In my case, the cockiness had set in long before we passed the first of a half-dozen outfitters on the winding two-lane road that cuts through steep kudzu-carpeted hills on the way to Nantahala Outdoor Center outside Bryson City. Given my comfortable relationship with water over the years, I assumed learning kayaking would be a cinch. A few days in the river, and I’d be ripping Class IV (advanced) rapids with my Colorado-tested paddling pal in no time.
As for my wife, Kim, she knew enough to be apprehensive from the get-go. But not moi. It would take more than the mere prospect of rushing down a river suspended upside down in a careening plastic missile to stun me back to reality — the reality being that kayaking, while a potential blast, is a dangerous, high-impact activity, one that requires better-than-average balance, a strong back, quick thinking and a certain come-what-may aggressiveness.
Day 1: Nature vs. commerce
It was warm for April. The temperature was still hovering in the low 80s when we pulled into Nantahala Outdoor Center at around 6pm. The center was founded 27 years ago by three friends and could hardly be called a modest operation. Its headquarters resemble a tiny village, with two restaurants, an outfitter’s store and comfortable cabin and hostel-style lodging. The employee-owned company offers the gamut of outdoor activities: whitewater rafting, nationally recognized canoe and kayak instruction, mountain biking, and more.
The place was buzzing with mountain bikers gearing up for a weekend race when we checked into our simple, well-maintained cabin on a rise overlooking the Nantahala River, which winds right though the facility. We’d enrolled in Rapid Progressions, the center’s newest clinic for novice kayakers, which includes basic instruction in whitewater paddling, lodging and three meals a day. Though other Rapid Progressions offerings last as long as two weeks, we opted for the weekend cram course.
Over dinner, we settled in with our instructor, Anne Sontheimer (a chatty Gettysburg, PA native whose grandfather invented the Cuisinart), and fellow students: Scott Stencil, a reserved techie from Hillsborough; and John and Jonathan Anderson, an eastern Kentucky father-and-son pair with accents as thick as chilled maple syrup. All of us, it turns out, were novice kayakers.
Day 2: Roll With It
We spent about an hour gathering our gear: kayak, paddle, lifejacket, spray skirt (worn just above the waist, it attaches to the kayak to keep water out), booties, Neoprene top and shorts, dry top, helmet, and nose clips. Then we headed to nearby Fontana Lake for the day to learn the basics.
First myth bashed: Paddling is an easy, effortless activity. Because of their flat bottoms, kayaks have a tendency to drift to one side or another after just a few strokes, so you spend most of your time “correcting” to stay in a reasonably straight line.
Second myth bashed: the Eskimo roll (named after its originators, the Inuit people) is a breeze to learn. There are several types, but the one which Sontheimer favors, the C-to-C Roll, is the easiest to teach.
Not that it was any consolation to us as we flailed about in the murky lake water, struggling to resurface after tipping over. Once upside down, the “hip snap” is what propels the kayak and its human contents upright. Unfortunately, it requires movements that run contrary to instinct. That explains why some kayakers go years before perfecting their roll — and why none of us pulled one off.
On the other hand, none of us had a problem with the wet exit — a simple matter of pulling the handle of your spray skirt when upside down, thereby releasing it (and you) from the kayak. Spray skirts can be removed without the handle, something I found out later as I squirmed out of a kayak during a roll attempt.
Day 3: Rock Magnet
Time to hit the river. Actually, the Tuckasegee — a Class I (easy) river overall with occasional Class II (novice) rapids — is more like an oversized stream. Soon enough, we faced our first Class II rapid, where the current funneled through a relatively thin space between some larger rocks.
Kim, bless her heart, made it without a hitch. But I leaned back too far, lost my balance and took a headfirst spill into the churning pool below. Suddenly I found myself upside down in the chilly water, my helmeted head bumping harmlessly against a rock as I tucked toward the kayak and pulled the handle on my spray skirt. Before I knew it, I was floating upright in the current, my paddle and kayak floating serenely down the river in front of me. With some guidance from Sontheimer, it was an easy swim to an eddy (calm pools that form near the banks of a river), where I drained my kayak and was back on the water with the others in no time.
Alas, this mishap would set the trend for the rest of my river experience. While I did make it through all but one of the remaining six or so rapids without incident, I spent a lot of my time pinballing off what seemed like every rock in that particular stretch of the Tuckasegee. It was so bad, in fact, that even Sontheimer, an extremely patient and empathetic instructor with seven years of experience, couldn’t help ribbing me about it.
A rock was to blame for another tumble, at which point I resigned myself to the fact that this just wasn’t my day. And though every one of us found ourselves upside down at least once, by day’s end, I’d managed to get wetter than anyone — three rollovers in all. My lovely wife suffered just one.
All in all, I came away from my first kayaking experience a little shell-shocked and considerably more humbled than when I’d arrived. For Kim, it was almost the opposite: She went in nervous, and left all smiles. As for who was more clueless, you do the math. *
Nantahala Outdoor Center offers six different Rapid Progressions courses through October. Prices range from $395 for weekend courses to $3,750 for the 14-day Platinum Package, which includes a trip to Costa Rica. The center is located at 13077 Highway 19 West in Bryson City, NC. Call 800-232-7238 or visit www.noc.com.
This article appears in May 15-21, 2002.
