of neoprene, zippers and glue. The pattern was rendered in concentric outlines, so you could size or adjust for bulges or indentations. I had more bulges than indentations.

It still came out with places that were too tight, and some that were too loose. After a couple chilly swims, I went back to wool.

The PFD (personal floatation device, or lifejacket) looked positively primitive compared to today’s. It was comprised of thick blocks of foam, encased in nylon tubes or compartments. The blocks didn’t bend, so it was the compartmentalization that provided articulation, as scant as it was. There were no pockets or attachment patches, as the Coast Guard did not approve of them back then. Probably afraid someone would try to pocket a Buick and render the floatation ineffective.

So, the paddling knife was no surprise. Instead of the scabbard being designed to clip to a PFD, it had two straps to go around your lower leg. Not very comfortable and of no help to kayakers who might suffer leg entrapment.

Another item with straps was a pair of clunky roofing knee pads. That’s what we used for kneeling in canoes before closed cell foam and elaborate saddles. They were heavy and didn’t stay in place well.

The car racks were crafted from pressure-treated two-by-fours. Deck and fencing material. Even today, I prefer to engineer my own, rather than pay Thule or Yakima the equivalent of a decent boat for a couple metal tubes.

I re-heaped the heap. Easier to buy.