Kaua’i Kayak Redemption

During a family reunion vacation in Hawai’i, organized by Erin’s mom and dad, Erin and I went sea kayaking off the coast of the island of Kauaʻi, where we stayed. It was one of our first trips together. It was 2003 and I don’t think we’d celebrated our 1-year anniversary yet.

I had booked us a guided group tour. The tour consisted of travel by sea kayak (with no outrigger or ama) from the starting point to the ending with the current carrying us along in our favor. We wouldn’t have to work hard. Or so I thought.

Before we started to paddle, the guide gave us safety tips, including guidance to prevent or recover from the kayak tipping over. Our group was about 9-10 kayaks. Most were singles. Ours, a double with Erin in front and me in tandem behind. We may have been the only ones in a double, I don’t remember for sure.

Once we started paddling, I mentally rehearsed (thanks to my internal risk manager) what I’d do if the thing tipped over.

Although not a swimmer, I wasn’t afraid. I trusted the life-vest we all had to wear to keep me safe. Plus Erin was an aquatic creature, with expert-level scuba diving experience and size 13 feet which he referred to as “flippers.”

But I wanted the security of hanging onto the kayak. Would the current be strong enough to separate me from the kayak and carry me to Tahiti? How would we spot our floating paddles in the rolling sea? I figured I could at least scramble on top of the overturned kayak if sharks started circling.

I still remember the scene from the movie Jaws when the old man who was the guide shared his story about surviving the feeding frenzy when his ship was sunk by enemy forces in the Pacific in World War II and hundreds of survivors floated for days while being picked apart by sharks until the remaining survivors were finally rescued. The ship was the USS Indianapolis. The story of its sinking and aftermath is true.

I looked for possible handholds on the kayak.

I noticed a wire cord running along the perimeter of the kayak. It ran through eyelets that kept the cord in place. I grabbed and pulled on the wire to see if it would dislodge — it felt secure. So my plan, should we tip over, was to grab the wire and hang on.

We left the cove and got out into the ocean swells. Big ones (to me), but gentle in frequency and speed. We seemed to be doing ok, with a workable cadence to our paddle strokes and keeping up with the group. A swell came and lifted us while we were at a sub-optimal angle. Our balance destabilized and the kayak started tipping over.

I grabbed the wire on the side that was tipping up, just like I’d rehearsed in my mind. This resulted in me PULLING the kayak the rest of the way over. 🤣

Erin, concerned about me, dove underwater to pop up beside me. But I was fine, still grabbing onto that wire as I floated. My hair wasn’t even wet.

Then we had to get back on.

The tour guide paddled next to us to provide coaching on rightsizing the kayak and getting back on as ocean swells rolled beneath, lifting and lowering. We flipped the kayak upright. Then struggled to pull ourselves aboard one at a time while the other tried to stabilize the craft. We started paddling again to rejoin the group. Not a big deal. Happens all the time, hence the tour guide’s speech about it on the front end.

Soon, we flipped again. And again. And again. In one instance, we got the kayak stable for all of 1.5 seconds before we went in the water again. The rest of the group had moved on and sat on their kayaks waiting for us to get it together. I imagined their facial expressions said, “I hate you!”

I didn’t see anyone else tip over their kayak.

We finally got our technique working in a complimentary way and rejoined the group.

The final challenge was a beach landing in surf. Waves crashed onto the shore and pounded spray into the air. The guide gave us instructions on timing our approach with the waves and the optimal technique to land the kayak in the sand.

We were last in line to try the beach landing. We observed the guide demonstrate the technique successfully. He waved the group from the beach to proceed one at a time.

We watched every single one of the other kayaks (9 or 10 of them) crash their landings in various ways. Like flipping over and being rolled by a wave onto the sand. A few times, we had to laugh.

We discussed what we observed about the failures and fine-tuned our strategy. This was our chance to make up for our previous display of poor seakayakship.

Finally, it was our turn for the attempt with the rest of the group serving as an audience from shore. We executed that beach landing perfectly! As if we’d grown up on the island and done it a thousand times.

The entire time, my hair never got wet and my face never went in the water. Erin always got a laugh out of remembering this part. 🤣

Now, almost 23 years later as I think about this story, I’m glad for the metaphor. We may not have begun as experts at staying upright on a 2-person sea kayak in ocean swells (with no outrigger to stabilize) but we sure as hell developed skill at getting right back onboard, as partners, and sticking the landing.

And that seems like a skill worth celebrating. 🙌