Test Paddling the Tarpon 160 (finally)

The problem with 'objectivity' is that it's usually 'subjectivity' cleverly disguised as objectivity.

I've wanted the Tarpon 160 ever since I saw it sitting in the rack at the kayak shop. However, I'm trying to take the universal advice of the broad community of kayakers who suggest that choosing a kayak is a personal choice based on how a particular boat fits one's body and objectives, and so, going through the motions of due diligence, I've finally come to the day when I actually get to paddle my dream boat.

It doesn't escape my attention that I seem to have a Wilderness Systems' bias. The first kayak I ever sat in was their 12 foot plastic Pungo which delivered me down the Sandy River without making me a candidate for the Darwin Awards. The first kayak I ever bought (so far the only kayak I ever bought) was their Tsunami 125 which has, over the last eight years, patiently taught me everything I know about kayaking except for that bit of advice from Bernadette and Keith about paddling with your core and not your arms so much.

Mostly, my kayak acts as a platform and facilitator for my photography, taking me to places where nature still looks pretty natural for the most part. But as my expeditions become more ambitious, I find I need more easily accessible storage space. I've also noticed that my 12.5 foot Tsunami struggles to make headway over big water in the wind and chop of inclement weather. Even in optimal conditions, even if I was not always pausing to unwrap my camera and seek ideal shots, I can't seem to keep up with others in their sleek longer boats.

Enter the Tarpon 160, touted as the fastest of the Tarpons and the go-to reference when reviewers make speed comparisons, such as, "The ACME Sting Ray isn't quite as fast as the Tarpon 160, but we've slapped a couple of extra flush-mount fishing-pole-holders on this one to help justify the steep price."

If form follows function, then the Tarpon's long slender hull speaks about speed. But I'm not a hull designer, I realize, and I may be confusing aerodynamic sexiness as a solution for a problem better suited to hydraulic equations. Striving for objectivity, I go on to note differences I think I see between the tarpon and the Trident Ultra 4.3. The bow of the Tarpon seems pointier and streamlined, without the fast flared bulging that seemed evident on the ultra. Does this mean that the Tarpon will poke through waves instead of riding up over them? The Tarpon doesn't seem to have any rocker...and if it's supposed to, then this one has lost it, its 16 foot length of heavy plastic slowly collapsing over time. Perhaps the Tarpon 160 is testing the balance between structural rigidity and weight.

The keeled ends of the kayak quickly transition to a long flat belly with multi-chine sides.

Two long grooves, like negative-space rails, travel the length of the flat belly, perhaps as a kind of novel keel substitute...or perhaps a means to architecturally stiffen the hull.

Without the helpful Next Adventure's employee available to help me unload the Tarpon, I quickly gain an appreciation for how heavy this boat is. Without a traditional cockpit to stick a shoulder in, there doesn't seem to be any balanced way a single individual can carry this behemoth. The Tarpon 160 (with rudder) is listed at 79 pounds. If it was a bar with free weights, it wouldn't be a problem, but this thing is 16 feet long and bulkier than a log and something like a sail in the wind. I grab onto one side handle and heft it thigh high while stumble-walking down the long boat ramp. Crap. I wish I had my little sister here to carry it for me.

Originally, I had hoped to launch from Clackamette Park and explore Willamette Falls, but when I got there, I did some rough calculations concerning the speed of the water flowing past my intended launch point, my relative fitness, and the number of fishermen lining the banks and their likely inclination to either laugh or help if I should tip over. What I came up with was a scenario analogous to Lucy and Ethel sitting at an assembly line trying to wrap passing chocolates.

So...Willamette Park.

The thing about sitting in an unfamiliar kayak is the first moment when you first lean a little bit and go "oh shit!" because you almost tipped over right at the beginning...except, you don't tip over and after a few more minutes, you get a feel for the boat, and then after that, you have to try to turn over if you want to turn over. If a person were to exit the kayak after the initial 'Oh shit" moment, that person would conclude the kayak is unstable. That same person might form a very different opinion if they endured, say, four more hours or so.

I did my best, without thigh straps or other braces, to lean the Tarpon on edge and carve turns, but they were big ass turns. Though flat on the belly, the omission of rocker means even in still water, you're not going to do much spinning.

Heading up river, the Tarpon demonstrated a pronounced sensitivity to current - that is, strong currents and eddies had their way with it, just like rapists have their...umm...O.K., that's probably an ill advised metaphor, but should serve to hint at the frustration I experienced at having my navigational intentions violated. As the river constricted around massive bridge pilings, construction barges and various emerging foundations, the cold muddy water became annoyed and confused.

The umpteenth time I got turned sideways by roiling water, I determined to figure out the rigging for the rudder (something not available on any of my previous rentals) and eventually yanked the line that caused it to satisfyingly boink into place. With the rudder in play, there was an immediate welcome reduction in the ratio of corrective-directional paddle strokes to straight-ahead-power strokes. Kayak purists may frown on rudders, but I now suspect I'll be shelling out extra money to get one, whichever kayak I end up getting (They come in handy).

Immediately in front of the seat is a storage hatch with access to the open interior of the boat. There's another bigger hatch on the bow, also accessing the boat interior. There do not seem to be any bulkheads. Like the Tarpon 140, the 160 has a well placed cup holder. The crackers are multi-grain with generous portions of smoked Gouda cheese.

Both hatches are hinged. They open and close easily with simple lever locks and I consider both of them easily accessible while paddling.

Usually I worry about how I'm going to get gear into my kayak. With the Tarpons, you need to start thinking about how you're going to get your gear out of the kayak. Small items may slide the length of the boat.

The hatches have thin O-ring type seals, but I remember how those worked on the space shuttle during cold weather. They seem fairly water tight, but there always seems to be some small amount of water inside the kayak which means you want to invest in numerous hatch-width dry bags.

Turning around in your seat reveals...

...a spacious tank well. On a Tarpon 160, that's almost enough room to hang a hammock.

On the second day of the new year, temperatures started to creep above freezing.

...and I forgot my paddling gloves.

So I had to stop at my new apartment.

A long straight stretch of river before the turn to Elk Rock gave me plenty of time to test the Tarpons vaunted capacity for speed. It does seem to glide along, but is it significantly faster than the Tarpon 140?  It feels like it. But is it enough to make up for what I perceive as decreased mobility? I'm not so sure.

The trees making up my west horizon, as seen by water. The sun warns me twilight is coming. Time to turn around.

The Sellwood Bridge with the Portland skyline in the background.

The Sellwood Bridge as seen by water.

O.K.  I did add the moon.

(We like the moon.)

http://www.rathergood.com/moon_song

In conclusion, the allure of the Tarpon 160 has diminished for me somewhat. Up until now, I had never considered buying a rudder before. In the case of the 160, I probably wouldn't buy it without one. It's possible I don't have the technical skill to turn that big boat like it ought to be turned, but until I do, it feels like too much has been sacrificed for the sake of speed.

Next up: The Thresher 140

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.