Susan Conrad ~ Adventure Paddler

 

I was always deeply drawn to water, despite my parents’ efforts to instill a deep fear of water in me after a cousin had drowned.  I was that blue-lipped, shivering kid at the local pool or lake who insisted, “I wasn’t cold.”  You couldn’t get me out of the water.  I spent countless idle afternoons playing with toy boats high in the creeks and ponds below our house—out of my parents’ view.  It felt like a secret, magical, and yes—forbidden—world to me, where I often found solace and healing.

I discovered whitewater rafting in college in southern Oregon in the mid 1980s. I really knew just enough to be dangerous.  The rafts were fun, but I kept watching the little whitewater kayaks, nimbly darting in and out of small river features, playing, rolling, and just having a great time. I thought, “THAT’S what I WANT to do!”  Pretty quickly, I switched from rafting to whitewater kayaking and continued to run rivers big and small for decades.  I ran a class V river once, just to say I did it.  Never again.

I was first introduced to sea kayaking in landlocked Montana in 1991, and that was a huge game-changer for me.  I immediately recognized its potential for solitude and reflection.  Transitioning from barely being able to cram a small lunch in my whitewater kayak to packing everything I needed to survive (and thrive) into the sea kayak’s watertight hatches led me to taking off for days, weeks, and eventually months at a time on wilderness kayak adventures.  I realized I had a penchant for long-distance paddling when I coerced a couple of girlfriends to paddle the entire length of Flathead Lake with me in one day. We put in at the south end of the lake near Polson, MT, and ended, nearly 30 miles later, at the small community of Somers on the lake’s north end.  I was exhausted, but exhilarated.

Flathead Lake, MT

From 1991-1999, I was a kayak guide on the big lakes and rivers in Montana.  I learned a lot through that experience, as the company’s owner taught her newbie guides a fair bit about boat control, self and assisted rescues, and the like.  I had a “somewhat solid” whitewater kayak roll, and that skill transferred to the longer, more lissome kayaks fairly easily.

But it wasn’t until I started my own kayak company that I sought out more professional instruction.  In 2000, I became an ACA Open Water Coastal (Level IV) certified instructor.  It was one of the best things I’ve ever done to increase my safety—and the safety of others—on the water.  In addition to refining all the fancy strokes, maneuvers, rolls, rescues, etc., I also learned a lot about applying those skills to REAL conditions, as well as group dynamics and learning styles.  Participating in several Swiftwater Rescue trainings put on by our local S&R as well as Wilderness First Responder courses that offered a water-rescue component, rounded out my skill set. 

Over the course of the last 40+ years, I’ve paddled the glacier-carved lakes of Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming. I’ve paddled with friends in Mexico, Belize, on the Atlantic and the Pacific. I’ve explored the Great Lakes and big rivers, from the muddy Missouri to the class-five whitewater rivers in Montana and Idaho. I paddled lagoons, estuaries, lakes, mill ponds, creeks, rivers, bays, and pools. 

I have a love affair with the Great Bear Rainforest along BC’s central coast and have completed several two-week trips in that area.  But it’s the point-to-point, long-distance hauls that intrigue me the most.  In 2010, I paddled the Inside Passage solo from Anacortes to Juneau.  At 49 years young, I was simply a woman on a mission: to see if I could do it.  I did, and it was life-changing. Years later, after rereading Audrey Sutherland’s book “Paddling North,” I was so taken by this woman’s accomplishments.  A petite, grey-haired woman, paddling tens of thousands of solo miles—in an inflatable kayak—in her 60s, 70s, and early 80s!  I felt strongly that the world needed to know more about this unsung hero, and decided I would recreate her route to Sitka, and write about my experience of recreating her experience.  So, in 2022, I set off from San Juan Island and paddled solo, approximately 1,200 miles to Sitka, largely using the route she detailed in “Paddling North,” visiting many of the same campsites, hot springs, cabins, and communities along the way that she did, as well as interviewing people who remembered her coming through many years earlier.  It was a profound experience.

What I've Learned from Adventure Kayaking and Associated Thoughts

I’ve learned to be comfortable with the uncomfortable.  Adventure paddling is going to have unknowns; that’s what makes it an adventure!  Embracing discomfort, not knowing exactly where your next campsite might be, screaming at the wind, etc., are all part of this nautical chess game.  In today’s complex world, the simplicity of facing the next challenge, of finding shelter, staying hydrated, fed, and safe, feels like a relief.  And I truly enjoy what I refer to as “wilderness nesting.”  Making a camp a cozy home for the night, and leaving no trace that I was there when I paddle away. 

I’ve also learned a lot about dealing with my fears.  When things get dicey on a trip, I’ve learned to categorize my fears, which puts them in perspective.  I ask myself if the fear I’m experiencing is a real, valid threat, or simply my assumption that something or someone might harm me.  For example, while camping in bear country my mind can go bonkers, so I have to ask myself if a bear really, truly is in the campsite.  Usually not, so I compartmentalize that fear, practice proper bear protocol, and carry on.  An on-water example could be dealing with building seas.  Fear can be paralyzing in this scenario.  But I’m not in the water; I’m still upright.  Keep paddling. Lean forward.  Stash that fear and envision myself safely landing in the lee of the wind and waves.