The mind drags the body – struggling behind it – rarely the opposite. Mark Twight.
“What will you do if you have been paddling all day and can’t land?” My niece asked as we planned and prepared for our sea kayak trip along the west and south coast of Tasmania. I did not want to think about this eventuality because I really had no good answer. It didn’t help, that my niece, bless her heart, asked me this question every time I saw her in the lead up to our kayak trip. I did not want to think about it early, I did not want to think about it late, I really did not want to think about such an eventuality at all, oh no, I did not (apologies to Dr Seuss).
Whenever I did think about this question I shuddered; a deep, dragging shudder, the sort that reaches down to your bones because what would we do? If we could not land, conditions would be desperate and how would we survive at sea in desperate conditions on the wild west coast of Tasmania? My mind, that catastrophe generating machine, would visualise three metre seas and five metre swells, with 30 knot winds all converging as night fell and we desperately searched for somewhere to land exhausted after a 40 kilometre paddle day.
Of course, it never came to that. Most catastrophes that we imagine never happen, and whilst it is good to be prepared – “failure to plan is planning to fail” - big trips require tight mind control. That is my pre-eminent lesson from what I think will be the hardest and most committing ocean kayak trip I will ever do. You simply must control your mind.
The mind, as Mark Twight said so succintly so many years ago, is primary.
The mind wants you to quit as soon as things get hard. The mind wants to imagine one calamity after another, the mind nags and niggles about all the things that might or could go wrong. Sometimes it feels as if the mind never gives you one damn moments peace.
If the weather is good today, what will it be like tomorrow? If the swell is pumping as you paddle out of a safe harbour in the morning, what will it be like as you approach the next possible landing spot? If there is a headwind, how bad can it get? Conversely, if the kayak is being pushed along by a strong tail wind and things feel just a bit uncontrollable, how much more can you handle? What if the queasiness you feel from the swell and sea and the endless lumpy, bumpy, messy conditions that constitute the average paddle conditions make you really sea sick and you start vomiting? What if, what if, what if. The mind just never stops.
I learnt long ago on big ski traverses through the Canadian mountains, that the mind must be controlled. Avalanche hazard is the biggest risk, but there is also the possibility of falling into a crevasse (with a heavy pack on!) or losing an edge and tumbling skis still on your feet down very steep, very long, very icy slopes most of which are handily placed above cliff bands guaranteeing that you will be catapulted a great distance. No-one has any hope, under those conditions of arresting a fall even if you are skiing with an ice axe in your hand, which, I can attest, is not easy.
On such trips, there are two options, one is to lay awake all night worrying about the next day, the other is to make a solid plan that mitigates any risks that can be managed, then relax and get a good sleep. After two decades of completing at least one big ski traverse every year, I came to view the thin nylon of our tent as some kind of magic barrier. Once I was inside, I simply did not worry anymore. The nylon became a force field to repel catastrophic thinking.
It takes energy and practice to control the mind. I’ve heard the uncontrolled and irrational mind compared to an elephant with the tiny, rational part of our minds, the rider atop the elephant. The rider thinks they are in control but, in truth, the gigantic and muscular elephant is making all the decisions. Long paddle days are the norm on the west and south coast of Tasmania and seven hours on the water allows the elephant a long lead time to get up a head of steam and crush everything in its path. The mind drags the body.
I had a mantra when paddling that I used when ever those catastrophic thoughts threatened to overwhelm my equillibrium. It’s pretty simple, it’s quite well known, and it’s been around for a really long time: that which doesn’t kill me.
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