ROCKtheBOAT by alex matthews
Long Live the HOMEGROWN Boat Why the blind rush toward British-style kayaks?
T
he other day, I went down to my local kayak club and couldn’t help but notice that every last boat on the water was a British-style kayak. All of them, that is, except mine.
What’s a “Brit style” boat? Think of kayaks with three little rubber hatches, three bulkheads and skegs instead of rudders. Brit boats are generally small, low-volume craft that weigh 60 to 100 pounds, have pointy upswept ends and tiny little fibreglass seats with backbands, designed to torture anyone over five-foot-four. These are the kayaks that tend to sport Union
Jacks, Welsh dragons and “Kiss me, I low-brace for Scotland” decals. They are designed by the British stars like Nigel Dennis and Derek “I crossed the North Sea using only a cricket bat for a paddle” Hutchinson. My North American boat by contrast was the only kayak at the club with a rudder and enough volume to actually carry a Honda generator and a steamer trunk of gear—provisions needed to explore the coast in style and comfort. My hatches are those nice big leaky kind, the ones with the awkward neoprene gaskets that you can actually fit a generator through. The seat in my kayak is like a mini La-Z-Boy, not some pitiful little fibreglass thimble that might just fit Herve Villachez or one of the smaller Miss Teen Canada contestants. Mine
hatch, seat and rudder design were just around the corner. America was reinventing the sea kayak, and it was going to be great.
But then, Canucks and Yanks became interested in Brit boats. The average paddler’s skill set had improved enormously. It was time to move up to higher-performance kayaks, and the North American manufacturers didn’t keep up with some of their customers. Designers in the U.K. were truly trying to make the best sea kayaks that they could, while builders in Canada and the U.S. focused on making the boat that everyone could paddle. They wanted the sport to be so inclusive that they forgot about designs that would stretch a paddler’s skills and their comfort zone. Innovation stalled, and flash and gizmos replaced function. Now, North American companies are responding by rushing to make “British style” sea kayaks of their own. As the British-style kayak becomes the ride of choice for many “serious” sea kayakers, I can’t help but feel that we have thrown the baby out with the bathwater.
The key design mandate was to contain the smell of British cooking. Think mushy peas, haggis, kippers...
was the only North American “West Coast” style kayak.
Now don’t get me wrong—British boats are totally cool. They are typically lots of fun to paddle, and there are many excellent designs to choose from. But what in hell happened to the West Coast boat?
I remember a time when West Coast manufacturers were setting the pace for kayak design and especially build quality in North America and maybe even the world. There was great momentum in the U.S. market and a prevailing feeling that many new innovations in
20 Early Summer 2004 Somewhere along the way, the traditional
North American features like rudders came to be seen as “bad.” What jackass was responsible for that whopper of a lie? It is patently absurd to say that one system—skeg or rudder—is “better” than the other. They both have inherent strengths and limitations. Skegs are beautifully simple in operation and far less exposed to damage should a collision occur, and foot pedals in a skegged boat are rock-solid under pressure, but rudders are truly superior in some conditions. No kidding, paddlers in my neighborhood actually believe that rudders are the work of
Beelzebub himself. They know it’s true ‘cause they “heard it from some British kayak guru.” On several occasions, while paddling with kayak-anglophiles I’ve tried to explain the advantages of a rudder in following seas. But generally they fall so far behind that they miss the final, most salient point of the argument, which is that rudders really work a treat in following seas! Hatches. Why must they be rubber? An interesting and little-known fact about those rubber hatches from the venerable British company Valley Canoe Products is that they were never really designed to be waterproof. No, the key design mandate was that they be airtight to contain the smell of British cooking. Consider boiled fish and mushy peas, pigs in a blanket, haggis, kippers, or cabbage boiled beyond the point of no return. Sitting in a cheap and cheerful London tearoom, it’s enough to make one gag. At sea, it would mean disaster. It was a happy accident that VCP’s smell-proof design proved to be watertight as well. Hatches should be bone dry and easy to access. End of story. So why on earth has the otherwise sensible paddling community swallowed every last bite of BS from anyone with an accent posing as a sea kayak guru? Really, the root of all this is very simple: colonialism. When push comes to shove, and we Canadians and Americans hear a commanding voice ringing out in a beautiful rich and plummy
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