"...more than four Napoleons in length!"
Kayaks, to absurdly over-simplify, come in two flavors – long and short.
And they are born in their conditions for very good reasons, specifically related to their duties in life.
Some kayaks are short, shorter than Napoleon (who was actually taller than we give him credit for). They are very good at turning, but not going straight. Imagine paddling one of those twisty, turny kiddy bumper boats from the fair – exciting and maneuverable going through rapids, but rather frustrating over ten miles of open water.
Other kayaks are longer, sometimes more than four Napoleons in length! With keels, ridges, rudders and other devices that bite into the water and hold them on course, they’re great at going long, straight distances, but would turn through tight rapids about as well as you could slalom a dragster.
Both of these extremes, and the many combinations and variations along the spectrum, originate in boats built by the northern Aleuts and Inuits to hunt seals or penguins or ice or whatever they wanted to eat. Their sturdy, swift crafts were made of animal skin stretched over a framework of wood or bone.
Mine’s made of plastic, and takes a lot less dead seals to make. More on the blog: jderrickstar.blogspot.com….
My family has one about 14 feet long (two Napoleons and maybe a penguin or two) and it’s blue (maybe the color of Napoleon’s eyes, or maybe not). It leans towards the cruising end of the kayak spectrum, tracking pretty straight and with a couple of hatches for gear.
It’s also got a cupholder, which I imagine is pretty handy on extended whale-hunting expeditions.
While some of the shorter whitewater boats are so compact the space for your legs is actually molded into the hull (apparently you sometimes even select a boat based on your inseam measurement…) our boat has plenty of room to stretch out and move around. In compromise, the hole in the hull where you sit, the cockpit, is pretty large.
On a lot of kayaks the hole in the top of the boat in which one sits is pretty small, allowing you to wear a special waterproof “skirt” that fits snuggly around you and loops over the rim of the cockpit, keeping water out.
This actually allows you to roll the boat upside down (kayaks are a little more tipsy than the QEII) and quickly bring it back right side up, a trick known as the “Eskimo roll.” But if you mess up, as I’ve been prone to do, you can always just tug the skirt from the boat and you’re free (though upside down and underwater) in an instant.
For the original kayakers, hanging inverted in icy water, sewn into their snug boats, a “wet exit,” if even possible, wasn’t a fun option. So they learned to roll their boats.
I haven’t tried rolling mine. I’ve rolled little whitewater numbers in a pool before but I’ve fortunately never had to roll one in the wild and don’t even have a skirt for my family’s boat, which we just use for relatively flatwater cruising.
Down east a few weeks ago, on North Carolina’s watery end where the North American continent frays into sea, I got to go on a few short cruises. And next week I’ll get to write about them.
And yes, I know penguins live in the southern hemisphere. It was a joke.
And they are born in their conditions for very good reasons, specifically related to their duties in life.
Some kayaks are short, shorter than Napoleon (who was actually taller than we give him credit for). They are very good at turning, but not going straight. Imagine paddling one of those twisty, turny kiddy bumper boats from the fair – exciting and maneuverable going through rapids, but rather frustrating over ten miles of open water.
Other kayaks are longer, sometimes more than four Napoleons in length! With keels, ridges, rudders and other devices that bite into the water and hold them on course, they’re great at going long, straight distances, but would turn through tight rapids about as well as you could slalom a dragster.
Both of these extremes, and the many combinations and variations along the spectrum, originate in boats built by the northern Aleuts and Inuits to hunt seals or penguins or ice or whatever they wanted to eat. Their sturdy, swift crafts were made of animal skin stretched over a framework of wood or bone.
Mine’s made of plastic, and takes a lot less dead seals to make. More on the blog: jderrickstar.blogspot.com….
My family has one about 14 feet long (two Napoleons and maybe a penguin or two) and it’s blue (maybe the color of Napoleon’s eyes, or maybe not). It leans towards the cruising end of the kayak spectrum, tracking pretty straight and with a couple of hatches for gear.
It’s also got a cupholder, which I imagine is pretty handy on extended whale-hunting expeditions.
While some of the shorter whitewater boats are so compact the space for your legs is actually molded into the hull (apparently you sometimes even select a boat based on your inseam measurement…) our boat has plenty of room to stretch out and move around. In compromise, the hole in the hull where you sit, the cockpit, is pretty large.
On a lot of kayaks the hole in the top of the boat in which one sits is pretty small, allowing you to wear a special waterproof “skirt” that fits snuggly around you and loops over the rim of the cockpit, keeping water out.
This actually allows you to roll the boat upside down (kayaks are a little more tipsy than the QEII) and quickly bring it back right side up, a trick known as the “Eskimo roll.” But if you mess up, as I’ve been prone to do, you can always just tug the skirt from the boat and you’re free (though upside down and underwater) in an instant.
For the original kayakers, hanging inverted in icy water, sewn into their snug boats, a “wet exit,” if even possible, wasn’t a fun option. So they learned to roll their boats.
I haven’t tried rolling mine. I’ve rolled little whitewater numbers in a pool before but I’ve fortunately never had to roll one in the wild and don’t even have a skirt for my family’s boat, which we just use for relatively flatwater cruising.
Down east a few weeks ago, on North Carolina’s watery end where the North American continent frays into sea, I got to go on a few short cruises. And next week I’ll get to write about them.
And yes, I know penguins live in the southern hemisphere. It was a joke.
posted by John Derrick | 9:24 PM
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