Go figure

The first whitewater kayak I bought was discounted in a clearance sale. The discount was significant and the literature made it sound like the perfect boat. It was a dog.

Not just any dog. Years later, I would come across a list of the ten worst whitewater kayaks ever produced and it was on it. I should’ve looked around the river and taken a cue that no one else was paddling one, or even that brand. It was a bear to sell. Lesson learned.

That isn’t to say I’ve never bought an oddball boat since. In fact, I have an affinity for them. But, I made sure I paid next to nothing.

Going into this year, I resolved to boil down the fleet. I made a list of the cuts and five out of the six were the orphans. Good luck on that.

So, here I sit today and the popular boat is the only one I have left. Go figure.

The first boat to go was an absolute wreck I bought with the intention of restoring it. The brand was somewhat popular when I bought one way back when, but has fallen out of favor. I picked it up on a nostalgia fling, put some hours into it and the cost:benefit ratio began to loom before my eyes. Fortunately, I found someone handy who enjoys projects. Chalk that one up.

While I’m on the subject of nostalgic error, I went to look at a canoe some months ago. I quickly saw that it was not what I wanted. But, it was a canoe I had owned almost 30 years before. Not, like that canoe. That was the canoe. Caught up on the crest of a wave of emotion, I made an offer, albeit a low one. The guy was glad to get rid of it.

The rapture of the reunion lasted a few days. Now what? I’m not going to paddle it. Designs have evolved a lot so who’s going to want a canoe that old? Lady Luck smiled upon me and I found a “they-don’t-make-them-like-they-used-to” paddler.

Then, there was the “Batboat.” The design was so radical, it immediately called batman to mind. I first came across it about five years ago. The owner wanted around $500. That’s a lot more than I’m going to be able to get out of an oddball, so I didn’t even nibble.

Gradually, he began to come down in his ads. I was going to be passing through his city on vacation and offered him $300 if he met me where I was staying when I was there. He essentially told me to insert it into a body cavity.

Over the next year, the price continued to drop. It got down to $275, but wasn’t worth the trip just for that. Then, it disappeared.

About six months later, it resurfaced in another town in the same state. I assumed it was the new owner. The asking price was $175. I could think of other things down there I could do. I went down, looked at it and offered $125 as a start of a negotiation. He took it.

I had a pretty good idea why he couldn’t wait to dump it. Unless you’re a competitive paddler, it would punish you on the river. I was just messing with it at the pool for practice and honing skills.

However, the design was so extreme that what I did to throw that boat around in the pool did not transfer well to my other boats or the river. I decided to sell it. I put $350 out as a feeler, since it might be worth that to a hardcore playboater. I could always put it on the block again for a hundred or more less.

I had all kind of interest from people who were enamored with the looks. But, none of them had the skills. So, I either scared them off or outright declined their offers.

Even though it was a very specialized boat, I took a flyer and put it on a generic classifieds site. It got a hit. He showed up and regaled me with his tales of paddling heroics. I had my doubts. So, I discouraged him with an account of its difficult traits. He brushed them aside stating that, if I could paddle it, he certainly could. All righty then.

While I had at least 20 years on him, that was quite an assumption. And, he endeared himself further by tipping his hand. This was more about winning the joust than acquiring the boat. I allowed him to beat me for $300. In other words, the price of being a schmuck is about $100.

The next boat was a very specialized design, intended for running a race on the Green River. It was a creeker (intended for fast steep whitewater), but sacrificed the stability that genre usually possesses in favor of speed. I enjoyed playing with it but the novelty wore off. As luck would have it. Someone who races the Green River found me.

The final oddball was made in Germany. The Teutonic like to blow mold their kayaks resulting in a strong and rigid hull. This also produces a halo effect. That is, people can become enamored at that significant aspect and overlook the flaws. I succumbed to that myself. Their designs are archaic and the outfitting seems to reflect that punishment is a badge of honor. You don’t see a whole lot of them on the water. Take a hint.

The design of this one attracted me. It was very fast and had hard edges for quick carving. Those traits could also rise up and bite you. I fended off a lot of suitors for it, knowing that they’d be in over their heads.

One would not be deterred. He assured me he understood the parameters and kept at me. Sold.

That leaves the one boat I thought would be the first to sell. Go figure.