Knowing a Boat

Janell and I cherished the hundreds of steps adding up to the finished whole of our wood strip canoe. The result is a piece of finely crafted furniture like what you won’t find at Ikea. It is handsome to look at.

But…a canoe isn’t just for looks. A canoe moves through water. How a canoe moves results from its shape, and the shape of a canoe results from compromises. Short boats turn quickly. Long boats go fast. Some boats are tippy, some are stable. You can spend a lot of time designing a perfect boat, but you really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s built.

Here’s an example; There’s a distressing story about a Scout troop that built boats out of PVC pipe and tyvek. They assumed a canoe only has to look like a canoe for it to behave like a canoe. They launched on a multi-day, down-river camping trip.

Within three hours, rescue teams retrieved everyone on the trip, minus boats.

Boat design is hard. There are lots of ways to screw it up and produce a useless canoe. It can look great, but….

Proper Party Etiquette

I have more opinions about canoes than most people want to hear. Like other topics I don’t discuss at parties, the pros and cons of canoe performance are something I avoid in mixed company. If you can’t see the obvious problems in the photo to the right, we’re better off discussing the appetizers than river keels versus lake keels and why ABS is better than aluminum.

I have friends that discuss trucks. V8 vs V6, F150 vs F250, Ford vs Chevy vs GMC. I’m trying, really trying, to educate myself so I can take part in these bar discussions. But I lose focus then order more deep-fried cheese curds. I assume it’s the same problem people have with me when I pontificate about the Zen of paddling.

So forgive me for this self-indulgent posting. I’ll try to keep it interesting.

Four Days, Three Nights

As we built the canoe, we had clues about performance. This canoe was exceptional, but to really know we had to spend some time with it on the water.

Janell and I took the boat on a Willamette River trip from Eugene to Buena Vista. Seventy-five miles, four days, three nights. We carried three Duluth packs (equipment and two personals), a cooler (because we don’t have to portage), a camp kitchen (because it’s cool and we can), and a food pack with way too much food (because who wants to starve?)

Paddling Fast Water

Near Eugene, the Willamette is pushy and a rock garden with submerged trees providing ample opportunities to drown inner-tubers without lifejackets. It’s level two whitewater; a boring paddle for short play boats. A play boat with lots of rocker and no keel behaves like a Border Collie at a sheep herding competition, sponsored by the ADHD foundation and catered by Black Death coffee Brewers. Navigating a loaded seventeen-foot canoe requires planning ahead.

In a lake, you point the bow where you want to go, then paddle. Simple. But “Point and paddle” on a river doesn’t work. On a river, you must understand how the current is moving in relation to an obstruction, set the angle of the boat, and work together (bow and stern). It’s disconcerting to come down river broadside to a tree stump. But that’s the correct line; at the right time, bow and stern dig in, and the canoe slips past the big ugly. Fast water paddling involves strategic placement and paddling bursts.

Our canoe has no keel, and it willingly pivots around the center point. Janell and I made more than one last-minute decision to go in a different direction, and the canoe cooperated.

At one bridge just upstream from Harrisburg, a large snag of trees had piled up in front of a pier (decorated with abandoned inner tubes from previous failed attempts). We planned to go to the right of the blockage, but as we got closer, we saw a gravel bar blocked the right channel. We had no choice other than to swing left and thread our way along with a majority of the current. The canoe was fine with the change in plans; we set a line and encouraged the move with a few strokes. No muss, no fuss.

Don’t get the impression everything was water under the boat. We ran over a few gravel bars and went over an unexpected ledge. The canoe has some scratches, and I have to make some repairs. But it’s still waterproof, the shape of the boat held together, and there are no alarming cracks.

Paddling Flat Water, of a sort

Past Norwood Island, the Willamette River settles down. It still flows at 5 knots, but no longer presents as many snags and gravel strainers. My notes describe it as “pastoral.”

We were now in slow water, much more like paddling in a lake. It’s contemplative and soothing. Look up “movement meditation” for a clinical description of what happens when you paddle with a well-matched partner. Janell and I can paddle all day without switching sides. I’m not exaggerating.

Of course, the boat you are in has a lot of influence. Longer boats, or something with a keel, will want to go straight. Maintaining a line requires nothing more than minor corrections and matching the stern and bow’s strength and pace.

I don’t understand why, but this boat is easy to keep in a straight line. It’s fast, and it goes where you want; straight or turn. We’ve tried to find the designer and to ask them questions; so far, no luck and we can only guess at the design compromises.

Old Town, Seliga, Northstar, Grumman.

I’ve paddled a fair number of canoes. Eighteen-foot Chestnut wood and canvas canoes with lake keels are the freighters of the north woods. Challenging to flip and portage, they lumber along with persistence. Landing requires planning; they will happily plow forward into granite rocks unless you have a preliminary conversation about slowing down and eventually stopping. Turning is just not an option.

On the other end of the canoe continuum is a sixteen-foot (or seventeen-foot) ABS Old Town Tripper with no keel. I took a sixty-day trip in the Northwest Territories with three seventeen-foot Old Town ABS boats. We had lots of gear, and lots of whitewater. It’s different than a twelve-foot whitewater play boat – but it was perfectly willing to stop, back-up, turn, and push through a standing wave.

In between are lots of other boats. Seligas (17-foot wood and canvas) are sturdy (heavy) and have good momentum. Grumman aluminum boats are noisy, heavy, durable, and traditional. I hope I never have to paddle one again. Northstar makes a great kevlar boat, Wenonah makes a light-weight boat with saddles; I never liked them.

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Alas, I am doing that which I promised to avoid. There are a few individuals who would read an article about canoe shapes. But here’s the deal; this canoe is a manifestation of our relationship; Janell and I have worked hard at being a couple. Our relationship has imperfections, but we continue to delight in our journey together.

Try this; re-read this story, substituting “Mark and Janell” in place of “canoe.”

No wonder I cherish the hundreds of steps adding up to the finished whole of our “wood strip canoe.”

On Being Scared

Ah…kayaking. Beneath my calm, commanding exterior, it scares me. The thought of dumping in surf, falling out of my boat or blowing a roll and having to wet-exit fills my core with anxiety. It shouldn’t, but it does.

Recently I took part in a group paddle at the Willamette Falls. The trip is billed as “Challenge By Choice.” You can paddle up and watch the pretty falls, or you can stick your bow in the fast and troubled waters surging out of the power station bypass. The latter involves some bouncy water and a potential for getting dumped.

Logically, I know I’m totally safe. Dumping means I get wet, then someone helps me get back in my boat. There are no nasty keeper waves and I’m surrounded by competent paddlers who would love nothing better than to practice their rescue skills. The biggest danger is being impaled by the several kayaks that converge on the swimmer; everyone wants to be the hero.

But that’s not enough for my limbic system. All it knows is fear, and it tweaks every bio-chemical response to make sure I know I’m surely going to die. Honestly, I almost told the trip leader I just can’t do this. There’s a hole in my boat, my arm hurts, I need to get an emergency haircut, anything but DROWNING IN THE FALLS.

We start with practice bracing, sculling, and rescues. I tell my rescue partner I’m going to test my kayak roll, then I’ll wet-exit so we can do the rescue. Guess what—my roll is picturesque. “That’s a very confident roll,” says my partner. I smile. The rest of the rescue practice proceeds with precision. I’m out of the boat and back in less than a minute. Take that limbic system.

We paddle up to the falls, and I find I know these waters. I’ve done this before; whirlpools, boils, eddy lines and current. My hyperactive limbic system and I settle into the challenge. Yep—this isn’t so scary.

But you know what—it is scary. Even when I tell myself it isn’t, it still is. And I’m not the only person worried about the waves, tides, and current. It’s normal. It’s years of survival instincts telling you not to jump off that cliff, not to swim in fast water, not to handle power tools; all because OH MY GOD THIS IS DANGEROUS.

You can do hard things

I think needles are scary and dangerous. I don’t enjoy having them stuck in my body. It’s an irrational fear; nothing bad is going to happen. But it makes me light-headed just thinking about it.

I decided this was something I didn’t want to carry around, so I volunteered to give blood at the Red Cross. The first time was terrifying. The second time was terrifying. But I’m up to two gallons (cumulative, not per session.) Familiarity overwrites fear. Take that limbic system.

My mother was deathly afraid of water, but she encouraged me to spend time in a canoe in Northern Minnesota. I became comfortable in big (deep) lakes and fast rivers. She never overcame her fear, but with her help, I did. Take that limbic system.

What have I learned from all of this? Scared is normal for everybody. And everyone has a different path to coping with their fears. Me? I take my limbic system out for regular reality checks.

Thwarts

You’ll remember Joel and I had some terminology disagreements about names of boat parts when used by ships or canoes. To save you the effort of looking up that conversation, here’s a handy reference.

A Part of a BoatShips use these for…Canoes use these for…Kayaks use these for…
SeatWhat is a seat? You sit on a thwart.Sitting upon.Wet Exit Practice.
YokeNo Yokes. You carry a boat with a trailer.Carrying a canoe.Naught. You would look stupid with a kayak on your head. It looks like you’re wearing a pointy hat.
ThwartSitting upon.Keeping the shape of the canoe. They are NOT for sitting upon.Fending off attacks by sea lions.
DeckplateCovering nasty places below decksMaintaining the shape of the bow and stern. They are NOT for lifting the canoe.No plates – only hatches.
BreastplateMaintaining the shape of the bow and sternNo breasts on a canoe.Women wear these when fending off attacks by sea lions.

You’ll note there is disagreement. About thwarts in particular.

Continue reading Thwarts

Real Caned Seats

We have always assumed that we would cane the seats of the canoe instead of using canvas or plastic. It’s simply good aesthetics. If you just wanted a canoe, any old canoe, you can buy a Coleman 16 foot at Walmart. If you’re building a cedar strip canoe, then you are thinking about craft and appearance.

There was a small bit of debate about caning methods: weaving by hand or via pre-woven mat. Janell wanted to try hand-caning, so that was our choice.

Caning is like weaving. You follow a pattern back and forth, corner to corner, side to side. It’s something like a spirograph in that the pattern emerges as the caning proceeds.

Of course, much needs happen before Janell starts to weaving…

Continue reading Real Caned Seats

Varnish Uber Epoxy

Epoxy scares me. Once you brush it on, you’ll never be able to get it off. Epoxy is like breaking an egg; once you start, you can’t put it back. There is no command-Z undo with epoxy.

Even if you were to remove the epoxy-saturated fiberglass, epoxy would have already seeped into the wood to a depth that cannot be sanded away. We traveled to Port Townsend to get help to do it correctly the first time..

Epoxy and fiberglass are great compared to aluminum, canvas, primer and paint, but leave epoxy exposed to the ultra-violet rays in sunlight and it turns yellow and breaks down into dust. Epoxy needs to be protected from sunlight.

Varnish is the ticket…

Continue reading Varnish Uber Epoxy

After Matthew. Before Port Townsend

Janell and I first saw the canoe on July 4th, 2023. We were in town for a few rushed days between paddling the Apostle Islands in Wisconsin and paddling the Sunshine Coast in Canada.

Robin, Matthew’s mom, told us about the canoe Matthew started in high school and left in the garage. It was time for this boat to transition. Either finish it, or burn it. Just get it out of the garage.

We visited the boat between other getting-ready-to-go tasks and could see the shape of an emerging canoe. We noticed it was attached to a substantial strong back. It was not something we could easily move.

We told Paul, Matthews’ dad, that we were interested, couldn’t take it right now, and would have to figure out some logistical issues. We walked back to the car, excited but puzzled.

Continue reading After Matthew. Before Port Townsend

Boat Lines

If you’ve spent significant time around boats, you develop an appreciation for the lines of a boat. I’ve shown the canoe to a lot of people, and at some point, people who know boats will walk to the bow, squat, close one eye, and sight along the keel. They assess the line from bow to stern—is it straight?

Wood strip canoes start with a strongback, a sturdy spine and stations to form the shape. If the strong back isn’t straight, then the lines of the boat will be off. 

Matthew built the strongback and laid the first strips at the Benson high school wood shop in 2013. He took pictures of his work, and it’s easy to see why the canoe looks like it does.

Continue reading Boat Lines

Booaat Camp

Before we go any further, That’s not a typo; that’s the way I pronounce the word “Boat.” I’m from Minnesoota, where all double vowels have an elongated pronunciation. Think of saying “ooooh!” like you just ate the best nooodles. So this week we’ve been in “Boat camp” although it might sound like “Boooot Camp.”

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The Church of the Wood Boat

This morning, we gather at The Chapel of Carpentry and Canoes for Sunday services. We’ll follow the Presbyterian Order of Worship. If we were to celebrate a Catholic Mass, we’d have to drink wine, a bad idea when using table saws and power tools.

Matthew has given up sawdust for lent so he chose to wander the city of Port Townsend. He will return to New York later today and is trying to remain vapor and sawdust free for the sake of his fellow passengers.

Janell, Rich, and I get breakfast at home then head to the boat shop. We avoid driving by the bakery in a vain glorious show of self-control.

Continue reading The Church of the Wood Boat