Lessons learned on the mighty river

Kayak version 1.0 -- prior to the maiden voyage.

I had a feeling something was wrong when the people in the canoe gave me strange looks instead of waving.

I knew for sure things were going south when I got that damp feeling and realized my seat had filled with water.

It was not shaping up to be a good first day with my kayak.

I’m not a woodsy guy by any stretch, but I had a great time on two float trips while at the University of Missouri, and I’ve enjoyed the rare times I’ve been able to get the kids to go canoeing on the nearby Rogue River.

But no one in the family will go canoeing with me after the great tipping incident of 2005. So I figured a single-person kayak would be the best way to enjoy paddling around in the numerous rivers in our area.

I’ve wanted one for a couple years, but knew there was no way even a small boat would fit in our Saturn sedan.

But in February we obtained a more spacious Vue, and when the sales person said an eight-foot two-by-four would fit, I was thinking of something a little wider.

So this year for my birthday I asked for cash to put toward a sweet ride.

I had two requirements: That it is no longer than eight feet so it could easily fit in the car and that it has an open top. That makes it more of a raft than a kayak, but I had fears of tipping and getting stuck. This turned out to be tougher to find than I thought.

But Dunham’s had a bright orange Pelican that fit the bill and was easily in my price range.

I placed the vessel on the floor of the showroom and sat on top. It felt a little small. And then I noticed the tag said it had a 200-pound weight limit. I am somewhat north of that, and asked the salesman if that would be a problem.

“Not at all,” he said. “They put a real conservative number on there just to be safe.”

Sounded good to me! And it fit in the car.

A colder-than-normal April and Sunday softball practices meant my new toy remained in the garage until this past weekend.

I boldly brought it down to the launch on the mighty Grand River and climbed in while the family cropper documented the event.

I wasn’t more than a couple feet into the river when I discovered it was a struggle to keep the kayak from tipping. It seemed to ride kind of low in the water, too.

I headed upriver, thinking it would be easier to float back. The Grand River is where Grand Rapids gets its name, but there’s nothing resembling a rapid. But this was still tough. I wanted to at least make it to a bridge not far from the launch then head back.

And I was closer to the bridge when the guy and a kid in a canoe came floating the other way.

It’s a pretty wide river but the canoe seemed intent at passing within 15 feet of me.

“Hi!” I said to my fellow sea-dogs. The guy said nothing and just stared at me.

“Hi!” I said again, a little louder, thinking he maybe didn’t hear me.

“Uh, hi,” he said, with a funny smirk.

I didn’t know what was up with that, but kept paddling toward the bridge. Then I felt the dampness. My seating area had filled water. I should have worn a swim suit instead of shorts.

I realized there was probably more water than should be in there through normal splashing. I looked a little more closely.

My kayak was bending in half. Water was rushing in over the sides. So that’s what the canoeist was looking at.

AHHHHHH. I swear I could hear Celine Dion singing “My Heart Will Go On” as I spun the thing around and paddled as fast as I could in the other direction.

I made it back to the loading area, completely dejected. And very wet.

Loading it back in the car, an SUV pulled up with a teacher I recognized from a local environmental science school. He had a much larger kayak, and asked if I knew how long it would take to float from downtown Rockford to the river.

I must not have looked too impressive, wet shorts and all, and stammered out an answer.

“What’s it like going out there in a little thing like that? It might be fun in the surf or something,” he said before pulling away.

Clearly, this was not going to work. I feared I just wasted all kinds of money and would have a big, orange reminder of failure in my garage. And everything in my wallet was soaked.

I did save the receipt. Was there even a slim chance that Dunham’s would take back a slightly used, slightly bent kayak?

The manager came right over and said, yes, despite what the salesman said the weight limit is kind of a serious thing.

But there would be no problem with an exchange or return. They were having a sale, and a slightly larger kayak might do the trick.

They had lots of 10-footers that were only $30 more than my previous model, but all were of the closed-top variety. He explained that these models were more stable in the water, and allowed me to climb in and out a couple times to see that I could handle it.

It doesn’t quite fit in the Vue, and it doesn’t quite as easily fit in the garage. But I figured I’d give it a try.

But the next day I had to wrestle to fit the new, larger kayak between the garbage can and the kids’ bikes. I brought it out on the lawn and sat inside to think.

“This is stupid.” I thought. “I should just bring it back right now, get the money back and forget the entire thing.”

But I figured I should give it one more chance, and I didn’t want to wait until the next weekend. It was already around 8 p.m., but I figured I could just make a quick trip into the river and know for sure rather than mope all week.

I put on the swimsuit and water shoes and loaded the kayak in the car. I wasn’t optimistic. In fact, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t go past the launch spot and head right to Dunham’s.

But I did stop at the river, carried it to the water and slipped in – tags still attached and everything. There were struggles to avoid a fisherman’s line, but once out in the river I found the bigger kayak to be much more stable.

I didn’t worry about tipping once as I headed out toward the bridge. In fact, it was pretty cool.

This time a power boat headed toward me, close to the same spot where I encountered the guy in the canoe. This time the people on board waved and smiled, not that we could talk over the drone of the outboard engine.

This did present a challenge – a wake. I wasn’t sure what to do but headed into the wave. Got a little wet and was a little unstable, but survived. I know for sure I’d have been swimming at that point had I been in kayak version 1.0.

But I made it under the bridge in no time, easily turned around and made it back to the launch – and looked forward to my next adventure on the high seas.

Now, here are a few lessons I learned.

1) Kayak manufacturers are not kidding when they set weight limits.

2) People in canoes are smug bastards. Don’t even wave to them.

3) The Yankee’s streak of division titles is over and the team should conduct a fire sale to unload their elderly stiffs – if anyone will take them!

4) Do not say or even imply bad things about the Jets or Dolphins or you risk pitting cousin against cousin in the comments section.

5) There is no reason to bring your wallet on a kayak. Hide it in the car where it will stay dry.

6) It is impossible to look cool, calm and collected when the entire bottom area of your cargo shorts is soaked.

7) Derek F. Jeter is vastly overrated and a punk.

8) When you enter a sporting goods store with an orange, eight-foot kayak in your arms, you will quickly attract the attention of salespeople who will wave frantically for the manager.