Frigid days on the water

     Before I get started, let me just say that I don't want to hear any guff from my readers in New England, Canada, Minnesota, and other frigid regions whose residents would argue that it "doesn't get cold" in the Mid South (Tennessee-Arkansas-Mississippi) region where I live.  All the South is not like southern Florida, and as a matter of fact, it does get cold here--no, not as cold as in the Frozen North, but that's exactly why this column is relevant to people like me.  Up north, it gets so cold this time of year that most lakes and rivers freeze over, making paddling impossible and forcing paddlers to take up cross-country skiing or to go inside and play hockey.  Down here, it's plenty cold as far as I'm concerned, but not quite cold enough to freeze all bodies of water and give us a convenient excuse not to paddle.  And so we paddle.  In the COLD.
     So.  With that pre-emptive strike out of the way, I shall attempt to wax eloquent about cold-weather paddling.
     Most "muggles" (non-paddlers) can't believe that my friends and I go out paddling in the wintertime.  I didn't believe it either back when I was first getting into the sport.  But a person who is dressed properly can stay surprisingly warm (hot, even) out on the water.  This was true even before today's space-age garments were developed; wool sweaters and socks were up to the task.  With the availability of polyester fleece, Goretex, neoprene, and other synthetic fabrics, there is actually an overabundance of cold-weather paddling wear from which to choose nowadays.
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     Knowing how to dress for cold-weather paddling is sort of a balancing act.  It's good to be prepared for an unexpected swim, and a full drysuit with full-body fleece layers will arm you against the energy-zapping power of sub-40-degree water.  Trouble is, if you go out dressed like the Michelin Man, you not only will have restricted movement but also will be stifling hot in your boat, even on a 15-degree day.
     I opt for clothing that keeps me warm but not hot, and is low-profile enough to allow good freedom of movement.  I usually wear either a long-sleeve paddling shell or a medium-weight rubber pullover with a fuzzy inner lining, and a polypropylene T-shirt underneath.  Even on my surf ski, which leaves my legs exposed, a pair of medium-weight polyester pants is usually enough; my friends who paddle traditional kayaks can get by with even less, as their boats provide quite a bit of protection for their legs.  If an icy wind is howling out of the north, I'll put on a shell over my polyester pants.  "Pogies" (mittens that fasten with velcro around the paddle shaft) are desirable on all but the mildest winter days in this region.
     My paddling partners and I haven't experienced a wintertime swim for as long as I can remember, but anything can happen, so we try have a plan.  In general, we stay fairly close to the riverbank in cold weather.  Since we are paddling in an urban area, people who can help are never far away, but of course we'd rather look after ourselves as much as possible.  We make a point of practicing our Eskimo rolls and other self-rescue techniques during warmer weather.
     The challenges of cold weather present themselves before we're even on the water.  On the morning after an overnight freeze, any water that was in our boats or boat covers the day before is now ice.  This would not really be a problem except that the boats we paddle out on the Mississippi River have rudders, and the rudders and their cables are often frozen up on mornings when the temperature is in the 20s or colder.  It's always a tense few minutes trying to free up a frozen rudder without snapping a cable.
     Out on the river, freezing temperatures mean icicles on our life jackets, paddle shafts, and pogies as water drips off our paddle blades.  The phenomenon is most severe when we're paddling into a headwind, which blows the water right on us, and with our backs to the sun.
     Yes, wind is the one variable that makes the difference between a pleasant winter day and a miserable winter day.  Any exposed skin, such as that on your face, becomes dead to the world as you drive against an icy north wind.  I think the psychological effect is as bad as anything: paddling against the wind makes your workout an ordeal to survive rather than an outing to relish and enjoy.  I prefer a 25-degree calm day to a 40-degree windy day any day of the year.
     Like I said, our waterways don't often freeze up around here, but they do occasionally.  I remember the first week of January three or four years ago, during which the temperature didn't rise above freezing for several consecutive days.  We went down to our dock in Memphis Harbor and found the harbor covered with a solid sheet of ice, several inches thick, as far as the eye could see.  We spent at least a half-hour poking at the ice around the dock with our paddles, hoping to create some paddleable water, before we realized the futility of the exercise and went home.  The next day the temperature rose into the mid-30s, and the ice had melted enough for us to put our boats in the water, but after advancing less than a half-mile, plowing through ice floe after ice floe and searching desperately for liquid spots to dip my paddle, I gave up and returned to the dock.
     I'm saying a lot about Mid South winters because the Mid South is where I live, but I certainly am not implying that we have the harshest conditions one can paddle in.  Olympic champion Greg Barton lives and paddles in Seattle, and according to him there are about three times as many cold, wet, dreary days there as there are here in Memphis.  A bit north of there is the Canadian slalom team training center at Chilliwack, British Columbia, and if you want to get an idea of the conditions there, I recommend the book Every Crushing Stroke by World Cup champion slalom racer Scott Shipley.  Shipley recounts his quest to become a world-class paddler in the early 90s, when he lived in an unheated treehouse in Chilliwack and had to thaw his frozen clothes in a bathtub each morning, hopping in himself to put them on.  What can I say, other than... I am impressed.
     My own cold-weather paddling experiences have not been confined to the Mississippi River at Memphis.  I can recall a few whitewater river-running excursions in which I camped out, woke up to sub-freezing temperatures in the morning, built a fire, and held my frozen paddling clothes over it until they were thawed enough for me to put on.  And it doesn't have to be wintertime to be cold: once I went out to Colorado in June and found myself paddling the Arkansas River in the snow.
     During my days as a "serious" slalom racer, I would make occasional trips out of state to train in whitewater gates.  On one of my most memorable training trips, I went to western North Carolina right around New Year's Eve.  A big snowstorm blew through the area, and I remember paddling in the snow on the Tuckasegee River at Bryson City.  At times it was impossible to see from one gate to the next, and icicles hanging down from the gate poles made sneaking the poles tricky.  The bright side is that nobody threw snowballs at me.
     Back here in the Mid South, we average about one accumulation of snow each winter.  Paddling in the snow is a rather idyllic experience if the wind is not blowing too hard.  I figure if I can drive my car down to the river on a snowy day without getting killed in a wreck, my odds out on the river couldn't be too bad.
     The best thing about winter in the Mid South is that it doesn't last long, relatively speaking.  By March, frigid temperatures will give way to milder ones, with powerful south winds making the river very rough.  Then, before I know it, it'll be summer, and sweltering hot.  Hmmm… it seems like I'm not really satisfied with any of our seasons here.  On the other hand, we do have some absolutely gorgeous days during all parts of the year--spring, summer, fall, and, yes, even winter.
 
 

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