Test Paddling the Trident Ultra 4.3

I can count the times I've encountered towering waves that broke over the deck of my kayak on one hand (probably with fingers to spare).

There was that time on the Columbia when Fred capsized at its confluence with the Deschutes (for one).

And then there was that time I made my exodus from Long Island into something of a wind tunnel on the east side of Willapa Bay. In both cases my 12.5 foot Tsunami was as stable as an ocean liner, giving me an opportunity to adapt to new conditions without a punitive preliminary dunking.

The Tsunami 125 has been a patient, forgiving tutor. However, while one is actually in it, its two storage hatches are inaccessible, so things you might want (like cameras) are either in the cockpit with you, or lashed to the deck. Do you need to change lenses in the middle of the river? Not unless you like to juggle delicate equipment over the abyss of no return. What if you also want to learn how to fish? Now you have to figure out how to pack fishing poles and tackle boxes so that you have a chance of retaining most of your investment should you tip over. While there is some space behind the seat for waterproof items that can take some squishing, I'm otherwise not too keen to set various dry-bags on my lap or between my legs since, more often than not, I have to remove the spray skirt to get to them, and more significantly, these items become entanglements when attempting to exit the cockpit. After reading accounts of medal winning kayak legends being pinned in their cockpits to drown, I put stuff there only temporarily and with deep foreboding. 

So I'm looking for an improbable watercraft that has the hauling capacity of a canoe (as well as a canoe's flexibility with regard to seating positions and accessibility to cargo), the stability of my Tsunami, the speed of a sea kayak, and, of course, a cup-holder.

Ocean Kayak's Trident Ultra 4.3 is a sit-on-top kayak designed for fishing. As the idea of a 'fishing kayak' has caught on, there has been a sort of a trend to develop ever more stable platforms. This has resulted in something I think they used to call boats (some even have motors). But some of the sit on tops still employ design strategies inherited from sea kayaks. The Ultra 4.3 has noticeable 'rocker', a fairly narrow width at 29.1 inches (just 3 more than my Tsunami) and a nose and tail that look like a keeled craft (for tracking), but a fairly flat belly (for maneuvering).

It's clearly designed to be a fishing kayak because it has four flush-mounted  fishing pole holders and a ruler on the center rectangular hatch for measuring your catch.

The Ultra 4.3 didn't have any cup-holders that I could see. I had to make do with the much publicized pivoting hatch top that spins around (see the fancy silver 'T' hinge at right) so either surface can be hidden away in the giant rectangular hatch. One side of the hatch top has a bottle holder built into it. The other side seems to be designed for mounting a fish finder. The literature says this is handy if, when coming to shore through pounding surf, you'd want to protect your fish finder screen by turning it around to the inside. But the literature doesn't really explain what to do to protect the expensive wine bottle that consequently must be exposed to the elements nor how to fit everything from both sides into the hatch at once.

The rectangular hatch was big enough to accommodate the dry bag that holds my emergency gear and camera gear. However, I was surprised to find that this space was fully enclosed with no access to the interior of the boat. This means there's a good chance that this hatch is actually water-tight. It also means that you won't sink your kayak if you flip it while this hatch is open. But it also means that you won't be putting any fishing poles in it without modifications to your boat.

A padded seat and seat-back clips into the kayak at four connection points around the back end of the molded cockpit. Presumably, the straps are adjustable, but their function, and the benefits for adjusting them remained inscrutable to me for the duration of the trial. As I installed the seat, I noted that the seating area was scarcely higher than the floor of the kayak and the seat cushion itself seemed somewhat underwhelming. 

Once I actually sat in the kayak, I noted that I was pretty much sitting in water. I'm not sure how much water, because I was wearing a dry suit, but I suspect, if it was summer, my butt would look like a prune by the end of a day's journey (and yes, this does imply that my butt does not normally look like a prune).

Observe also that the giant, elevated rectangular hatch gives the otherwise open cockpit the same sense of constriction that you'd expect in an enclosed cockpit. Since it is elevated, it makes reaching the front hatch a risky proposition as you high center yourself over the top.

It turns out, this is what a paddle holder is.

The National Weather Service had predicted that mild November conditions were in the process of rapid change. Clear skies and temperatures in the mid fifties were destined to deteriorate to wind and rain and freezing temperatures. The average wind speed for my excursion was 12.2 mph with the highest wind speed recorded at 25 and the highest gust at 34 (there evidently being a difference between high winds and high gusts).

Ominous dark clouds spent the afternoon racing to block out the sky.

I halfheartedly tried testing out the Ultra 4.3's secondary stability, but I seem to have a dependable self-preservation instinct and didn't ever tip to the point of failure.

I also didn't load the tank well with the 144 frozen beer test load. The peculiar shape of the tank well is custom designed to fit an ice box storage pod. If I was at a point where I could dependably catch fish, I might consider such a device, but for now, it looks like I could stow lots of camping gear here. Looks like you have to come up with your own rigging.

Click on image to see a slightly larger version

Looking downriver. The Willamette empties into the Columbia just about at the end of the tree-line in the center of the picture.

Heading up river and into the wind, I pass a tugboat preparing to launch.

Paddling into the wind and current, the kayak goes where I tell it to go. Even pointed directly into the wind, it tracks straight. However, it doesn't make much headway. I try angling into the wind, but don't notice any advantage I'd hoped to gain by tacking...perhaps because it doesn't have much of a keel. 

The kayak's maneuverability is excellent as I cut through the maze of pilings that support the unlikely docks to which the ships are leashed. Once I start employing the use of windbreaks, the Ultra 4.3 leaps forward.

The St. Johns Bridge is in the distance, but I can tell from the sun's position that I will soon be out of daylight.

Heading downwind, the boat's tail end tends to swing around to the side. I frequently break my paddling cadence to correct the angle. All in all, it takes only a quarter of the time out to return to my launch point.

This is the point where I truly began to appreciate Wilderness System's seating solution.

The tugboat crew puts the finishing touches on the barge package they've been stringing together. I'm reminded of a spider prowling the perimeter of a freshly constructed web.

This is the point where I got yelled at for getting too close.

Once again, I've cut it kind of close concerning whether or not I'll be able to actually see the take out point in the gathering gloom.

Clearly, not everybody got to take Friday off. The rumble of giant conveyor belts and great animal-like pneumatic sighs punctuate the dusk. Artificial light obviously marks this as a stubborn human outpost, launching yet another vessel into an unforgiving ocean.

Pretty much too late, I think to take a picture of the Ultra 4.3's hull configuration.

	TSUNAMI 125	TARPON 140	TRIDENT ULTRA 4.3
length (ft.)	12.6	14.0	14.1
width (in.)	26.0	28.0	29.1
weight (lb.)	51.0	68.0	68.0

Conclusions:

I feel confident that the Ultra 4.3 can handle challenging waves and wind, probably more than I am currently willing to voluntarily face. But I don't like the big rectangular hatch in the middle of the floor. It cuts off access to the front hatch and really limits my mobility. With the hinge way at the top, you kind of have to hold it open with one hand, or throw it all the way open, which then makes it not so convenient to close. The rubber strap latching system seems carefully designed to stub cold fingers and break fingernails. The seat was pretty unbearable after 3 hours. Even without being loaded with gear, I got tired of paddling this kayak. But this could very well be because of the inclement weather and the time I spent fighting the wind. It makes me want to try the Tarpon again, but in rougher water to make a fair comparison.

THE SOUND of WIND OVER the ROCKS

Just down river from here, there was a horseshoe structure of waterfalls where American Indians fished for over ten thousand years, establishing a trade center that stretched from Alaska to California.

By the time Lewis and Clark sailed through here in dugout canoes, vast Indian populations had already been decimated by European diseases. If it wasn’t the end of the world, it was, at the very least, the end to their world.

The sound of the falls was silenced by 1957 with the completion of The Dalles Dam. The water backed-up and rose and changed the shoreline of this island. The river itself became an artificial sequence of controlled lakes, put to work turning turbines and diverted into the desert to grow crops.

Today, windmills creep westward down the sides of the gorge, even as far as this island. Time can be told not only by the position of the sun or moon, but by the regular passage of rumbling freight trains.

But the passage of time is still marked here by the passing of the seasons, and by scales less relevant to hominids, like the erosion of the gorge itself.

From the perspective of a deer’s lifespan, the old fence-posts from an abandoned corral may seem permanent and timeless – something that has always been there as a part of the landscape. Perhaps in the same way, we misunderstand the permanence of our environments … assume the mountains and valleys will stand till the end of time … forget that the very crust of the earth is in motion … evidence of the past continuously being submitted for recycling into earth’s molten core.

The basalt plateau at the head of the island stands like the prow of a mighty ship, strong enough to withstand the repeated onslaught of ice-age deluges.

The wind whistles around and over the giant wall, stacking shoulders of sand and dust at the base of the sheer cliffs. Eager grass optimistically calls the accumulations soil and starts setting down roots.

Gravity, roots, rain, wind and extremes of temperature - nature’s chain gang - making big rocks into little rocks.

Like ballerinas with little respect for gravity, deer glide effortlessly across the plain. I speculate it is this group’s tendency to run single file that has produced a veritable highway of trails from one end of the island to the other.

On the day this picture was taken, the wind comes out of the west and tries to push the river up-hill. Seemingly inexhaustible, the wind persistently coaxes the waves to march to the east in white-capped rows. From my vantage point high on the plateau, I can see eddies and other patterns appear on the river’s surface as the confounded water seeks to elude the wind and resume its journey to the ocean.

The sun ducks down behind the edge of the gorge long before it actually sinks below the horizon, leaving the island in an extended time of shadows before true twilight.

Back at the beginning of April, a lone kayaker paddled into the shallow ‘lagoon’ at the head of the island as the true dusk commenced. He spotted me returning to my camp and hailed me. “Did you walk here?”

Still equipped with a brain challengeable by clams, I wasn’t able to figure out a quick response. Of course I walked to my camp – he could see I walked – he must be driving at something else…

He must have sensed my confusion because he formulated an easier question for me, “Is this an island or a peninsula?” He shouted out cheerfully.

I knew the answer to that one.

It turns out he didn’t have his map available and while choosing to go left or right around an island usually doesn’t make a great deal of difference, approaching a peninsula carried a 50% chance of choosing a dead end channel and possible strenuous backtracking. When he found out it was an island he seemed relieved. He headed off to search the shoreline for a suitable campsite and indicated he’d visit my camp once he was settled.

It was an interesting visit. The lone kayaker said his name was Keel. Kiel I asked, sounding it out. No, he said, Keel, like a part of a boat.

I wondered if that was an alias as I eyed the giant knife he used to stir voluminous sausages into a greasy vegetable/noodle mixture – a serving size that would likely feed an entire Chinese family for a week.

Keel explained that he needed to ingest considerable calories to keep pace with the rate at which he was burning them. I came to find out that he had been on the Columbia river for the better part of a month, following it from its source in British Columbia (or as close as was possible considering the weather) with the intention of paddling all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

He had covered 35 to 40 miles that day, taking advantage of a break in the weather. Considering that in April, frost still decorated the grass in the morning, I had a hard time imagining the cold windy conditions Keel must have endured up to that point.

You’re taking this journey by yourself? I asked incredulously. The answer turned out to be no and yes. It had all been part of a sponsored adventure called The Columbia Experience. He and two others had set out together, but one called it quits after a week, and the other was outfitted with a catamaran style raft that showed a high profile to the wind. With such ill-matched craft, they had not been able to travel together for the most part. Then, perhaps that very weekend, the second adventurer was indefinitely sidelined by a broken foot leaving Keel on his own.

I had a million questions about expedition kayaking, and Keel was eager to share his hard won knowledge…which is surprisingly cool.

Keel noticed that I was shooting pictures with a Canon camera and since he had a similar model, the conversation soon drifted toward photography. I had been getting such poor results with my low-light long exposures that I had almost concluded that my camera wasn’t capable. Keel was able to show me that my chosen aperture setting was counter productive. Once the adjustment was made, I spent a good portion of the remainder of the evening shooting in the dark. It was his idea to put the flashlight inside my tent to create the kind of image that outdoor magazine editors supposedly ‘eat up’.

The ‘lagoon’ by moonlight

A twenty minute exposure reveals the earth’s rotation.

sunrise (late May)

sunrise (early April)

Keel sets out for the ocean.

It was great listening to Keel’s adventures. One of the stories I liked had to do with confronting an obstinate lock-tender at one of the dams. The lock-tender legalistically explained how regulations forbid him from operating the lock for boats that didn’t have engines. Evidently Keel, sitting in his kayak at the entrance to the lock, shouted back up to the tender, “No engine? What about these ‘guns’?” as he displayed his work hardened arms.

I remember that when Keel visited my camp, I didn’t have much to offer save for a substantial quantity of rum. He turned the rum down even though he professed to be a capable drinker. He didn’t really have an articulated reason for going without, but it seemed his exposure to the river and its rhythms had spurred him to seek a different kind of balance. I know for a fact that he was wrestling with questions of environmental balance, questioning whether human short-sightedness had already irreparably ruined the gorge, so much of which he had just seen first hand.

It will be interesting to see what Keel learns by journey’s end.

Keel (in the highlighted box) entering Hell’s Gate

Detail from entering Hell’s Gate

For more about Keel’s kayak journey see:

http://keelbrightmanphotography.blogspot.com/

See also:
http://thecolumbiaexperience.wordpress.com/

The wind during my May visit afforded me an opportunity to try capturing the motion of the grass, which was undulating in waves like a Kansas wheat-field. In the extended dawn, I was able to take 30 second exposures that showed the same kind of blurring effects I ordinarily see with water.

I suspected this deer cornered at the tip of the island would try to run past me. I panned the camera as it bounded by, which explains the blurry background. Out of six or so shots, this one was the best.

I was hoping the differential in movement between the grass and the sturdier foreground plant would create a painterly blended background suggesting the motion of the wind.

I think it may be worth experimenting more with this approach.

evaporating ponds high in the island interior