Falling for fall

It was the summer of ’84. I had qualified as a trip leader for the paddling group I was a member of and had organized some events. It was fun and I hungered for more.

But, the talk was of the season ending. Ending? Why? People ski, skate and snowmobile in the winter, why not paddle? You’re moving a lot slower through the cold air than with the other sports. And just who invented kayaking anyway?

Maybe winter wasn’t the most attractive option, but how could you miss with fall? I organized and posted a canoe trip in the Hocking Hills of Ohio.

A dozen hearty souls signed up. Much of the rest wrote it off as folly.

The weather toward the end of October is a crap shoot in Ohio. You can either get Indian summer or cold winds driving snow or sleet. We lucked out. The weather was gorgeous. Ensuing word-of-mouth was that it was a blast. I planned another the following year and the number doubled. I’ve done one almost every year since and, except for a few when the weather forecast was severe, sold out every one. It’s hard to beat fall for paddling.

Last year we went down into Kentucky and had a lakeside campsite. It was a great time and this year’s event sold out almost a month ahead of time.

It’s one of my favorite trips of the year and that’s saying something. I’m leaving on a pretty sensational trip of another kind tomorrow and still have the fall trip in the back of my mind. The brilliant color, smell of the campfire and laughter of many friends around it. It’s hard to beat fall for paddling.

The Hardest Part

Today was a doubleheader. Some of my former employees at a mental health clinic called to ask about something. I haven’t worked there since I arranged its acquisition over two years ago by a much larger organization. I discussed what they wanted to but had to ask why they were coming to me instead of their home office.

The answer was nebulous; unclear in a way that indicated they really didn’t want to get specific. I could read between the lines, but there’s room for error in that. However, I thought I knew.

The second call made me think I was right. By coincidence, it was from Russ, a patient of the same clinic. It hadn’t been unusual for him to call when I ran the clinic. Or, others like him. Certain mental defects cause people to see conspiracies, plots, slights, etc, in almost anything. And, always being frothing at the mouth and on a rant goes hand-in-hand with that. Convinced they were being victimized by the employees, they demand to go straight to the top with their issues.

That would be me. I didn’t have to see them or take their calls, but it made it easier on everyone. Except, if they were armed, and then it was a bit stressful on me.

I always kind of enjoyed this guy. He’s a college professor and no idiot. It amused me that he would always preface his complaint with, “Look, I understand I’m a lunatic, but hear me out.” I’d hear him out.

He called me a few times after I left, but I hadn’t heard from him in a long time. When he called this time, I had to interrupt. “Why are you telling me this? You know I don’t work there anymore and must realize I can’t do anything about it.”

There was a long silence and I thought Russ might’ve hung up. Finally, in a quiet voice he asked, “Do you know what the hardest part of being mentally ill is?” It was a rhetorical question. “Everyone ignores you.”

That’s also why I think I received the first call. The new home office doesn’t listen to them. That may be the hardest part for anyone.

Addendum: Someone already pointed out that if Russ was complaining to me about the service he was getting at the clinic, he did have a therapist and, therefore, someone listening to him. And, what about family and friends?

While he did have a therapist, he looked at it as she was paid not to ignore him. Russ differentiated between that and me taking his calls.

He applied a similar standard to family. Some had to abide by virtue of the living arrangement. The rest maintained some distance.

He had very few friends, partly by his own doing. He surmised that those who surrounded him were fellow pariahs and it depressed him to see himself reflected in that group, so he cut off contact. He was still largely rejected and ignored by normal people, like others of his ilk, which is what he means by the hardest part.

Tripping

A paddling friend invited me to do something this weekend and I said I’d be away, taking a little vacation. He observed it must be quite a break planning a trip for myself instead of our paddling group. One would think.

And one would be wrong. Let’s begin with the trip concept. For the group, I solicit some ideas, opinions, preferences, etc. I boil that down to a choice that seems to engender the consensus of the group and post it on the calendar. That’s it. If it appeals to you, fine. If it doesn’t, don’t go. You’re getting a free organizer/guide. If you want something that fulfills your specific personalized needs, hire your own guide or a travel agent.

It’s a little more complicated on the other end. I ask my traveling companion what she’d like to do. “You know what I like. Come up with a few ideas.” I know what she likes? You mean, this week or two weeks from now? If I had those powers of prediction, I’d be going to Vegas and playing the wheels. And, I’d have a better chance of being right.

I have two choices. I can say I don’t know her preference and need for her to just tell me, suffering the consequences. Or, I can go through this initial round, be wrong, get mildly admonished and move on to round two. I’ll go with mild.

That provides some additional direction and I generate that list, which of course will still prove to be inadequate. But, in being told why it falls short, I acquire some additional specifications. This cycle will repeat three or four more times until we have a winner and she beams with delight. Then, she’ll get a serious look. “This is something you want to do, isn’t it? The trip is for both of us.” Hasn’t that been made obvious in this process?

Actually, it is okay with me, but the screening has been subtle. Any concepts that aren’t appealing to me never make the list presented to her.

Now it’s time to research and make arrangements. While some of our group expeditions may appear complex, all they really want is access to the water and a small slab of ground to pitch a tent. It can be more than that, depending upon the subset of the group and type of event, but it’s usually pretty simple to research weather forecasts, tides, and other key variables. It really isn’t that hard to exceed the free services expectation.

Not so when you’re traveling with someone who views keeping a thousand balls in the air as child’s play. She’s expecting that every minute alternative for every aspect of the trip has been surfaced and the perfect choice has been selected and confirmed. How do you find the thread count of the sheets used by this B&B and if that restaurant uses real butter in their sautéed vegetables? And, of course, the itinerary will contain an extensive detailed timetable. I’ve shot myself in the foot by being good at this on previous occasions, raising the expectations.

For our group events, I pack a toothbrush. And, a paddling outfit. If the trip lasts less than a year, one outfit is more than enough.

On the other side of the coin, I have to add a razor and other grooming products. Then, I consult the itinerary and must pack the appropriate garb for each entry. She’ll change clothes a few times a day to suit each event and I have to approximate the pace. A medium duffel bag gets me through almost all paddling events, but we’re talking a large suitcase here. For me. She’ll triple that with her road ensemble.

Virtually everyone has been happy with our group outings. There is almost always a small percentage that lives to wallow in issues, as there is in the macro arena of life. When the few lodge their complaints, I smile politely and say I’m sorry it wasn’t to their satisfaction. And, I’m glad as all getout I’m not living your miserable life that dwells in the negative aspects of everything. I don’t say that.

Sidestepping the gripes isn’t an option on the private side. When the dissatisfaction is expressed, I have no choice but to bring things into compliance. Oh, I do have a choice. But, I have to think of how I want to spend the rest of the trip.

So, all in all, it’s easier to plan the group trips. But, I’ve been tongue-in-cheek here about the personal ones and wouldn’t do them if they weren’t extremely enjoyable.

New Relationships

I previously wrote about the maiden voyage of a kayak I built. The design and characteristics of the archaic skin-on-frame boat were alien to me and fomented some trepidation going into that. So, shaking down a manufactured boat should be a walk in the park, right?

Not if the boat is toward the high end of the performance spectrum, which is where a recently acquired kayak resides. These kayaks will reward good technique but punish bad. The temperatures are getting a little cool to fully enjoy going to school on my faults.

Having some following means you held to congruency in words and actions. Therefore, I wasn’t totally surprised when someone asked why I would buy an expensive kayak without having paddled it. I have preached try-before-you-buy, especially if you’re not willing to eat the cost on a gamble. That’s not always easy if the seller is distant, which was the case here.

However, I had previously test paddled the plastic version of the boat. While manufacturers give some of them the same model designation as their composite counterparts, they are seldom really the same kayak. But, you can get an idea of what the stable mate will be like.

I found the plastic one to be very responsive and exciting. That ran contrary to some reviews that described the boat as too twitchy. I’ve learned to take those with a grain of salt. They may reflect a design trait but could also indicate a shortcoming of the paddler. This could be a tossup. Even though the plastic version didn’t feel excessively twitchy, the finer lines of a composite could push it over the line.

The opportunity to shake down this boat I chose was an outing with a paddling club. Not wanting to an audience for the trials, I arrived an hour early to put the boat through its paces. I launched and paddled to the beach area of the lake. This way, should I mess up, there was a nice sandy bottom. Paddling is about confidence and anticipating failure can undermine that. But, to avoid slogging through the mud, I was willing to take the precaution.

The boat readily leaned to the edge of the cockpit rim as I executed some turns and other prosaic maneuvers. So far, so good. A power boat went by and I used its wake to gauge the boat’s reaction to choppy water. Probably more accurately, I was measuring my performance in that boat. It went well.

Now for some rolls and other acid tests. At that moment, a girl’s rowing team rounded the bend in five sculls. Oh good, I really need spectators for this.

I quickly flipped over, hoping to get in the roll before they noticed me. Too quick. In my haste, I had neglected to affix the nose clip and I was inhaling lake water.

In a real world situation, I probably wouldn’t be wearing the clip but this wouldn’t take me by surprise. In this case, I was subconsciously expecting the protection and didn’t react fast enough. So, I lost a little cool and rushed the roll. A panic roll doesn’t work and this was no exception.

Regaining composure, I reset and the kayak responded with a perfect rendition. The girls had pulled even and gave me a cheering ovation. I simply waved, unable to vocalize with a lung full of water. I managed to wait out their passing before coughing it up.

Having successfully passed that threshold, I threw myself into a series of different kinds of rolls, remembered the nose clip this time.

It’s a bit like establishing a new relationship. You’re learning the reactions and testing the limits with worst-case scenarios. As with other relationships, if there’s going to be problems, better to find out now than later.

Absolution

It’s been over ten years but I recognized the name engendered in the email address. I hadn’t communicated with Ed since we did the deal with Bill at that time, and it’s no coincidence.

The email linked to Bill’s obituary. Ed added that he was happy to see that it was the result of a lengthy illness and that the dogt**d hadn’t gone peacefully in his sleep. I felt neither joy nor regret. The past is the past.

I first did business with Bill when I was a young employee of another company. He sold me something and sent the purchase agreement. I perused it and signed it. Later, the hidden costs emerged. Our verbal agreement wasn’t accurately reflected in his written contract but the differences were cleverly hidden. Or, at least cleverly enough to get by someone still a bit damp behind the ears. I would learn that this was SOP for Bill, but had paid the tuition of looking bad in front of my boss.

Bill was notorious for his sleazy tactics but still managed to build up a business through fanatic effort and taking advantage of the unwary. He consistently increased revenue, but not profits.

Ed’s reference to him wasn’t without meaning. Bill had been asked to speak at a chamber of commerce luncheon about his selling techniques. During the ensuing Q&A, someone asked why Bill hadn’t mentioned that his primary tactic was fabricating and spreading malicious stories about his competitors so everyone here would know what a dogt**d he really was. I recall expecting an embarrassed murmur as this seemed out of place in such a venue. But, one person started clapping slowly and emphatically, and that grew into an ovation. I guess when you’re a dogt**d, you’re a dogt**d.

Bill’s response was also interesting. He just grinned in delight. He had no shame about being a sleaze and, in fact, took pride at being good at it.

I went on to have businesses and Bill would sometimes call on me. I was certain he didn’t remember our previous encounter because I had just been one of thousands of marks for him. I hadn’t forgotten, but just declined his offers.

Years later, Ed approached me with a deal. Bill’s business had grown to be quite large due to an economic trend and he decided to cash in while he was riding the wave. It still wasn’t making much money though and he needed us to fatten it up for the kill. I took that as he needed someone with my skills and was using Ed to get to me. A lot of people knew that Ed and I went way back to college and were good friends.

I told Ed that, given the reputation Bill had earned, it would be crazy to have anything to do with him. Ed agreed that it would appear that way. But, we would get a substantial cut of the amount that the sale price exceeded current value and he had one of the silk stocking law firms comb through the agreement he and Bill had hammered out, eliminating any loopholes. What he didn’t add was that his own recent business failure had put him into a hole and that he really needed this.

The money didn’t matter that much in my decision. I let Ed’s predicament cloud my judgment.

I could’ve written the script. We fattened the calf, Bill sold it and screwed us out of our money. Somewhat oversimplifying it, Bill sold the company to someone for the original value, so we weren’t due anything. Then, in behalf of the buyer, he resold it to someone else for a much higher price, with his commission being the difference, less whatever he kicked back to his conspirator.

We went through the dance. I had a lawyer threaten a suit we all knew would just drag on for years with the lawyers bleeding us white if carried through. Bill’s lawyer countersued and then offered us the go-away money to settle, which we did.

Bill got away with it because Ed hadn’t had the deal scrutinized by a high power corporate lawyer as he had told me. In his insolvency, he didn’t have the money to do that and just looked it over as best he could, thinking he had caught all the pitfalls. Ed told me he knew it was wrong to deceive me but he didn’t anticipate any harm would come of it.

After the deal, I never had anything to do with Ed again. With the current email exchange, I could tell he was using the death to seek some kind of absolution and asked for forgiveness and a cessation of ill will. I told him I bore him no ill will but didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

When you’re a dogt**d, you’re a dogt**d.

Think you have a bad job?

Some time ago, I wrote about the worst job I had ever seen. At the time, I was in college and willing to do about anything to earn an extra buck. So, I signed up for every study, blood donation or whatever that came along.

Responding to a bulletin board flyer, I showed up at a warehouse one morning. We were issued an unlabeled tube of a substance to smear under our arms and a clean t-shirt. We then worked diligently, shoveling sand from one pile into another until we had all worked up a good sweat.

Then, we lined up and a man with a clipboard went from one to another, asking us to lift our arms. He would lean forward to the armpit and take a deep sniff, making notes. I deemed that the worst job I ever saw.

But wait, we have a new champion. Yesterday, we attended a barbecue at a friend's house. DJ, his son, was home and I got to talk with him. He's a bright kid, studying to be a physician's assistant.

He's into rotations and I asked if he's encountered any interesting things for his memoirs. He said the ER has provided some fodder, but the weirdest thing came in his training.

They were instructed in how to give a prostate exam (the "magic finger"). Then, they were each provided with two subjects to do it on. These guys were paid to be subjects and also to give the students feedback, which DJ found especially bizarre when one told him he had particularly gentle hands.

Now that's a bad job.

Bizarro follow-up: eating the black bird

I received some emails asking how the unfinished deal in the last blog turned out. That just occurred this afternoon and I’ll take my crow well done, thank you.

I got up this morning and took my counterpart’s pulse. That is, I checked the counter on my online photo site. Someone had been hitting the pics of the kayak last night that I had offered to trade to him and also wandered around the site. It was most likely him, so he was still intrigued.

Noting that, I should’ve avoided making a similar mistake. I scrolled through the photos of his boat that he had emailed. Oh, jeez. That boat is so hot and an once-in-a-lifetime shot at a package that would approach five grand new. That is to say, not-in-a-lifetime for me, because I wouldn’t shell out near that much for a kayak I’d paddle part time. With the fleet I have, all boats get paddled part time. I gazed at the beautiful lines and construction and issued an audible moan. Doh! Shouldn’t be doing this. I’ll go off to the gym and burn off the boat lust, awaiting his succumbing to his own ardor.

I sped through the workout with visions of his kayak dancing in my head, quite sure his capitulation would await me in the email inbox before the morning was out. I quickly showered and checked my Droid. Yes! There it was. Good thing I stretched because it made it easier to pat myself on the back.

His email began with a repeat of the great sum he had paid for the boat and its accessories. Back to that again. Then he went into how his boat was universally acknowledged as the epitome of kayak design and was constructed of the most high tech materials, while mine was basically pedestrian. Whatever.

This wasn’t sounding good. More like he was dug in, which turned out to be the case. Except he was offering to meet me halfway location-wise to make the swap, which was something. He ended by saying that this was his final offer. Really. Really final. Absolutely final. Okay, I get it. He’s a little irked that I had baited him from his last final offer and he’s not going to lose another point regardless of what it costs him.

But, it was a little incongruent with what I had been reading. In this email, he had inadvertently revealed some personal data. That would enable me to do a web search and gain more perspective.

This yielded results including photo albums of his fleet, which was very impressive. Forget the plea of desperation. He was already sitting on a cache of expensive kayaks so it would be no big deal to him to wait out the winter. The money wasn’t all that important. And, as a footnote, his meandering around my web site probably told him much the same about me, leading to his hardened position.

Do I dig in my heels, which would probably scotch the deal with someone so intent upon winning? Do I walk away, playing for the draw? Or, do I give him the victory and drive away with the dreamboat?

Life’s too short, which was reinforced this week with the death of another high school classmate. Keep your eye on the prime objective, which is to get the boat, not win the game.

I took the deal.

Negotiating in the Bizarro World

It’s easy for Trump to write “the Art of the Deal.” He never had to negotiate with paddlers. It can get bizarre, although not when I’m dealing with friends. My objective there is more to help someone obtain a boat they’ll enjoy or unload one they don’t. Others receive no quarter, especially dealers.

I received an email from someone who had been surfing through some of my kayaking photos on the web. One of my boats had caught his eye and he wondered where I had bought it. I emailed him the information. He said that he was afraid of that because he had had a bad experience with that dealer. I wasn’t surprised.

He had seen them advertise some kayaks on the web and one snagged his attention. It was a high end boat and usually not cheap. He called and was told it was a demo and in like-new condition. They would deal on price. Since the location was several hundred miles away, he asked questions to pin that down. If you’re buying something across town and your idea of “like new” differs from the seller’s, no big deal. You either lower the offer or drive home to shop again another day. Trekking across several states is a different story.

He arrived, was taken to the kayak and it looked like it had been demoing dropping off high buildings. He was pretty upset with them but said their reaction appeared to be mostly puzzlement about his dismay. Cutting the price wasn’t part of their response.

I had received a similar promotion from them and seen a kayak I had some interest in. I was going to be traveling in the general area, so I called and was told I’d have to talk to Ned. He did all the deals. I waited and when no further communication was forthcoming, I asked to speak to Ned. “Oh, did you want to talk with him?” That should’ve been the tipoff.

The promotion read like they were desperate to liquidate their inventory so they could pay for merchandise for the upcoming season. Ned seemed less anxious than the ad copy. If we had been face-to-face, I would’ve put a spoon under his nose to see if he was breathing. I made an appointment to look at the kayak the next afternoon when I’d be passing through or, more accurately, doglegging my route to do so.

After a long day of driving, I located their place way back in the boonies. It was a series of cabins and sheds strewn through the woods. Kayaks and canoes were everywhere; stacked in piles, leaning against buildings and trees or just sitting on the ground. I entered the cabin closest to the parking lot a little before the appointed time and asked for Ned. I was told he was gone for the day. I said they must be mistaken because we had an appointment and they just shrugged. The concept seemed alien to them.

I asked if I could see the kayak. There were four employees standing there behind the counter and they looked at each other, obviously wanting someone else to pick up the ball. You guys are in the kayak sales business, aren’t you?

Finally, one young lady caved and told me to follow her. We hiked through the woods with her checking various caches of boats in search of our quarry. I deduced that inventory control was another unfamiliar practice.

We finally located it and I assisted her in unearthing it from the bottom of a pile. It was encrusted with mud and leaves and housed an extended family of overgrown spiders. Worst of all, it was pretty beat up, contrary to the description. The girl told me she thought it had been in their rental fleet, which is a little beyond what I consider a demo. Even though I was coming up this way anyway, I should’ve covered that better with Ned. Right after we discussed the purpose of an appointment.

Not wanting this to be a wasted side trip, I asked if there were any other boats of particular interest. She said they had some she thought were pretty good and I said I’d like to look at them.

In another clearing, there were two piles of boats, both of a very good brand. One pile had four kayaks that were way cool, three in excellent condition. I asked about the pricing and she said I’d have to talk to Ned. There were a dozen employees milling around this place and Ned was the only one who could sell? How could they do any business when he wasn’t there? The shrug. I asked when Ned would be in and she told me he was supposed to be there the next morning. Actually, he was supposed to be there now, per our appointment. But, I wouldn’t let that stand between me and a great boat.

I had come this far and these boats were pretty special. I found camping in the area and showed up the next morning, being mildly surprised to be told that Ned was in. Finally, I meet the man.

Not so fast. The clerk at the front desk disappeared into the back room of a cabin, returned and asked what I wanted with Ned. I told her we had had an appointment the previous day, but I was now interested in the pricing of the four kayaks the other girl had shown me. I’d like to speak with Ned about that. She went back behind the closed door.

If I had thought Ned would come bounding out to clasp hands with a hot prospect who would alleviate their cash crunch, I would be disappointed. She returned and gave me the prices on the kayaks. They were all priced the same (in spite of being different models and condition) and the amount wasn’t bad. In fact, it was lower than what he had quoted on the other boat of lesser quality and condition. Weird.

I was having trouble deciding between two of the boats and said I’d like to make an offer to Ned on one of them. She asked how much and trotted off. After a few minutes, she returned and informed me that Ned said the price was the price. I replied I could be interested in more than one if the deal was right. What would it be if I bought two boats? She made another round trip. Ned said to add the prices of the boats together and that’s the price of two boats. That Ned, what a player. I took only one. I didn’t want the second one enough to buy it without a deeper discount.

Last week, I tripped across a classified ad for a somewhat rare and exotic kayak. It was very upper echelon and one I would usually merely lust after in my heart. Just too much money for how much I would paddle it. The owner had added all kinds of goodies and the used price was still over the top. But, what made this appear viable was that he stated he would consider trades involving a particular model he wanted and I happen to own one. The stars had aligned. I was meant to possess this precious jewel.

Is this a windfall or what? He’s trying to sell a kayak that’s very expensive and challenging to paddle, severely limiting his market. But, he’ll barter for just one other kayak and I happened to have it. His odds of success are about 1:100,000 and I was that one. What a great situation.

Well, that relies upon some real world assumptions. I open negotiations and he immediately launches into how much he paid for the kayak (very high price, but he also inflated it) and all the things he added. Pity. But when you buy a boat with a limited market, the risk is yours to bear and not up to a buyer to bail you out. And don’t expect to recover your investment in the add-ons. Take your medicine and quit your whining. Of course, I didn’t say that as it wouldn’t advance the negotiation.

Instead, I pointed out the advantage of this being a great opportunity for him to liquidate it and come out with what he really wanted. He returned to the point I had tactfully sidestepped, noting the difference in the prices of our kayaks when they were new. True, but I had bought a boat that is a hot item and retained value. I didn’t say that, either. It’s more important to be a new owner than to prove you’re right.

It became apparent that he was into win-lose deals, with him the winner. Not the smartest strategy, especially in his position, but I’ve dealt with his ilk before. It’s not about cutting a fair deal, it’s about giving him a victory. The strategy is to negotiate with soft dollars.

His location was some distance away. But, it was on the way to somewhere I’d be going later in the month. So, I said that I’d make up the difference by driving to his place to make the switch, bearing the expense of the round trip, not to mention a full day of driving. The concept of me taking a hit piqued his interest, as anticipated. But the blood wasn’t quite tangible enough for him. He wanted me to do the delivery and pay him five hundred bucks. Really? How about you just eat your overpriced boat? I didn’t say that, either.

What tangible trophy could I provide him with to signify he had vanquished me? In another deal where I was the seller, someone had thrown in an exotic racing paddle for which I had little use. I offered that in lieu of the money he wanted. If he wanted to tap dance on my face, delivery and this should be enough.

That had some effect but he wanted the cash. He countered with the paddle and six hundred bucks. He said he had severely damaged his ankle and really needed the cash. Delivery, the paddle and the cash were his final offer.

Sorry about your ankle but not my problem. And, if you need money so much, why are you willing to trade out for a kayak? I didn’t say that, either.

Ignoring the final offer ploy, I said delivery and the paddle were as far as I could go. In consideration that he obviously had issues to deal with and needed to sell the boat, and had limited prospects for doing do, I’d give him three days to ponder all that before the offer expired.

Yeah, I did say that. You get to a point where bluntly drawing the line is the only recourse. But, we’re not done yet.

He responded he really had to deal with his ankle issue and thought we should put this on hold. His health situation had eclipsed this deal and he didn’t really care if he got my kayak or not at this point. He’d get back to me if things changed and in the meantime, he knew I’d understand if someone came along and gave him the full cash price for the boat. Of course, if I changed my mind, feel free to contact him.

So, we’re going to play who blinks first and he’s attempting to capture the high ground by claiming disinterest. That would work better for him if my web photo site didn’t show someone hitting pics of my kayak three times a day.

So, I’ll let him simmer until he either capitulates or winds up spending a long winter staring at a kayak he doesn’t want. In the meantime, it’s always an adventure swapping out boats.

Warts and Freckles

My father made a desk. It was the most magnificent piece of furniture I’d ever seen, seven feet high (with the bookshelves) and chock full of drawers, compartments, slide-out surfaces and other goodies.

Neighbors came from blocks away to see it as word spread. Yet, he never seemed quite contented. He’d mention flaws and recite a list of things he’d do differently when presented with the chance. No one else saw a thing wrong with it.

I must’ve inherited that from him, although not in woodworking. I recall doing the same thing with a car I built from the frame up and later my work in wordsmithing. I could probably come up with other examples without too much effort. In each case, my reaction to compliments was to think of what could’ve been better.

Today, the kayak I built made its “debut” among a large group of paddlers. They ooed and aahed over it. This time, I decided to just graciously accept it without pointing out the warts and freckles. It was a lot more enjoyable.

Eating Crow

The English make great kayaks. Flat out great. Period, end of story, over and out. I own two, have probably owned a half dozen and have a broad base of comparison. They know how to make a boat. No question about it.

This probably has little significance to you but it’s a crow eating admission for me. I worked on cars as a teenager. Not tinkered with, worked on. It was my job.

The English ones were a major pain in the butt. Yeah, many of the designs imported here were cool for the times and the interiors were pretty snazzy by our standards, but that was window dressing. They were the fussiest, crappiest and most cantankerous vehicles to work on and keep on the road. The mechanical aspects were horrible but didn’t even approach the depths of the electrical systems.

I flinched every time one rolled (or was pushed) into the shop. I just knew it would break down again soon and the owner might well blame us.

This created an indelible stain on my mind. I don’t think I could conceive ever owning anything made in England.

I didn’t violate that intentionally. I backed into it, acquiring some used kayaks without being aware that they were English-made. I couldn’t believe how well they were manufactured and performed.

The latest purchase was serendipitous. I was approaching a kayak expedition and had some qualms about using a fiberglass boat in an area that was largely granite, high winds and powerful waves. Not an ideal combination for the health of an expensive composite boat.

Days before the trip, a member of our paddling group posted a plastic sea kayak for sale at a very low price. Weighing the low cost of that against the potential damage to the fiberglass kayak would seem to make it a no-brainer, especially when I could easily sell the boat upon my return and recover the investment. But, do you really want to take a strange boat into those conditions, and one that was an older model?

The brand was Valley, one that I had never owned or even paddled. It’s English. I took a chance.

I arrived at the destination a day early to confer with an outfitter in the area. He was having a kayak sale and suggested I test paddle some, especially the Valley brand. He noted they did take some kinds of boats in trade, especially the Valley brand. I tried out a few and was absolutely hooked. They handled with absolute precision. The question wasn’t which one to buy. It was how many. I restrained myself to one.

So now I was in the situation of taking on Lake Huron with a kayak I had owned less than a day. Squalls, high winds and worse were forecast for the week. No sweat. I countered every challenge with a move and the kayak responded perfectly. Not even a close call.

That was the tipping point. I am now ready to surrender my bias against English goods. Prepare the black bird for the table.

I still wonder how they manage it. Perhaps being surrounded by water has something to do with it.

Metaphor of the Day

I was at the gym today, stretching next to a woman I had seen there often. We’ve seldom exchanged more than a quick greeting but my read of the cues is that she’s battled her way back from a bout with cancer and is staying with the program. She appears centered and gutsy.

I finished up and was about to move on when she said, “Light workout for you today. Is that because you were out for a while?” Aside from the relatively few people I work out with (in loose association, at that), there’s no one I notice anything about. I’m always surprised when someone makes an observation like this.

“Yes, I was away for a few weeks and don’t want to rush it too much getting back into shape. It comes hard but fades quickly.”

“It’s like water,” she replied. “Very difficult to push uphill but let up for moment and it rolls all the way down in a flash.”

Maiden Voyage

As chronicled in a previous blog, a friend of mine and I built skin-on-frame kayaks a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, hard on the heels of completion, we had scheduled a kayak expedition on northern Lake Huron, so we didn’t get to paddle them. Kind of like baking a cake from scratch and then you don’t get a taste.

I returned this past weekend to find a pile of to-dos and didn’t get to do the maiden voyage until yesterday. Since I was alone and had no idea how it would handle, I selected a benign park lake.

The first trick is getting into it. First of all, we built them to fit like a dress purchased six months ahead of a high school reunion with the resolution to crash diet 20 pounds. Secondly, you have to enter the narrow kayak while it is floating, as opposed to on solid ground and sliding in, which you might do with a plastic boat. Envision a brontosaurus trying to squeeze into bicycle pants while standing on a basketball.

I carried my kayak to the launch point, which was adjacent to the park’s playground. A brilliant emerald green and almost 18’ long, it was hardly inconspicuous. A host of little urchins in the playground urgently yanked on their mothers’ hands and pointed. I soon had an audience. Great, just what I needed.

The challenge then became mounting the skittish steed while answering incessant questions in rapid fire mode, and maintaining a friendly smile. The technique is to slide a paddle through the deck lines, establishing a minimal outrigger effect for some support. That would work if I was using a narrow Greenland paddle, for which the lines were designed. However, for the maiden voyage, I was using a wider Euro blade with which I was more comfortable doing a roll to upright a capsized boat. It did not fit under the deck lines. I could hold it across the deck, but the benefit was reduced.

I straddled the kayak and sat on the deck, just behind the cockpit opening. For the first time, I could sense the degree of stability afloat. What there was of it. This came as no surprise since you build these boats narrow. Devotees of this style tell you it’s up to the paddler to stay upright, not the boat. Right.

I gingerly lifted one leg, shifting some weight to counterbalance. So far, so good. Then, the other with a corresponding weight shift. With the small cockpit opening, you have to insert your feet simultaneously, which means one isn’t planted on the lake’s bottom for support. You have to wriggle in while balanced atop the tippy boat. The crowd held their breath or maybe it was just me.

Miracle of miracles, I was in. Now all I had to do was snap on the spray skirt over the rim. A simple task under normal conditions with any of my other boats. A feat with this one because every eye blink evoked a tilting of the deck. I clamped the paddle shaft under my arm for some bracing effect, gently worked the skirt and answered a hundred questions about what I was doing.

I was now sealed in and not inhaling lake water. The miracle continues. The kayak flicked from side to side in response to my overreactions to its shifts and tender balance. “Why is it doing that?,” came the chorus. I chose not to answer and just get under way. I don’t want to leave the impression that I’m putting this all on the kayak. There are paddlers who zip in and out of these things like hummingbirds. My skill set just happens to be skewed more toward eating pizza and washing it down with beer.

The paddling force steadied the keel and I was soon speeding across the lake. But there still wasn’t total joy in kayakville.

Normally, I would have my knees somewhat bent and splayed for balance. The position here was with legs together and straight out in front of me, like sitting on a 2x4. The low deck prevented any knee bend. The action of the paddle and dynamics of the hull in motion were keeping me upright.

I gained confidence with every stroke. Did I dare try a lean and turn? Ordinarily, that would entail lifting a knee against a brace, something that can be executed with control and accuracy. Not so here. It was something I had to do mostly with my pelvis; not a precision instrument.

I gave it a barely perceptible tilt and the side of the cockpit rim plunged to the waterline. Good to know it was responsive. Right.

The kayak carved a sharp arc as desired. Things were looking up and my paddling attitude was returning. I ran it through the gamut of maneuvers, getting more aggressive with each iteration. She responded like no boat I had ever paddled I felt like I was riding a thoroughbred, barely controlled by the reins.

Not all sweetness and light. I was already compiling a list of things to modify or that I would do differently on the next boat. With most kayaks, when you slide in (or out), your heels skid right over the smooth floor to facilitate this. Not so with a kayak that has ribs and a flexible hull material. I began to contemplate a solution. Also, with the tailored measurements, the back of the cockpit was near or against my spine, especially with layback maneuvers. Note to self: bone vs. oak; oak wins. I needed to alter the cockpit rim before it altered me. I suppose it’s a bit like your children. They may have a couple quirks, but they’re still yours and you love them. The kayak was bringing about that great boat grin.

I returned to the launch site and was grateful to find a dearth of spectators. I extricated myself with the grace of a crippled rhino, but managed not to take a swim.

I was racking her up on the truck when a man approached with his family. “Sure is pretty. Where do you get one of those?”

I told him there were several stores to buy manufactured kayaks. You could find one like this scouring the classified ads, but mostly, you built one, as I had. “Sure must feel great to paddle what you created.”

Sure does.