My Tenuous Connection to Water

In the summer I seek out shade.

In the winter, I get in touch with my inner flower.

If the winter sun should happen to poke a finger through Portland's perpetual cloud ceiling, and if the wind is not blowing at gale-like velocities, I'll throw the kayak on the truck - well O.K. - I'll strenuously leverage it onto the ladder rack (all the while making old man sounds) and head for a nearby river or lake. 

This is how Smith & Bybee Lakes looked two weeks ago. The fickle sun had stopped diddling the clouds by the time I got to the lake, but I had been taking steps to make friends with the rain, even if my camera had not...

...and so I launched my kayak anyway and enjoyed the spectacle of cat-like clouds stalking the Willamette valley, looking for some dry place to lie down.

Sunday, the Sun wasn't teasing anymore. It grabbed the cloud ceiling firmly in two hands and yanked (like a housekeeper yanking the sheets off a hotel mattress) to uncover a radiant blue sky that went all the way up.

But this time, Metro's canoe launch at the East end of Smith Lake didn't come anywhere near to reaching the water, so I drove on to Kelly Point Park and launched into the Columbia Slough from their dirt and gravel boat ramp.

A man in a canoe exiting the slough reported that the tide influenced water had stopped retreating. Anticipating minimum resistance from the Willamette, I chose to head up-river.

The surface of the water started out smooth like a mirror and doubled the number of suns, the lower one flickering and blinking like a strobe light. No matter how I folded the edge of my stocking cap or how low I pulled it over my eyebrows, I was unable to devise a satisfactory brim. While in the gaze of the sun, one could almost believe it was spring. I squinted back into the blinding light, my right eye all closed like a pirate, salty forehead sweat following creases to the corners of my eyes...

...until, sun-tears leaking down my cheek, the river relented and turned a bit and the sun stepped a few more degrees off towards the horizon, and a tiny breeze shattered the river-mirror into amorphous infinite pyramids that scattered the sun's binary stare. I regained my vision.

Once the sun set behind the West Hills, the wind - the real wind - escaped from wherever it had been confined for the day and raced down river to tease me about not wearing my dry suit. The wind's henchmen, the rolling waves, pushed me around to see if they could get me to cry.

Compared to my old Tsunami, I felt vulnerable perched atop the sit-on-top. Wind spawned waves rose out of the long fetch stretching from distant Swan Island. These amplified waves with their impressive running starts would eventually collide with equally impressive bow wakes of loaded barges being pummeled upriver by  tugs . Those waves, in turn, were reflected off various concrete retaining walls resulting in a dynamic chaos which is fun in the summer but less so as dusk falls over very cold water. Since my confidence in my ability to stay upright in a kayak has been pretty much shattered since last summer's John Day trip (when I toured significant portions of the river upside-down), I hugged the shoreline to hide from the wind and made sure I could swim to shore if necessary. When I could recognize them, I steered into the biggest waves, but mostly I just kept on paddling because feeling the water's resistance against the blades of my paddle connected me to the river.

Presumably, this architectural feature was implemented on purpose.

Dark shadows cast from the West Hills chased the last of the day's light up these towers and scared it back into space.

Empty piers with their piling teeth collaborated with tugboat wakes to hamper my progress. I appreciated the wind's inclination not to chase me into darkness.

Without cloud cover, the last of the day's heat radiates out into space inspiring me to apply a wind-proof layer to my ill chosen Spring ensemble. Keeping a wary eye out for tugboats (one is visible to the left of the pilings on its way upriver), I also utilize this brief pause to rig my boat with its running light.

Lights blink on against the fading pastel colored sky. The scene seemed  vaguely Hopperesque to me and I expected to see Dean, Monroe, Bogart or Presley leaning on the railing.

From these outposts, we launch our grains and goods across the Pacific. The scale of our man-made creations is overwhelming when inched up to in a 14 foot plastic boat, but standing mutely beyond the Washington shore, the blasted rim of Mt. St. Helens is a blunt reminder of geologic time scales - how an Earthly burp and shrug can make our efforts moot.

The Portland taking on grain at the Port of Portland in Portland.

If the dust that was blowing over the side of this ship wasn't some kind of wholesome grain...then I'm probably going to get cancer.

Editor's Note: Alert viewer Bernadette gleaned the following information from Kenny Macdonald, Marine Media Relations Manager.

"Thanks for your interest in the Port of Portland. What a lucky day for Scott to see the bulk carrier "Portland" at the Port of Portland! You can track its progress here:

http://www.marinetraffic.com/en/ais/details/ships/shipid:712692/mmsi:538003411/imo:9497854/vessel:PORTLAND

What we are looking at is the 57,000 ton ship at the Port of Portland’s Terminal 5, berth 501 loading at Columbia Grain Inc. for export. At the end of November, year to date totals for Columbia Grain was 2.26 million metric tons of product; mostly wheat, but also barley, corn or soybeans.

Indeed, many of the barges you see going up and down the river are loaded with grain bound for one of seven, deep-water grain terminals on the Columbia or Willamette rivers, including this one at the Port of Portland. The export of agricultural goods, especially wheat, are a big part of our state’s economy. Check out this page about T-5 and our recently-released wheat video!

http://www2.portofportland.com/(X(1)S(tvtdfeu2d2mnxox1g0l0rzvk))/Marine/Terminal5"

I finally reached the kayak launch at Kelly Point park and staved off the presentation of my Darwin Award for yet another day.

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.