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Tripping with those you don't well know

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I've been enjoying PaddlingPitt's latest TR, in which he ends up on a wilderness trip with a couple he didn't really know. It reminded me of tripping with a fellow I'll call Jim. He became a problem. In retrospect, it is amusing. Perhaps others have amusing stories they'll share, too.

First, let me say that I've been on a few trips with folks I didn't well know. Somehow, I've been lucky, and they were great people. But, then there was Jim.

Jim was a long lost paddling friend of Willi's, and they reunited on this trip on the Suwanee River, making us a party of five. We launched from Griff's fish camp. Steve and I were in the Tripper, Willi was solo in, I think, a Penobscot , Al paddled his kayak, and Jim was solo in an OT Tripper. Jim loaded his boat and then loaded it some more. He had more gear in his Tripper than Steve and I, combined, in my Tripper. We later learned he packed a huge amount of water, and his boat was riding low. Jim also was riding low, almost laying down in the boat--bad back, he said. Every so often, he'd take a weak paddle stroke, and sitting so low, his stroke was nearly horizontal. Needless to say, he was slow, and we were soon waiting for him.

We made poor progress, which resulted in poor campsite selection. Jim carried his gear way off from the river and set up in the middle of a dirt road. Apparently, among his huge gear load he'd packed a radio, which he proceed to turn on and play. We couldn't hear it, but to a hog hunter in a tree stand, it was the last straw. Said hunter had paid a land renter (not owner) to sit in that tree stand, and we soon met them both. We were told to pack up and depart. It was now dusk. The water was high enough that we'd had a hard time picking out the channel among the trees, and the thought of going looking for another sight in the dark wasn't appealing to me. I asked, what we could do to make things right. The answer was quick: $150. We paid. The renter took our money and handed it to the hunter. They came to visit in the morning and it turns out the renter took the hunter to another tree stand and he bagged his hog. A hog and $150 in his pocket. We were all best friends at that point.

Jim shoved off ahead of us, but we soon caught up. I think Willi or Al stayed with Jim. Steve and I paddled ahead. Except for being so slow that we speculated the vultures we could see circling behind us were looking at Jim and thinking "dinner," we had no issues the second day and night. The following night we stayed at Florida's Stephen C Foster park (not to be confused with SCF Park in Georgia, above Fargo--two parks and Foster never even saw the Suwanee). We were joined at this point by a larger group of Willi's kayaking pals, and the lot of us set off the next morning downriver of Big Shoals.

Next stop was to be Holton Creek River Camp. Despite leaving way ahead of us, Jim ended up behind, again. The Camp was well marked and unmistakeable, especially since all our boats were visible from the river.. Jim passed it by and solo camped on a river bank a mile or two downstream. He hadn't said anything to anybody. He just took a flyer on his own. At some point, we found Jim. The Suwanee River Wilderness Trail parallels the river. Members of our group went hiking and found Jim. We had cell coverage, but had not received a call. The next day, the group decided to stay put due to a forecast of strong storms. Somebody phoned Jim and let him know.

A day later, the same thing happened. Jim started early, we all passed him, and then he passed our campsite and continued downriver, not saying anything to anybody. And, in the morning, another forecast of strong storms caused the group to quit the river. We took out at Suwanee River State Park and arranged rides back to White Springs, except for Jim. He was somewhere downriver of the Witlahoochie. Willi had to go pick him up somewhere the next day and reported there wasn't much conversation on the ride home.

Now, I'm a little more circumspect about paddling compadres. I went on an 8-day canoe trip on the Missouri last fall with a woman I barely knew. I'd kayaked with her twice. We talked about our tripping personas ahead of the trip and we both thought and hoped we'd get along, but acknowledged the alternative: it'll be a looong dang trip. I think that conversation helped in that we were both attentive to interpersonal communication and got along like life-long pals. Great trip, btw.
 
There sure is the potential for things to go bad, especially with people you don't know well, but I've had more problems with people I knew. I had one friend that I tripped with at least three times and there was a problem every time, and our last 7 day outing ended our friendship. This guy was a graduate of NOLS (national outdoor leadership school) and had an ultralight backpacking philosophy. One day on the trip he asks me why I think everything I say is right and everything he's read says I'm wrong. I asked him if he's read anything by Bill Mason, Cliff Jacobson, Gilpatrick ect. When he didn't answer I said " Maybe you're reading the wrong stuff."
 
In those kinds of situations, drink'n helps. One trip with a couple I hadn't met before ended up with them squabbling all the time, very uncomfortable. We hit an access road, and i was ready to hitch hike out. They didn't want to go. I was out of booze, so I told them the only way I would continue on was if they gave me all their liquor. They did. The next two days weren't too bad, at least the parts I remember.
 
That does not sound like a good time. I have had folks who I didn’t know well expect others to play guide or babysitter. If it’s more than just one other person the group dynamics really play into it. It sure is nice when everyone pitches in and there doesn’t need to be any discussion on how things are done. I imagine my bad experiences are why I usually choose to go solo on the more remote stuff.
 
Even with people you know, it can be trying. First day out my daughter in law told me she gets "hangry," which turned out to be an understatement. Bless her heart.
 
This is an important topic. I have been organizing canoe trips for over 50 years. When I graduated high school we had the first one. We had 50 guys in canoes for the Senior Class Trip. All were rented. We paddled up the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal and camped. 50 girls showed up that night for the party. It was the 1960s so they left at midnight, but returned in the morning to make breakfast. People still talk about it. We went down the Potomac River through easy rapids and had a major lightning storm.

Paddling with people exposes all of their weaknesses. Some people get really stressed by the heat, the cold, bad campsites, fast water, no bathroom, etc. They get tweaked. Many people are not used to no being really good at everything. Canoeing can put them outside their comfort zone. They do not want to follow a leader. They over estimate their abilities. They don;t want to stay together. Some people just want to drink all the time. Some guys are OCD about equipment and bring too much. Some paddlers are slow. Some are impatient and want to go fast.

I really value my paddling partners like my brother. I used to think 8 people with 6 boats was a lot of fun. Now it feels like herding cats. My next trip will be my brother, my dog and me in separate solo boats. No muss, no fuss. No rookies to look after and worry about. No fragile egos. Nobody wearing waders in the boat and paddling rapids and forgetting to put on a life jacket. I have not done any solo trips, but might consider a lake trip with no one around. Just my BC Ruby Begonia, the perfect paddling partner.
 
Several years ago I took a pretty close friend that I had known socially for 10 years on a canoe trip. It was a week on the Willamette R in Oregon and with travel time around 10 days. He got tweaked for some reasons I never really figured out. He capsized in the one really dangerous spot on the river with an experienced friend of mine. Seemed to be an ego problem. It has taken several years, but we are now close friends again. He would not answer my phone calls for a year. He did even respond when I invited to outdoor tent parties. I have lost some friendships permanently after long arduous canoe trips. Like the guy with the waders and no life jacket. I pissed him off because I told him I refused to paddle with anyone on a cold river that does not wear a life jacket 100% of the time.
 
I'm chuckling as I read through these posts as I just retired after almost 50 years of leading canoe trips for various groups. Because my experience has mostly been with college students, the difference in attitudes on a trip tend to be whether the person is there for credit or fun. The folks who are taking the trip as a course tend to think they should be able to do whatever they want, when they want and as they want. The kids who were on the trips for fun all understood that everyone needed to be there for each other. I also did about 10 years of operating my own guiding service and some of those weekend trips were a real hoot. Lots of folks either didn't understand what they were signing up for or they were there because another person wanted them to go; which was always the worst reason for going on a trip. Thankfully for me, the guided trips were mostly 3 day weekends and even the school trips were never more than 6 or 7 days so everything was tolerable but it could definitely be trying at times. That being said, some of my best memories also come from the most challenging trips; especially when the group saw the light of day and eventually came together as friends.

That's all for now. Take care and until next time...be well.

snapper
 
I will not do a trip of any consequence unless I have at least day paddled with the participants before, and would prefer to have at least done an easy weekender with them. Day paddling and tripping/camping personas and dynamics are not the same.

This tale took place in 1995 or thereabouts. Some of you may remember it from a long ago paddling board. All names have been changed to protect the innocent.


My Inter-net Date

No, not that kind of inter-net Date - I'm a happily married man. This was a paddling date, a group canoe camping trip with a friends and acquaintances. In addition to ten local paddling pals with varying degrees of canoeing expertise I invited an internet acquaintance. Let's call him Barry.

Barry and I had made numerous attempts to paddle together over the years, but something always seemed to came up at the last moment that suddenly prevented his actually showing up. Car trouble. Family arriving unannounced to visit. Bad weather.

After several years of near-misses and last minute cancellations Barry did show up one year for a summer trip in the Adirondacks, although he arrived days late, shortly before we broke camp to leave and no one actually saw him paddle. He seemed far more interested in regaling us with tales of past paddling prowess and in making sure that we knew, to the penny, the exact cost of his hand-laid canoes and his custom paddles.

We actually saw Barry a few hours later that same day. Outside a little store, he had simply waited for us to depart and then paddled back out himself.

But this year, this year is going to be different. This year Barry assures me, he promises, he swears that he'll be there. On the right day. On time. Ready to paddle. And lo and behold there he is. His canoe is a gleaming Kevlar beauty without a blemish, actually purchased en route down because, as Barry explained at length, it was the perfect canoe for the shallow bay we will be paddling and is special in many expensive ways.

His paddles are custom made, transported in fleece lined carry bags. The rest of his gear is all top of the line and he makes sure we know it. To the penny.

My local paddling cohort is feeling a bit abashed; their canoes are not just battered with use, three of them are paddling cast off hulks, rebuilt with scraps, spare parts and cunning improvisation. Their paddles are nicked, gouged and patched. Their gear is old, dirty and worn from frequent use. The only thing they know the cost of is the duct tape that holds their stuff together.

As we load our canoes Barry regales us with tales of past paddling prowess. The rapids he has run, the wilderness expeditions he has led, and the canoe races he has won. We are in awe. His mastery of the canoe, his expertise in all things backcountry, the expense of his gear. To the penny.

So awestruck are we to at last be paddling with a true virtuoso that we pay no heed to Barry's avoidance of the common gear pile, and in the end the stoves, fuel, tarps, poles, Dutch ovens, pots, pans, griddle, water containers and other glamping accoutrements are heaped in our canoes, in piles towering above the gunwales. Barry's kevlar perfection ($1934, plus tax) bobbles like a cockleshell, unencumbered by any such bothersome burden.

We launch from the put in and Barry unlimbers his custom wood bent shaft ($127, fleece lined carry case extra) and takes his first stroke. We watch expectantly, the seconds tick by, time passes, and then, and then...then he takes his second stroke. By this time our flotilla of grubby canoes and crappy paddles has traveled fifty yards and we all stop to wait.

We pause there on the shore of a small peninsula, watch and wait. Soon a third stroke is produced, and eventually a fourth. And we wait. There is talk of lunch. A fifth stroke is taken. Cigarettes are rolled. A sixth stroke. Time stretches on. A seventh stroke, an eighth. Soon Barry's stroke count will reach double digits. Hooray!

At length the Master arrives, beaming with pride. He has made it the first fifty yards. The rough boys in their nasty canoes shoot me a look. It isn't a nice look. I explain to Barry that we now have to cross a shallow embayed shore, aiming for a point a half-mile away where we will pause again.

Crossing this shallow bay the wind is in our face and the eighteen-inch depth produces choppy conditions. I follow the rough boys as they muscle up and cross to the tip of the next peninsula. As I reach the shore I see that the rough boys are shaking their heads with disgust. Aussie rough boy Davis asks "Wots 'is pro'lem, mate?". I disembark, joining the rough boys standing ashore, and turn to see that Barry is all but stationary, maintaining his languid stroke rate, making imperceptible progress.

We wait. German rough boy Franz asks "Vot zee 'ell isz he doink". This question appears to be directed not at me, but to the heavens. Good thing too, because I sure don't have an answer. We count Barry's stroke rate. He is at least the master of consistency; twelve strokes a minute. Not eleven, not thirteen. Twelve.

We wait. We watch. Soon we cannot bear to watch any more. We turn away and look down water towards our destination 5 miles away. Rough boy Bob calculates that, at our current rate of progress, it will take upwards of ten hours to reach our intended camp.

Thirty minutes later Barry has reached the halfway point. Twelve strokes a minute, no more, no less. Bob and Vince announce that they can take no more and push off towards camp, promising to have lunch ready for us by the time we arrive. Or maybe dinner.

And we wait. Twelve strokes a minute. And we wait. At last there is a change in Barry's stroke rate. Not a good change. Eleven strokes a minute. Ten. Nine. Interminable wait. Eight strokes a minute. At last Barry reaches a position a scant twenty feet from where we stand. And goes no further. Seven languid strokes a minute, just enough to remain stationary.

We reboard our canoes and I ferry over to his side. "How ya doing?" I ask. "Not bad" he replies, "Just paddling along, taking my time, thinking about Johnny Cochran". The understatement of the year, although the Johnny Cochran reference is, at the time, a mystery.

I explain that we now have one hard pitch; around the far side of the peninsula there is another half-mile stretch to tackle into the wind before we enter a protected narrows, and after that much of the route can be snuck along the lee shore and back routes, out of the wind. Barry nods, seemingly unperturbed, and I paddle around the point, following the rough boys onward.

The rough boys gain the far shore a half mile away, where we again beach our canoes and turn to wait for Barry. Where is Barry? Barry has not yet even rounded the point where we last stopped. Even Barry, with his incredibly consistent stroke rate, should have traveled twenty feet by now. We wait.

Wait and wait and wait. The rough boys not only paddle crappy old canoes, but we're bit slow on the uptake too. It takes an hour of waiting and watching for it to dawn on us. Barry has given us the slip. Turned tail. Run for home. With none of the common gear in his canoe, and with the put in still in sight, the expedition master has called it quits. Two hours on the water, one half mile paddled and Barry has turned tail. I felt like I'd brought an inter-net date to the Senior Prom and she turned out to be a strident hag who couldn't dance.

Oh, the Johnny Cochran business - in Barry's own words he was thinking "Must-a-quit, must-a-quit"

Post script: Barry's paddling prowess lived on via the inter-net however. In his retelling of this trip the waves were towering, he was hallucinating with effort and it was only through sheer grit and determination that he was able to survive the harrowing half-mile paddle back to his car.

Maybe, just maybe, you can't believe everything someone posts on the inter-net. Like I said, a little slow on the uptake...
 
That's almost too much of a tease. You don't have to tell us Barry's real name, just his online name will do. :)

Alan
 
Its just a lot more fun when you paddle with friends. On big trips its too much money and energy invested to take a risk on the group. Picking the crew is the number 1 most important part of a trip.
 
I remember reading Mike's story before, I think maybe on Myccr, I laughed then too, because it really hit home, me and my buddies being the "rough boys", lol. The fleece canoe sock, a thing of ridicule for sure.
 
My next trip will be my brother, my dog and me in separate solo boats. No

The perfect trip.

I have not done any solo trips, but might consider a lake trip with no one around. Just my BC Ruby Begonia

The other perfect trip. I’ll still do a group trip once a year, with guys I have tripped with before, a collective that gets smaller all the time. But I’d prefer just one very trusted companion, or just myself.

I will admit, the is another favorite trip; when I can paddle into some base camp and have a day or two alone, with companions arriving in dribs and drabs over the next few days and departing likewise, so the numbers and group dynamic is always changing. And let me stay there for a few days after the last companion has left.

That to me is the other, other perfect trip.
 
I have a couple of new paddling partners the past few years. We started off with day trips and that turned into weekenders off grid. I would ask about a longer trip but as karin will tell you, I can be a bit difficult. I am trying to expect less of people though and that seems to help.
 
I love these stories and have countless ones myself. It's fun to think about what the other person is saying about the trip. Was it a great time, or was that guy who organized it a pain in the arse? I led a beginner cave trip once. We were searching for an entrance on a hillside and having trouble finding it. After ~20 minutes, one student lost it, in tears. Too much pent up anxiety and she must have felt that we didn't know what we were doing because we could not find the entrance. We walked her back to the cars (.25 miles), then went caving. From my perspective she was crazy and ruined the trip. From hers, awe well who cares, lol. No, she probably thought she had hooked up with idiots.
 
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