The big Queensland kayak trip is done. 483 kilometres in 16 paddle days. That is an average of 30 kilometres a day, except the kilometres were not so evenly distributed. A couple of days were only 16 kilometres, while other days were 40 kilometres and our final day was 48 kilometres. On top of the paddling, there is what I call “moving shit around.” In fact, I am more and more convinced that kayaking trips are basically made up of morning and evening intervals of “moving shit around” interspersed with a little bit of paddling.
When the waters you are paddling happen to be in the area with the second largest tidal movement in Australia (exceeded only by Derby, Western Australia), moving shit around takes on a whole new meaning. Tide ranges in Broad Sound and nearby waters range up to 8 to 10 metres at the highest tides, and 6 metres is exceedingly common. Moving shit around involves long carries of heavy gear, litres and litres (up to 50) of fresh water (for drinking) and boats over dry reefs, slippery rocks, and soft sand. If you get lucky, you might be able to do half of this with the tide relatively high, if not, expect to walk a couple of kilometres all up by the time all the shit is moved around. This process consumes two to three hours a day. Moving shit around is not something people generally factor into their training programs before their trip but adding loaded carries (one of Dan John’s five must do foundational human movements) is probably a good idea.
After the big trip is over, and the week of clean-up (the house, the car, the caravan, the garden, the laundry room sized pile of laundry) is done and the next training block is started, I like to look back, a debrief of sorts, and consider what changes I would make next time. Essentially, was my training and nutrition strategy as good as it could be?
As usual, I thought my training block was a little short. I had a jacked up shoulder that took some home rehabilitation work and chiropractic to heal (the result of experimenting with training to failure as described in The P:E Diet) which cut short my training block. Consequently, I did not put in the big mileage that I put in before crossing Bass Strait, and focused on shorter, faster efforts. I still did all my training on the ocean under varied conditions. Like everyone else, I am always tempted to take a quick run up the river instead of dealing with the wind, the swell, the clapotis, and the currents that are the reality of ocean paddling but this is where specificity is important. If you are going to paddle on the ocean, train on the ocean.
This training block I kept up with my general strength training. This helped with the extra requirements – the moving shit around part of the trip. When we were training for Bass Strait I was so focused on making sure I could do the several long crossings that are required (two crossings of about 50 kilometres and one of 70 kilometres) that I was often too fatigued from long ocean paddles to get my strength training done. With Bass Strait well into the rear view mirror, I knew that I was physically and mentally capable of completing the required crossings and did not need to prove that to myself again. Consequently, my longest training paddle in the last block was only about 30 kilometres. This is one of the factors that meant I was able to keep up with my normal strength training.
I was getting fatigued towards the end of the trip. There are so many things that can cause fatigue on these long trips that it is pretty much impossible to work out which is most or least important and which can be ameliorated with better planning and preparation. All long trips cause fatigue; no-one ever “got fit on the trip,” although multitudes of people have bought into that strategy.
The top five things that cause fatigue on trips are:
Poor work capacity. A bit of a generic catch all term which basically means you can move lots of shit around with reasonable speed for a long time. Requires both aerobic capacity and muscular strength and endurance.
Poor aerobic capacity. You might be able to bench press three times your body weight but if your aerobic system is poorly developed you will fatigue rapidly. I meet a remarkable number of sea kayakers who have poor aerobic capacity.
Poor nutrition. This is tough on long trips. It is hard to take adequate high quality protein to facilitate good recovery. Crushed up Weetabix (as disgusting as it sounds) is NOT a nutrient dense food (actually Weetabix is a food like substance).
Inadequate technical skill. There are a lot of arm paddlers out there and a lot of people who do not train under the conditions in which they will be paddling. Both arm paddling and being gripped rigid with fear because the conditions on the ocean are NOT the same as the conditions on the lake/river will fatigue a paddler quickly.
Inadequate mental preparation. In my mind, this is just as important as physical skills and capacity. Heading off on long trips under challenging conditions requires a certain belief that your skills and capacity are adequate to the task. Simply put, you have to believe you can move shit around under a variety of conditions to actually move shit around under said conditions.
If I were to add a sixth item, it would be the inability to get proper sleep. A good tent, sleeping pad, and decent sleep hygiene (go to bed early, get up early, don’t nap or drink stimulants later in the day), this is stuff we all know. But you also need to know how to turn the mind off. You simply cannot be worrying about what challenges the next day will bring.
I learnt this lesson over 30 years ago on the first big ski traverse I ever did (the Southern Cariboos traverse). Every single day on that trip entailed travelling across bits of terrain that literally wanted to kill us. From the first day when we remote triggered a series of dry slab avalanches to the last day as the crevasse bridges crumbled underneath us, the entire eight day trip was made up of a series of terrifying bits of skiing and climbing. There were five of us on the trip and each evening when we made camp we were somewhat surprised to find that we were still five and no-one had died during the day.
When we put the tent up at night, that flimsy piece of nylon became, in my mind, a fortress. I was safe, I could sleep, eat, drink tea, relax. I would not and did not worry about the next days troubles. They would come whether I ruminated over them or not, so far better to not. Ever since that trip I have been the same. The tent is up, I crawl in and immediately let the outside world do what it will – even if it involves flooding the tent.
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