[Paddlewise] Instability with a flooded cockpit (and more added)

On Wed, 26 Jan 2000 01:00:23 -0800, Matt Broze of <mkayaks_at_oz.net> wrote:

<huge snip>
>>I don't know how ambitious an assignment it is to add the re-entry and roll
to the repertoire.  I think Doug Lloyd posted about this issue some time
ago.>>

Caveat: This is a post for advanced paddlers - though the term advanced
juxtaposed with screwed-up, would normally be mutually exclusive.

I'm in the process of writing up a full-length, in-depth article on the
topic of the re-entry-and-roll technique (this is where you do a reverse
somersault back in to the cockpit while inverted underwater), with and
without post wet-entry stabilization for the pump-out phase. I'm not
rushing the article, as I want to throughly research and test all my
notions, as well as compare and contrast with previous experiences and
ideas from others. SK was hoping I'd have it done to follow-up after their
latest issue that profiles an older gentleman who could not perform his
usual R&R in surf-like conditions. I'm not rushing, however.

I have a very reliable reentry/roll, yet was unable to preform one
satisfactorily during my Trial Island bail-out a couple of years ago. I
would normally never fail, but was having a bad day that particular storm.
Absolutely nothing compares to the R&R for speed and efficiency, other than
not coming out in the first place, in which case devices like the "Back-Up"
prove superior. The problem as already mentioned, is that once back in the
kayak after an R&R, pumping and skirt reattachment can be difficult, if not
impossible, depending upon your condition, tipsiness of your boat, type of
bailing device, and degree of difficulty reattaching your particular spray
skirt. That is why I practice paddling my kayak fully swamped in rough
conditions, and have modified the cockpit bulkheads to minimize
destabilizing water movement.

I had counted on my R&R at Trial Island in the tide-race-storm-wave
interface to get me back in the boat if I ever came out (not a good place
for the paddlefloat rescue). Too many things went wrong though. I had
forgotten my skull cap and gloves, so every time I inverted (this being
only after some pathetic swimming attempts and tether entanglements leaving
me further prone to the effects of cold water), I got an aweful ice cream
headache. I had a brand-spanking new farmer john wetsuit, so I was as stiff
as a board. I hadn't been out paddling for a few months (nothing serious,
so as to be tuned-in, anyway). I was on psychotropic drugs for depression
due to post-stress from my wife's cancer and near-loss of an infant,
leaving me with side effects of vertigo - not the best situation in those
conditions. It was in the evening at the end of a long, hard day. There
were other private issues going on in my marriage, and I thought I could
vent some steam out on the salt-chuck -- never a good idea
(calm-to-middling conditions, then okay). I had also cut my hand on the
broken paddle shaft.

I really thought I had a bomb-proof reentry and roll, but not with all
those contraindications coming into play. The point is, circumstances may
conspire against you. I'd been paddling out there for years, usually in far
worse conditions, such that I wouldn't want the Coast Guard (auxiliary,
anyway) even out there. I'd never had a problem before (now there's a line
you here a lot after an incident). No, I should not have gone out that day,
but I did. I had a strident attitude, and gave little credence to my
personal context that evening. Those of you who rely solely on a successful
R&R, how do you know you won't need some multiple back-ups one day. The
R&R, in my experienced opinion, should be just one of your "weapons" in
your arsenal. In the end, my Sea-Seat saved me. In fact, if I had inflated
it right away, at the onset of problems, I would probably have made out
much better. Partially, it was pride that prevented me from doing so. And,
if my cockpit seat hadn't dislodged against my forward-mounted foot-pump
once I regained the cockpit from the Sea-Seat, I would have completely
refused the Coast Guard's assistance, and utilized the safety device's
stability for skirt reattachment prior to negotiating the overfalls to get
back to shore. Regardless, I screwed-up big time.

And don't forget that wind-chill factor. Air temp that evening was 50
degrees Fahrenheit, as was the water. Add 30 knots of wind speed (velocity
was tapering down by the time I was swimming). With no real head
protection, a free-flowing paddle jacket (I now have a dry-top), a 100%
loss of heat as a minimum due to convective heat-loss, I wonder what the
temperature really was? I call it "the wet-wind-chill factor", and we often
forget what a dramatic difference it can make -- reducing the
predictability of a successful outcome. This is true even if you do get
back in, but are left sitting in a cockpit flooded by cold water.

I should also mention I suffered two other injuries during that incident. I
desperately tried my cherished R&R a number of times, hunched up ball-like
in a curl, upside-down, trying to get back in while waves slapped me silly.
Something was notably wrong with my chest. I was experiencing a wincing
pain. Later, as I tried to inflate the Sea Seat hunched over the bucking
hull of my thin Nordkapp, I was having a terrible time breathing and
dealing with a pain of unknown origin emanating again, from my chest. It
wasn't until I got to shore in the Zodiac and went to a "safe house" as I
call it (I refused hospitalization, even though I could barely speak or
stand up). My friend lives near the water, so went there for shower and
tea. When I leaned down to tie up my shoe laces, there it was again. My
zyphoid process (that triangular cartilage in the lower middle of your
breast bone) was "quivering". I had to immediately stand up, and slowly
bend over, careful to not "haunch" too much. Two years later, I still
suffer from the problem, even when opening hatches, putting on my neoprene
cycling shoe covers, etc. It sucks man. A constant reminder of my
stupidity. Somebody "up there" must have a sense of humor.

My second injury was to my forearm. The Coast Guard auxiliary members,
though fairly big guys, could not secure my cockpit-flooded Nordkapp
aboard. They were at a loss. Fearing a loss of my boat (they usually go
back after the boat, once you have been returned to safety - but I didn't
want to risk loosing the 300 hours I'd put into modifications on my custom
kayak) I grabbed the bow toggle and yanked it aboard one-handed, using the
other hand to secure myself from the slippery surface of the floor. I
apparently pulled tissue right of the bone in my arm, and it was a full
seven months before I could lift anything remotely heavy again. I was,
however, impressed with the awesome power of adrenaline. This powerful
self-produced drug is given some discussion in the book, "Deep Trouble". 

Well, those are the details SK left out of the article. There are others,
but I'm sure I revealed far too much already. Remember, you may win some
battles, but the sea always wins the war if you provoke too big a
confrontation. Derek Hutchinson in one of his books, calls paddling in
overfalls "suicidal". That may or may not be true, but it can be no man's
land combined with a wind-storm. No flames please, my wife already turned
me into Carbon 14 (a few times).

BTW, the Trial Island thing cured my depression real fast - shock therapy,
I guess!          

BC'in Ya
Doug Lloyd (opprobruim of the masses, but mostly loved by the PW sub-culture)
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