Journal

Surfski 101

I have had several people ask me about surfski. Actually, let me be more honest — I may have held them hostage to my explanations of the sport. Either way, if you are reading this, you have some interest. So let's unpack it.

Surfskis are incredibly well-designed open water kayaks. They are light, which is a particular plus for women. Compared to a sea kayak which typically weighs 40+ pounds (and these are the lightest and most expensive layups), surfskis weigh 20 pounds at the lightest layups. As a woman, I can single-handedly affix my surfski to my Jeep, lift it easily in and out of the water, and just get around alone without the need for assistance. For safety reasons it is always best to have a buddy, but I find the ability to be self-sufficient with transport a huge plus, regardless.

Other realities of kayaking like accidental submersion happen. A surfski can be remounted, and draining happens from a mechanism inside called a scupper. Surfskis are made with the expectation that the bucket of the craft fills up and can be drained from ocean waves. A leg leash keeps the boat with you if you get knocked off or lose your balance. This is different from a sea kayak, which you must be able to roll in similar circumstances. While the remount itself is not a simple matter, it can be learned and practiced for a high success rate every time. This maneuver does require some getting used to and reasonable upper body strength, but the secret is using leverage. Here is my 4-step process:

1. Align your body perpendicular to the boat with legs outstretched and belly facing down.
2. Grab the opposite end of the boat facing you with your left hand, also grasping your paddle. Your right hand goes inside the boat on the side closest to you, with your fingers toward the rail and palm against the bucket (seat). Use leverage from both palms — they should be facing away from each other — to create tension.
3. Do one simple hop testing the tension to get your chest almost over the opposing side of the boat. You should be lying on top of the boat like a pancake. At this point, breathe and relax.
4. Once ready, with one forceful kick, use the tension in your palms to flip your body over with your rump aligned to the bucket. Focus only on getting one leg in first. Then paddle a few strokes to stabilize and insert the other leg.

It is my opinion that you should practice remounts in the roughest conditions you expect to encounter. By doing so, you prepare yourself for the worst scenario before you ever arrive there. It is also good to practice in cold water — or as cold as you expect to be submerged in. I recommend attempting this initially where you can stand, and gradually increasing the depth. Always do this with a friend or with a safety boat nearby if possible.

Dressing for Success

If you do not paddle in tropical waters, you should be thinking about appropriate gear. Cotton is an absolute no. You should be in technical materials such as wool or polyester. My preferred material is wool. In cold water, you should have a dry suit if you paddle anywhere away from shore. Hypothermia is a real risk if you submerge and then need to paddle back to a dock. Layers are incredibly helpful — it is not pleasant to paddle when you are too cold. Poagies that go over the paddle itself protect your hands. Also consider socks under your dry suit and neoprene booties for your feet. Extremities get cold fast.

Washing Your Boat

It is very important to rinse your boat if paddling in salt water. I have seen people who do not have public docks with water or hoses use gallon jugs and garden watering cans to rinse their equipment. Don't forget to rinse your PFD and paddle too.

Essential Gear

I paddle with a Braca IV Oscar Chalupsky paddle or an Epic paddle for 20km+ distances due to the stiffness of a sprint paddle. I typically wear Giant Fish base layers with Vaikobi or a dry suit on top, dressing to weather. I always have a Vaikobi leash for my boat, my phone in a waterproof case, and Bone Conduction Shokz headphones in case I need to make an emergency call. For longer paddles or any weather, a marine radio or PLB is a must. I keep water in my PFD (also Vaikobi), along with Cliff Blocks or some other dense calories in the front pouch.

Learning Form

It took me two years to get my paddling form technically correct — not perfect. Using leg drive initially is very challenging when you are still finding your balance. It is best to approach form in layers. However, rotation and leg drive are what make speed and distance possible. Technique is the most important investment for any paddler. I recommend doing a clinic with someone like myself or any seasoned paddler to understand the physics and work on it repeatedly.

Reasonable Expectations

Paddling long distances felt absolutely impossible at first — but it always got easier, 1km at a time. I thought a 5k was hard. Then it became easy. Then I thought a 10k was hard, and then it became easy too. You would not expect to ride the Tour de France on your first day on a bike. Paddling a surfski is the same.

Mounting Your Boat

I use Goodboy Paddle Racks and love this company — the owner is fantastic. I strongly recommend them along with additional tie-downs around the racks. This itself could be a whole post, but you do not want to lose a boat on the freeway. I also use Leonard Group Insurance just in case. Traveling with your boats carries risk but also great reward. Paddling new waters and racing in different places will make you a better paddler.

Fun

A lot of people forget this part. You are out there to be in nature, have fun, and use your wonderful body. There is competition, yes, but first and foremost is fun. There is some suffering with surfski — but it should be a good pain.

Races Worth Knowing (Pacific Northwest)

• Gorge Downwind Champs — the ultimate surfski downwind experience (something to build up to)
• Paddler's Cup — great for learning in a safe harbor
• Narrows Challenge — great for learning currents
• Sound Rowers Races — great mix of crafts

Get out there and enjoy. Feel free to email me at danitraphagen@gmail.com with questions or for lessons.

Mile 182

I started the day with great enthusiasm. I was driving on the main road to Jackson, Wyoming from the Tetons. I did not know the sadness which awaited me. This sadness has been shared by many people like me, in many places around our world.

As a wildlife photographer, I scout for animals naturally. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a lone bison on the side of the road.

Hopeful as it was, my mind tricked me into thinking this bison was sleeping. The lack of movement and singular herd animal perplexed me for a moment.

Then I realized — someone had hit this animal. There were fresh tire scrapes and marks on the road around the scene. The lack of animation from this large creature ravaged my mind. I noticed the mile marker: 182. Not too far from it was another sign, but this one had a cruel irony.

"Warning: Wildlife crossing," it read, with an image of a bison on it. I regret not photographing this scene, but it was too raw.

I was coming off the heels of loss. I lost my mother the preceding year to lung failure. More than that, I lost a small friend I had made.

I met this porcupine in Homer, Alaska near the Land's End resort. It was bright for such a nocturnal being. The creature hobbled about the beach munching on fresh foliage. It was completely unbothered by me as I mindfully approached. I could not help but fall in love with the gentle munching. I took the photos with delight. It was the first time I had seen a porcupine — and also the first time I had really seen a porcupine. I grew to value every detail while editing the pictures. Those moments felt like a treasure.

I returned to Alaska not long afterwards — approximately one month later. On my way to get coffee in the morning at the end of the spit, I saw my porcupine again.

It was dead on the side of the road.

This hit me harder than I expected. Was it the loss of my mother playing out in a different story? Was it collective grief from a declining climate? I am not sure of the origins of my deep sense of mourning. But mourn I did.

I know I am not the first person to highlight this issue, but I hope I will not be the last.

Mile 182 is about that pain. It represents the severe and rapid decline of wild biomass on earth — a reduction of 73% over the past 50 years.

Mile 182 is about the lacking recognition of every animal we strike.

Mile 182 is about the one million animals we strike in the US alone each year.

Mile 182 is a makeshift gravestone in a world that lacks reflection.

After the bison were struck, the herd was nowhere to be seen for a few days. After some hiding, they returned to the main road. They labored over a fence while we all watched. I saw their fear as when they met the road they began to run — as if they knew, when their hooves met the pavement. That moment hit me just as sharply as the lifeless forms I had seen driving by.

It was not long after this that I brought myself to photograph roadkill. Near the Moran entrance, within the park boundaries of the Teton range, a skunk lay. I could see a reflection in its lifeless eyes.

I saw this animal for what it was — a once living being that had a story, and maybe even a family. Skunks are not beloved, but I find them beautiful, worth saving, and worth seeing. Whether behind the wheel or behind the lens, I will see them.

I hope they never find Mile 182.

Waking with the Wapiti Pack

The morning sun rose with the thermal waves from the hot earth. Bison stood steadfast in the frost. Little did I know that other wondrous creatures were slowly waking in the snow. Amidst the Fountain Flats ahead, a single wolf lay asleep on the snowy road. Then to the right, center and left, more wolves awoke. They stretched and did their rituals. We listened quietly as they began to serenade the valley with their howls, signing in for the morning.

It was then that my brain processed that we were 270 degrees surrounded by the Wapiti pack. This was not one wolf in the road, this was the entirety of them. They had slept there having pushed the bison herd up river. We watched predator and prey in their dance at dawn. The wolves approaching them with evaluation. The bison both bothered and unbothered by their presence as they drifted further into the geothermal mist.