VHF Marine Radio: A Lifeline for Sea Kayakers

a chart showing the Canadian Coast Guard coverage area for DSC equipped marine VHF radios
The DSC system covers most places a sea kayaker would want to go on the BC coast. These antennas are not like cellphone repeater towers: they will let you communicate with the Coast Guard; they will not retransmit your calls to other VHF users. [From https://www.ccg-gcc.gc.ca/publications/mcts-sctm/ramn-arnm/part4-eng.html ]

“Hello? Hello? Is anybody out there?” The call came faintly over my handheld radio, secure in its holster on the shoulder of my PFD. No details on what they were hailing about: was it a life-threatening emergency, were they wanting weather information, or were they simply lonely and thought marine VHF worked like CB radio for casual chats with random strangers? Whatever it was, the only thing they had communicated was that they didn’t know what they were doing. I just had time to hear the Canadian Coast Guard respond before my attention was taken up by one of the guests in the kayak tour group I was leading.

Calls like that underscore why it’s common sense, as well as the law, to get your Restricted Operator’s Certificate, Maritime (usually shortened to ROC [M] and pronounced “rock ’em”) before using a marine radio. It’s not a black art: a few hours of study and a short exam will get you in the game, all ready and legal. It’s just that, as in other fields, a specialized vocabulary and specific protocols allow quick and unambiguous communication. Had that muddled radio user known them, it would have been clear from their first transmission what the nature and purpose of their call was.

But, I hear you ask, why would I, a humble sea kayaker, want a marine VHF in the first place?

Some sea kayakers might feel it’s a bit pretentious to sport a full-fledged marine radio—after all, we’re not large craft. But I’ve always treated sea kayaking as real seafaring, albeit with everything—boats, crossings, crew size—scaled down. So a miniature version of the “big boys’” radio makes perfect sense to me. 

Other paddlers might feel a radio is superfluous: they have their trusty cellphone in a waterproof baggie. And you can indeed reach the Canadian Coast Guard by dialing *16 on your cell. But shockingly, the Coast Guard isn’t always going to have a rescue boat just around the corner from where you are. In many, if not most, cases, they will be getting on their VHF radio to see if there might be a nearby good Samaritan who could help you faster. Putting out a call for help on a marine radio allows you to communicate directly with any “vessels of opportunity”, eliminating the need for the Coast Guard to act as a middleman.

Then there’s also the fact that if you’re voyaging to the remote outer and North coast parts of BC, your particular cellphone carrier might not have coverage in that area. But as long as you’re within radio range, you’ll be able to talk directly to other boats. And thanks to a series of strategically placed antennas on high ground up and down the coast, there are very few areas on the BC coast (except far down some of our deep fjords) where you wouldn’t be able to contact the Coast Guard directly (see map).

As a further bonus, thanks to another network of land-based antennas, you should be able to receive marine weather broadcasts on your VHF weather channels pretty much anywhere on the coast—very handy when you’re off the cellphone grid and can’t access the marine weather website.

A marine VHF is certainly useful for emergencies, but even more useful for preventing emergencies. Some years ago, I was leading a small group of coworkers on a kayak trip from Prevost Island south to Portland Island in the Gulf Islands. Partway through the crossing, a BC ferry appeared out of the western end of Active Pass, en route to Swartz Bay. I knew the late afternoon sun would be reflecting off the water around us and dazzling the eyes of anyone on the ferry’s bridge. So I hailed the ferry on my VHF, gave them our position from my GPS, and herded my fellow paddlers into a tight group so the ferry wouldn’t have to slalom through us. Similarly, when doing a solo crossing of Johnstone Strait, I’ve made contact with a tug towing a barge to clarify its course and intentions and to confirm they were aware of my presence (something not to be taken for granted when you are a very small object in very big waves, and the helmsperson on the tug may be multitasking).  

Even for routine on-water communications, radios are superior to cellphones. Simply pushing a button and talking is a lot faster than dialing and then waiting for the call to go through and be answered. As a kayak guide, I’m often with large groups, working with several colleagues. Any radio call one of us makes is heard by all the other guides—very handy since we’re often doing the marine version of herding cats. Nor do you need to be a pro guide to benefit from these “everyone in the loop” communications: it’s equally useful for club outings, or even when it’s just you and your paddle buddy. 

So now that I’ve hopefully sold you on the idea of getting a ROC (M) and a radio, which radio should you get?

To DSC or not to DSC—that is the major question

DSC, or Digital Selective Calling, is a feature that uses a dedicated channel to let radios sync with one another digitally, and so perform all kinds of cool tricks.

Assuming the party you want to call is also using a DSC radio, and that you know their MMSI (Maritime Mobile Service Identity) or MI (Maritime Identity) number, you can call them directly, without having to hail them first by voice on Channel 16. It looks and feels a lot like calling someone from your list of contacts on a cellphone. (Although, as I caution people in my ROC [M] courses, unlike a cellphone, your conversations aren’t private: anyone who’s tuned into the channel you’re using can hear you.) 

If you do need to put out a call for help, pushing the red DISTRESS button on a DSC VHF will start digitally broadcasting your Mayday, your MMSI/MI number, and your position in latitude and longitude. Any DSC-VHF-equipped boat with its radio on and in range will receive it, as will the Coast Guard (see the coverage map above). Ideally, you’d follow up pushing the DISTRESS button with a voice Mayday on Channel 16, but I’m sure you can imagine scenarios in which all you have time to do is push the red button, then cope with the situation at hand. In such cases, it’s reassuring to know the radio is automatically squawking out your digital Mayday and updated location every few minutes.

Downsides to DSC radios are that they are more expensive to buy and have a shorter battery life due to powering the integrated GPS (though on many models, you can reduce power consumption by slowing down the position update rate).

So do you want a DSC or non-DSC radio? My answer is to get one of each. When paddling or instructing in my home waters of English Bay, Vancouver, I use my non-DSC radio since I’m confident of my ability to give my location clearly in reference to local landmarks. That puts the highest daily wear-and-tear on my less expensive radio. For touring, I carry the more expensive DSC radio for its ability to send out my location accurately when I’m in less familiar waters and/or further offshore.

Most radio manufacturers make the instruction manuals for their products available on their websites. So you can browse the manual for the model you’re considering and see if it has the features you want and if the menu works in a way that makes sense to you.

If you are buying a DSC VHF, you’ll need an MMSI or MI number to activate the DSC features. Industry Canada will only issue those for radio models that have been IC-approved. Plus, radios for use here need to have the appropriate CAN, USA, and INTERNATIONAL operating modes. So while it’s OK to order radios online, it’s best to do so from stores that have a bricks-and-mortar presence in Canada so you can be sure their products are ready for use here. I had a student in one of my ROC (M) classes who’d ordered a DSC handheld from one of those mysterious overseas sites. It arrived without IC approval or the proper mode functionality, so they wasted their money. (A note to American readers: please adjust the above info for your country. And if you’re paddling in Canadian waters, your radio will need to have a CAN mode for you to talk to users here. This has to do with channel frequencies and simplex-duplex channels.)

Waterproof…ish

Almost all handheld marine VHFs are advertised as being “waterproof”. But that seems to mean something less demanding to ordinary boaters than to kayakers. The typical use for a handheld might be on the decks of a larger boat in the rain, or perhaps in a dinghy on trips away from the mothership. The worst case scenario there might be the dinghy pilot dropping the radio in a few inches of bilge water for ten seconds. But if a kayaker has to do a wet exit with their VHF in a PFD pocket, the radio gets pushed several feet below sea level during the ejection phase, and might remain a foot or more underwater for a long time if reboarding is difficult or impossible. 

Waterproofness is measured on an IP scale. IP7 is the minimum for a sea kayaker; IP8 would be great if you find such a radio with all the other features you’d like.

There are custom-made waterproof radio baggies available, but I find them awkward. They make it tough to see the screen and a battle to operate the controls. As a final insult, the baggie clips often prevent the radios from fitting in PFD pockets.  So I carry my radio naked and accept that the price of greater accessibility is that it will eventually die from saltwater exposure (usually just after the two or three-year warranty has expired). 

Keeping your handheld at hand

Some paddlers carry their radios under their deck bungees or in the glove compartment hatch on the front deck. I’m not a fan of either: if you became separated from your boat after a wet exit in big waves and high winds, that’s when you might most want a VHF. 

Because I’m routinely transmitting with my radio, I like having a radio pocket or case on my PFD shoulder that lets me quick-draw and quick-reholster. It baffles me that many sea kayaking PFDs don’t come with radio-specific pockets with pass-throughs for antennas. And that a certain kayak personal equipment company, whose products are otherwise intelligently designed, persists in putting the radio pocket on some of their PFDs dead centre at the waist front where: 1. The antenna is perfectly positioned to go up your nose; 2. If you’re swimming, both the radio speaker and antenna are underwater; and 3. The radio is subject to maximum crushing force under your body as you slide along the back deck after a seal flop or heel hook re-entry.

a photo of a holster for a marine VHF radio, mounted on a sea kayaking PFD

My current radio holding hack is a Nite Ize cargo holster, with the top flap cut away for antenna clearance, and a dollar-store hook-and-loop strap sewn on that can be released or secured one-handed. It stretches to fit either my DSC or non-DSC radio snugly, and the rotating back clip secures easily to the shoulder strap of my PFD. I like having the radio, especially the antenna, at least mostly above water in its holster in case I dump, especially if I’ve pushed the DISTRESS button and need the radio to be automatically calling for help while I thrash for shore or cling to my upturned boat.

But if you’re not constantly transmitting with the radio, the removable belt clip that comes with it should be fine for clipping to the webbing or somewhere on your PFD. Whatever system you use, add a lanyard and hook to prevent losing the radio if it should slip from your hands. I prefer the Scotty nylon snap hook over metal carabiners since it won’t rust or bang destructively against my radio.     

A part of many layers

If you’re familiar with the Swiss-cheese model of accident causation, you know that the more layers of equipment and/or skill-based defences you have, the more opportunities there are to break the chain that can lead to catastrophe. A VHF radio can be part of many of those defences: in the outer layers, it lets you access marine weather reports that help you make go/no-go decisions; in the middle layers, it lets you communicate with kayakers and other boaters to prevent confusion; and in the inner layers it lets you call for help if all else fails.

In more than three decades of carrying handheld VHFs for sea kayaking, I have never needed to send a full-on Mayday call. And I couldn’t be happier about that. But I’m also very happy to know that if the need should ever arise, I have both a radio and the knowledge to use it effectively. I think you should, too!

Philip Torrens is a long-time sea kayaker. He instructs on-water, onshore, and online classes for Jericho Beach Kayak, including the course to get your ROC (M). He’s the majority owner of WestCoast Paddler, an online community for kayakers. He also blogs about kayak trips and techniques at https://philiptorrens.com/

Crossposted from https://www.bcmarinetrails.org/vhf-marine-radio-a-lifeline-for-sea-kayakers/.

On the Level again: assisting on a second Level 2 Sea Kayaking course

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Prologue: Once again the stars (or students) aligned for me to assist my colleague Mike McHolm on a Paddle Canada Level 2 sea kayaking course. Prior to this three day/two night camping trip, we’d done an intense weekend of pretraining with our students at Jericho Beach, heavy on both theory and practice.  

Friday, May 16, 2025

Mike and I rocked up to Xwawchayay (Porteau Cove) to find all the students already arrived and keen to launch. Before that however, we had a bit of learning and planning to do, and gathered round the nearest picnic table as an al fresco classroom. 

On the crossing, we practiced compass navigation, time-distance-speed calculations and the use of ranges. We made landfall just south of the Defence Islands, then turned north to handrail along the shore to Ts’itpsm (Zorro Bay).

Mid-channel course check-in

Enroute, we spotted a bear clambering up the cliffs from his seaside shellfish buffet. They were too far away for point-and-shoot cameras, but close enough that our Mark 1 eyeballs could marvel at their massively muscled shoulders. And the steep, rocky slope they were scaling proved their claws were easily the equal of human shinobi shuko and crampons.

As we landed, showers were drifting in, so one of the first orders of business was to set up a dry central meeting area. I’ll plead guilty to being proud, verging on vain, of my tarpology skills, so I began rigging a roof over the most accessible picnic table. As we’d loaded our boats at Porteau Cove that morning, Mike had politely expressed that the tarp poles I was packing would probably be unnecessary, since he knew of a conveniently located tree at the site. As it turned out, the arborologist who regularly checks the site had decreed the removal of that particular tree since Mike’s last visit. So my precious poles were not a waste of space. I lashed one to a handy root ball to hold it firmly upright, and used it to suspend one end of the tarp ridgeline. 

Home, sweet home.

Once we had camp established, with everyone’s tents up, we reconvened at the water’s edge for a rolling clinic. This began on dry land, with Mike leading the students through the “load and drive” motions their legs and torsos should be following. Then it was on—and into—the water, with Mike kneeling next to each kayak in turn to serve as training wheels on the student’s first attempts.    

This is not martial arts training with a Greenland paddle (though Mike is arguably a Sensei): this is dryland rehearsal of the leg loads and drives that make for a successful kayak roll.
Setting up for the sweep, with Mike as “training wheels”.

As Mike was teaching, I waded out in what was supposed to be my drysuit to grab some video. An icy sensation flooding down my thighs reminded me I’d forgotten to close the relief zip after pumping my personal bilges on shore. With good reason, Mike laughed as I explained my error. But his turn would come (This is foreshadowing, or perhaps premoistening.)

It’s not a requirement for Level 2 to actually perform a roll, but you do have to have a good grasp of the theory. Impressively, Tony and Gwyn not only pulled off some paddle rolls, but Gwyn also succeeded in hand rolling his boat a time or two. A real testament to their learning and Mike’s teaching.

Once ashore for the day, I hung my drysuit liner suit in my tent’s gear loft, above the candle lantern I always carry in the shoulder seasons, so it could dry. Or at least graduate from saturated to merely clammy.

Ray and Dorothy had kindly offered to feed both Mike and I suppers on the nights we were out. And so we were treated to a delicious Thai curry, with lots of fresh veggies.

No scurvy on this sea voyage: fresh veggies ahoy!

Saturday, May 17, 2025

After practicing various strokes and techniques in the sheltered waters of Zorro Bay, we set off for our day trip to Islet View campsite. Enroute, we hugged the seaside cliffs as close as possible to use our manouvering strokes. 

Since the weather was cool with occasional showers, once we’d landed for lunch at Islet View, I fired up my MSR Windburner to provide hot water for soup and tea. Over years of shoulder season touring, I’ve found alternating bites of any lunch with swigs of hot soup makes even cold sandwiches feel like a hot meal. Appropriately enough, the lunchtime learning topics included managing hypo and hyperthermia.

During our lunch-and-learn, Mike dropped hints that the class might be hit with surprise scenarios on the way back to camp. This so affected one of the students that they felt a sudden urgent need to use the outhouse!   

Relaunching was a slow and careful process, as the tide had dropped enough to unsheath rocks with plenty of ankle-twisting and hull-cracking potential. 

Enroute to the Defence Islands, we worked on scoop re-entries. A bit after we’d made our turn north, one of our students—Tony—”unexpectedly” capsized, surfaced with a “shoulder injury” and became “hypothermic”. After some initial confusion, the other students responded to this scenario, getting him back in his boat, rafting up another kayaker with him to keep him upright, and beginning a tow.

“Saving” Tony

It was at this point that an interesting wildcard came into play. Ray was towing and the steadily increasing southeasterly inflow was shoving him and his towee to the left, towards the small rocky cape just south of Zorro Bay. Quite correctly, he was doing aggressive sweep strokes on the left, attempting to turn his boat and the towee’s to the right. To his bafflement, no change of direction was happening. The problem, which of course was much easier to detect from the outside, was that his towline was draped over the left back of his boat, and was preventing it from pivoting to the left, as needed to make a right turn. Compounding the difficulty, Ray was paddling his personal Delta kayak, a boat with a rudder, so the line was not free to slide across the stern over to the starboard side. So I paddled alongside, hooked the towline with my paddle and flicked it over to the other side. Detecting and overcoming glitches like this is precisely why we practice scenarios!  

By this time, as Mike happily noted, we had full-on Level 2 conditions – strong winds and regular spilling whitecaps. So he gleefully declared the towing scenario concluded and directed all students into the water to practice their solo re-entries in just the kind of conditions in which they might be capsized for real. As the students had experienced on our pre-trip prep weekend, doing re-entries of any kind in sporty waves is a whole different kettle of kayaks than in the millpond calm or light chop of Beginner or Level 1 seas. 

By the time each student eventually succeeded in reboarding, they were pretty tired and cold. So at Mike’s direction, I ran a shuttle escort service, accompanying ones and twos into the shelter of Zorro Bay—which was by now south of us—and returning for the next refugees as Mike drifted further north with those students still in the water. On my last turn around, I had a briefly concerning moment. Mike had been calling me on the radio, but due to water damage on his VHF, the transmissions were as faint and garbled as if he were signalling from Mars. And when I turned to run north, he and his students were nowhere to be seen. Until, that is, I had the sense to scan more westwards, towards the shoreline, where they were all steadily and safely clawing their way south.    

Just as the last of us landed, a spectacular rainbow lit up on the eastern shore of the sound. I’m not religious, but I’m pretty sure I remember reading that the rainbow is supposed to represent some deity’s promise that they are done with drowning people. So a good sign, then.

Sunday, May 18, 2025

We started the morning practicing hanging draws, followed by bow rescues. During one of his inversions, Mike discovered he’d made the same “leave the barn door open” oversight with his drysuit relief zipper as I had a couple of days before. So karmic balance was restored to the universe. It will be my turn again next time, I’m sure. 

Bow to your partner! A great way to prevent wet exits.

Our route, carefully planned prior to launch, took us east across Howe Sound to make landfall just north of Furry Creek, where we’d turn south to dogleg back to Porteau Cove. As the marine forecast had predicted, the southerly inflow was picking up nicely by the time we launched, so we had fine Level 2 conditions, or “Mike’s Delight” as I’m starting to call them: 1 to 2 foot seas with a high proportion of spilling whitecaps, all straight on our starboard sides, so we occasionally had to convert our forward strokes to slight sweep braces, or be ready to slap down a low brace.

I have a semi-unconscious response, developed during years of solo touring, to paddling in lively seas: I burst out into sea shanties. Fortunately for the rest of the group, the wind snatched away most of what we’ll call, for want of a better word, my singing. So they were not subjected to my offkey and misremembered version of “Jack was every inch a sailor.”   

As we handrailed south down the shoreline to Porteau Cove, we deliberately hugged the cliffs, enjoying the rollercoaster ride as the clapotis pinged off the walls to create sharp peaks and valleys in the water. 

Rocks and roll: Lumpy seas alongside the cliffs.

Just before landing at Porteau, Mike initiated the final exercise of the course: the “all in” where the entire class capsizes simultaneously, then helps one another reboard.

Happy landings!

Not long after that, we were safely ashore. After debriefing with each student individually, Mike and I set off to return the kayaks and gear to Jericho Beach Kayak. It was a very long day by the time we were finished and home, but as always, we were energized by the students’ enthusiastic response to the course and its challenges.  

Mike has made another of his excellent videos, with footage of many of the events described in this post.

Rescue me! Sea kayak saves with the Jericho Beach Rescue team

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I’ve been kayaking out of the Jericho Sailing Centre for decades and guiding and instructing there for years. So when the good folks at the Jericho Rescue Team asked for a “splash test dummy” to help train their latest batch of volunteers on how to rescue capsized kayakers, I was all in! 

A sea kayaker's point of view of a capsize, with the rescue boat visible in the distance.
Over I go!

The Sailing Centre is home to many clubs and businesses that put hundreds of small craft out to sea every year. Inevitably, some of those mariners are going to get into difficulties. Each season, the Rescue Team helps with some full-on emergencies and intervenes early to keep dozens of situations from escalating into emergencies.

A view from the rescue boat, showing a capsized sea kayak next to their upside down kayak.
I think he’s supposed to be inside that boat, not beside it!

Actually fishing a kayaker and a kayak out of the water was a good learning opportunity for the volunteers, who deal with many different types of small craft, each with its own quirks. (Pro tip: a kayak drains better if you lift it out of the water bow first rather than stern first!) In addition, each trainee got the opportunity to steer the boat to the swimmer, and to kill the engine before pulling the victim to the stern and the reboarding ladder. (Thankfully for me, no-one forgot that last step!)

a capsized kayaker's view of the approaching rescue boat
Help approaches.

The late April Sunday was cloudy and the water surprisingly cold. But I had my trusty drysuit. Or not. As I discovered during my first capsize, I hadn’t quite sealed the zipper tab all the way, so the icy sea found its way in at about crotch level. Oh well, this added a bit of verisimilitude to the rescue scenarios! Plus I got to entertain the folks on the rescue boat with my down-on-all-fours, leg-cocked-up-like-a-dog-at-a-fire-hydrant pose as I drained water out of the drysuit zipper.

Almost there.
A helping hand.
Deploying the reentry ladder.

Despite draining and resealing my suit, my insulation layers were pretty moist. So I was chilled to the point of shivering by the time we’d finished the morning’s swims. I took advantage of the lunch break to rewarm in the showers at JSA, and to borrow a wetsuit from my employers at JBK, which I layered under my still-damp drysuit in a kind of “belt-and-suspenders” redundancy.

Bringing my boat on board.
Back in the water!
Poling me in!
Happily back aboard.
You could be forgiven for thinking the guy in the red suit is saying, “Check out that dork with the propeller helmet!” But in fact, it’s a trick of perspective with my paddle. And Red Suit is following the correct man overboard procedure, keeping one arm pointed toward the swimmer, so that the person at the helm of the boat is free to concentrate on safely steering to the rescue.
Swimming yet again!
a swimming sea kayaker reaches with his paddle to the rescue boat
Pulling in with the paddle

Once I was done with the afternoon plunges, the team deposited me on shore, where I lost no time taking a more prolonged warming shower, followed by a great meal at The Galley, courtesy of the Team. It was great to have helped them learn, while getting a better understanding of how they work.

Electric Bilge Pumps For Sea Kayaks: The Saga Continues

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So let me start by acknowledging that over the years I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time and money on the various incarnations of my electric bilge pumps. At this point, it’s as much about the intellectual challenge and the fun of problem solving as getting water out of my boat. But as far as obsessions for old men go, it’s pretty harmless. Plus, if you can save some cash and avoid heading down dead ends by learning from my experiences, I’m happy for you.

Showing where the wires run in the system for the sea kayak electric bilge pump.
Nothing like a little soldery to brighten up a cold and cloudy day. Here I’m attaching the wires from the battery box, which will live in the day hatch compartment, to the wires that pass from there through the rear bulkhead and into the cockpit. The wires connected to the pump, though not the pump itself, are visible in the cockpit running over the seat.

This latest upgrade wound up becoming The Pump of Theseus: a new battery, a new battery box, and a new switch system. I also replaced both the base and backrest of my existing seatback. Still, a couple of feet of the positive and negative wires where they pass through the bulkhead into the dayhatch compartment were retained. So it’s kinda, sorta the same system, right?

Let’s walk through the components I replaced and why:

THE BATTERY

On previous systems, I’d used battery holders to stack AA batteries in series to add up to the voltage needed for a 12-volt bilge pump. I had a couple of reasons to do so at the time: I was doing longer (multi-week) trips and wanted the option to recharge the batteries in the field with my solar system and/or to swap out the rechargeable AAs with alkaline batteries from my other gear if needed. These days, I’m mostly doing shorter (long weekend) trips. In any case, I wouldn’t be doing longer trips in my skeg boat: I’d use my more capacious rudder kayak. Most significantly, over time, the thin wires from the 9 volt connector clips I’d used had sometimes corroded through – not from getting submerged, but simply from the salt air that entered the battery box when I opened it at the seashore.

At the suggestion of my friend and kayak addict co-enabler, Michael Verkerk, I switched over to a pre-fab 12 volt battery pack from Bioenno. This unit does require a wall charger, but as noted, I’m doing shorter trips these days, so the charge should last through any 2-3 day paddle I do with this boat.

THE SWITCH

In the last couple of systems I built, I‘d used magnetic relay switches, “potted” with marine sealant in a length of PVC plumbing pipe to make them watertight. And Michael had kindly made me a present of a new relay switch. But when I set up the system for a dry run on shore, I found the switch kept freezing in the closed (turned on) position after a pass with a magnet. Once the completed system was installed in the boat, I’d have had no other way to turn the pump off, short of opening the battery box and disconnecting the battery – something that would range from awkward to impossible at sea. And that would pretty much make the pump system a one-shot gadget, not reusable until I’d landed and replaced or recharged the depleted battery. 
So I went back to the future on the switch, using an air button and air switch designed for use around hot tubs and pools, as I’d done on an earlier pump system

The air button is on the left. My home-brew ring for the switch cover is visible just above it.

I knew from my previous experience with air buttons that they will rapidly jam with sand around the beach, so I used keyhole saws to cut a plastic ring from one of my favourite forms of raw material stock: a dollar store kitchen cutting board! This ring was sized to hold a protective neoprene cover over the air button. 

Showing the air button switch for my electric bilge pump mounted on the rear deck of my sea kayak.
The air button in place on the rear deck. It’s mounted directly into the dayhatch compartment.
Showing the air button protected by a neoprene sand cover.
The ring in place over the air button, holding a sand cover cut from thin neoprene.

THE BATTERY BOX

The new, larger battery and the air switch required a larger box, a Pelican 1120 Protector Case.

the waterproof box containing the battery and air switch for an electric bilge pump for my sea kayak
The Pelican 1120 Protector Case. The battery is the square blue object on the left. The two silver-tipped objects on the upper right are spare fuses. Poking out from the box on the lower right, just to the right of the black pressure valve button, is the hose-attachment nipple of the air switch.
Showing the waterproof pass-throughs for the wires on the side of the battery box.
The waterproof pass-throughs for the wires are cable clams. These particular ones are made by Blue Sea Systems.
Showing the battery box for an electric bilge pump for a sea kayak, connected and ready to run.
The battery box sitting on the back deck of the kayak, ready to slide into the day compartment. The air hose is now connected to the nipple on the air switch.

Some dryland experiments with one-way valve, backflow preventers I’d previously used in the pump discharge hose confirmed two things:

  1. They didn’t really prevent water that entered at the mushroom head from flowing backwards through the pump and into the kayak cockpit when the pump was turned off. Clearly this is because the valve is intended to be installed where the hose and mushroom head are ideally running downhill–or at least horizontally–away from the valve. The tight quarters and low freeboard of my kayak leaves the hose curving uphill to a vertically-mounted mushroom head. As a result, the one-way valve is sitting at the bottom of a water column if the hose is down-flooded by waves.
  2. The one-way valve also seriously reduced the water output from the pump.

So I abandoned the one-way beak valves and reverted to another hack I’d used in previous systems: a custom-whittled foam “cork” at the mushroom head. It’s sized to be snug enough to prevent waves down-flooding into the boat, but loose enough for water pressure to blow the cork out of the mushroom head pop-gun style when the pump is activated. It’s on a tether to prevent loss. 

Showing a home made foam cork sealing the top of a mushroom head to prevent flooding into the boat.
A close up of of the mini-cell foam “cork” in the mushroom head, wrapped with electrical tape. It actually pushes far enough down to sit flush into the head: I’ve just pulled it partially out for clarity.

Since I was rebuilding anyhow, I also rebuilt my minicell foam seat back. I’d been happy with the support of the old one, but the actual back brace had tended to get sheared off over time as I dropped into the cockpit. I’d needed to reglue it a few times. So in the new version, the back brace is a single piece of foam that extends all the way back to the bulkhead, and rests on the lower foam piece (which also houses the pump). I’d expected to need to glue these two new components together, but found to my pleasant surprise that they press-fit solidly into place under the rear coaming. This will make accessing the pump for cleaning and maintenance much easier. 

The foam base of the seat back in place. The pump is housed in a recess carved into the back of the block. I’ve used a marker to outline the areas where the seat bottom contacts the foam in preparation for carving out clearance scoops to allow the seat to slide fully back in the cockpit.
Showing a home-made foam seat backbrace for my sea kayak.
Look ma! No glue! The backbrace portion of the foam seatback press-fitted into place.

So how did it all work out? Here’s the video of the first dryland test. Stay tuned: I’m already scheming on further upgrades for the air button cover and the cork!

UPDATE: DECEMBER 17, 2023

So when wandering through a kitchen specialty shop a few days ago, I stumbled across these red flexible silicone thingy-ma-bobs. The manufacturer was foolishly marketing them as stick-on drink lids for glasses and mugs, to keep your bevies hot or cold, as the case might be. But any preceptive paddler could easily discern they were actually cut-to-size covers for the air switch of your electric bilge pump system and splash lids for the mushroom head cork on the pump outlet. So I replaced the previous neoprene cover with the new silicone – it should be more watertight. Plus it accessorizes better with the colour of my kayak. And, as any of my friends will tell you, I’m nothing if not fashion forward.

Silicone drink cover, top
Silicone drink cover underside
Showing a silicone cover for the air button of an electric bilge pump in a sea kayak
silicone cover for air button
close up of a home-made splash cap for the cork protecting the mushroom head . Part of an electric bilge pump system in my sea kayak.
silicone splash cap for the mushroom head cork

Sea Kayak Navigation: Plotting Your Position With A Compass

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In an earlier post, we discussed how to use a chart and compass to find a compass bearing we could follow to a desired destination. But all those techniques for heading somewhere new require us to know where we are now. As any kayaker who’s ever done a longer crossing or paddled along a featureless shoreline can confirm, it’s easy to lose track of your precise location. How do we find it again? 

First, a quick detour into a concept called a Line Of Position (LOP). You’ve almost certainly used LOPs before, even if you didn’t call them LOPs. If you were wandering around a city (for example, Vancouver, British Columbia) with a paper street map, you might have known you were somewhere on Granville Street, but not sure where along Granville. So you walked down to the next corner and checked the signs for the cross street. Finding it was Broadway, you now knew your exact location: the intersection of Granville and Broadway. Each of those streets served as one LOP for you. Where the two LOPs intersected was your location.

A section of roadmap showing the intersection of Broadway and Granville in Vancouver, British Columbia. Demonstrating the concept of Lines Of Position.
Granville Street is one Line Of Position. Broadway is a second Line Of Position. Where they intersect is your location. See, you’re already a navigator!

To determine our location when sea kayaking, we do exactly the same thing: we find the intersection of two or more LOPs. The only difference is that we use lines other than streets as our LOPs.

Even for novice kayak navigators, there’s one Line Of Position that’s so obvious you’ve probably used it without even thinking about it: the shoreline. (Yes, most shorelines are curvy and crinkly rather than straight. But there’s no requirement that every Line Of Position be a straight line. In my hometown of Vancouver for example, Kingsway Road has lots of jinks and bends, but I can still use it to clearly define a position such as “the intersection of Kingsway and Broadway.”)

Bendy LOPs? No problem: where they intersect is still your position.

So, if we only ever intend to navigate along shorelines, why would we ever need a second LOP?

Imagine you and I and several friends are kayaking close alongside the southwest shore of North Pender Island, admiring the undersea flora on the rock wall and petting the passing Orca. Distracted by all this merriment, we’ve lost track of how much time we’ve spent paddling vs drifting. Plus, the tricky currents on this coast have sped us up or slowed us down unpredictably. So now all we’re sure of is that we’re somewhere between Boat Nook and Smuggler’s Nook. We need a second LOP to show us exactly where between those points.

A section of marine chart, showing the lines of magnetic North drawn in with red, to allow plotting Lines Of Position without adding or subtracting for compass variation.
A section from CHS Chart #3441. Look for Canoe Rock (below the purple compass rose) and Pelorus Pt (on the right/East side of Moresby Island). The red lines I’ve drawn in point to magnetic North, 16° East of truth North. (Why 16° East? The purple compass rose shows true North, magnetic North as of 2005, and a predicted change in the magnetic variation of 8’ Westward annually. So in in the 18 years since 2005, the variation is predicted to have reduced by 2° 24’ (18 years x 8’ = 144’ or 2° 24’). The variation in 2005 was 18 1/2° or 18° 30’. Subtracting 2° 24’ from that gives us 16° 6’ East. This matches pretty closely with the 15° 46’ East predicted for this area by the online declination calculator. We can round either figure to 16° East for practical purposes.)

To lay out a second LOP, we need to take a compass sighting (AKA a bearing) from any clearly identifiable location shown on the chart and visible from where we are in the real world. A lighthouse, the tip of a cape, one side of a known island, or a distinctive mountain peak would all be excellent options. 

Looking out to sea from Pender Island, we find a highly distinctive landmark to take a bearing from: the red-and-white marker on Canoe Rock. Even better, it’s at roughly a right angle to the shoreline. (It’s a good habit to pick your landmarks so that your LOPs meet at as near to right angles as possible; this creates a much clearer intersection point than sharp acute angles or almost parallel obtuse angles.)

Taking a bearing from a real-world object (in this case, the orange thingie representing the marker on Canoe Rock) using a hiker’s/orienteering compass. Step 1. Holding the compass as level as possible, aim the Direction Of Travel arrow towards the landmark. Pro tip: this is much easier and more accurate if your body is facing the landmark. Which means your boat should also be pointing in at least the general direction of the landmark. Notice that at this time, the compass bezel dial is in a random direction relative to the magnetic compass needle, with the N (for North) on the bezel not aligned with the red needle tip. 
Taking a bearing from a real-world object using a hiker’s/orienteering compass, Step 2. While keeping the Direction Of Travel arrow aimed at the landmark, twist the bezel dial until the meridian lines in the bottom have put “Fred in the shed” — that is, the red box on the bottom of the bezel is enclosing the red half of the magnetic needle, and the N on the bezel is directly in front of the red needle tip. Read off the degrees at the Read Bearing Here indicator. In this case, the bearing to Canoe Rock is 224°. (BTY, if this whole process feels exactly the same as taking a bearing to a visible landmark you want to paddle to following a compass course, that’s because…it is!)

Great. We have our bearing off Canoe Rock. So now what? So now, we’re going to transfer that bearing into an LOP on our chart.

A section of marine chart with a hiker's compass, bezel parallel to the lines of magnetic North. Showing how to draw a Line Of Position on a chart.
Using a hiker’s compass to transfer a bearing onto a chart as an LOP. We keep the bezel dialed to 224°, from when we “shot” our bearing to Canoe Rock. Keeping the meridian lines on the bottom of the compass bezel as parallel as possible to the red magnetic North lines on the chart, we put one edge of the compass baseplate on the Canoe Rock landmark on the chart. That baseplate edge is now a Line Of Position. Where that LOP intersects the shoreline is our location. In this case, the baseplate doesn’t quite reach to Pender Island, so we extend the LOP by eye and pencil it in. (Notice that we don’t care about where the compass needle is pointing now: we’re just using the compass bezel and baseplate as a protractor.)

Woot! We are unlost! We are right where the shoreline (the first LOP) and the bearing from Canoe Rock (the second LOP) meet. High fives everyone! 

BUT…

We took that compass bearing with a hand-held land compass from the cockpit of a kayak rocking in the waves (landing to take the bearing wasn’t an option on the cliffy shores). And we extended that LOP by eye from where we ran out of compass baseplate. So there have been lots of opportunities for errors to creep in. How can we cross-check our apparent position? By determining a third LOP.

Happily, our pod of paddlers includes the excellently-equipped Greta Geerweenie, so we can not only shoot an entirely separate landmark, we can do so using a more accurate instrument. Because Greta’s kayak boasts a deck compass, aligned with the keel line of her kayak. So to take a bearing, she simply aims the bow of her boat toward her chosen landmark (Pelorus Point on the east side of Moresby Island), and reads the bearing in degrees at the lubber line.

A model kayaker with a real, full-sized marine compass pointing towards a marker. Showing how to take a bearing on a landmark with a deck-mounted kayak compass.
Taking a bearing with a deck-mounted marine compass. With the kayak pointing towards the real-world landmark (the orange thingie now representing Pelorus Point), we read the bearing directly from the black “lubber line.” In this case, it’s 172°. (No bezel twisting required. Because instead of the needle on a hiking/orienteering compass, a marine compass has a floating, degree-marked dial that rotates to line up with local magnetic North.)

But Greta’s opportunities to flaunt her superior gear don’t end with the deck compass. Now it’s time to transfer the bearing she shot onto the chart as that third LOP. Rather than roughing it with the hiker’s compass, she whips out her modified Davis Protractor, complete with String™ that extends much further than the baseplate on a hiker’s compass.

A chart with string-added Davis Protractor. Showing how to use the string as a Line Of Position to determine your location based on a compass bearing to a known landmark.
Using a string-equipped Davis Protractor to transfer a bearing onto a chart as an LOP. Position the protractor’s centre point over the landmark we took the bearing on (Pelorus Point). Pivot the protractor until its North-South grid lines are parallel to the red magnetic North lines on the chart. Pull the string taut across the degree reading we got with the compass (172°) on the outside edge of the protractor. Where the string intersects the shoreline is our location. Reassuringly, it’s pretty much the same place as the LOP from the first landmark showed us. (And remember how we said we don’t care about where the compass needle is pointing for this step? The Davis Protractor doesn’t even have a compass needle to distract us!)

We won’t always be paddling with a Greta Geerweenie. But we still can (and should) cross-check our plotted position wherever possible by shooting at least two landmarks as bearings and bringing them down onto our chart as LOPs, even if we’re only using a humble hiker’s compass for everything. It’s also true that in the real world, our multiple LOPs won’t usually intersect with the suspiciously perfect agreement they have in this story: typically they’ll form a triangle. You’ll know you’re somewhere inside that triangle, and as long as it’s small enough, it will be good enough for navigation purposes.

A PLOT TWIST!

Clever readers (which is all of you, of course) will have realized something: once we’ve intersected two or more LOPs based on compass bearings, we don’t need the shoreline LOP anymore to know where we are. That’s exactly how bigger, deeper boats, who need to stay further from the shore than kayaks, do it. And exactly how you can do it as you graduate from simple shoreline paddling to longer crossings. There are even other compass-free LOPs you can use when away from the shore. But we’ll save those for another post.

And that “another post” is now up here.

Sea kayak safety: the parallel rescue

Plenty of sea kayakers know the bow rescue – a technique where the rescuer presents the bow of their kayak to a capsizee, so the unfortunately inverted paddler can hip flick back up using the bow for support. There are many Youtube videos showing it, and it’s taught in Paddle Canada and other sea kayaking courses.

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Electric Pump for Sea Kayak, Mark III

For several boats now, I’ve been outfitting my sea kayaks with electric pumps. (My reasons are explained in the first part of this posting.)

an electric pump in a sea kayak

So I’ve fitted my new-to-me Valley Etain with an electric pump as well. The overall design is pretty similar to my last pump, with a waterproof Pelican battery box designed to let me run the system on either 12 rechargeable AA batteries or 8 alkaline AAs. A stretchy Velcro strap and a pair of stainless steel footman’s loops hold the battery pack in place against the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit.

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Fit To Be Tried: New Sea Kayaking Gear

paddlers admire a table of sea kayak clothing and equipment

Coffee with a gear buffet

There are a few perks to being a sea kayak Instructor/Guide. Like being invited to join a focus group run by Mustang Survival. In Canada, Mustang has long been a go-to brand for recreational boaters, commercial fishers and racing sailors. But, with the exception of a manual inflation vest that’s popular with paddlers who can’t find a foam PFD that fits their body shape (or who just find foam PFDs too warm), Mustang’s products haven’t been top-of-mind in the sea kayaking market. They’re gunning to change that. Which is why I found myself, along with three fellow instructors, doing dawn patrol on a crisp, sunny fall morning.  Continue reading

I Wanna Roll Like A Girl

Back in the day, I had a bombproof kayak roll. But gradually, I fell out of the habit of practising it. When I first abandoned whitewater and surf paddling in favour of exclusively ocean kayaking I kept it up. But over the years, I persuaded myself it wasn’t really essential for sea kayaking and probably wouldn’t work anyway with my sail on the boat. Besides, my brace worked fine (except when it didn’t.) Somewhere along the line, I convinced myself that age made it unlikely I could recapture my roll.

A kayaker surfs a breaking wave

Displacement Hull Boat? Check. Wood Paddle? Check. Chunky PFD? Check. This must be me, surfin’ the 90s.

But this year, one of my personal and professional goals is to regain my roll. And to do it like a girl.

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‘ Yak Hacks: Raise Your Light High For Night Paddling

Off-the-shelf kayak lights are an excellent way to increase safety when night paddling. By raising your light a few feet above the deck you can ensure it remains unblocked by your body and visible through the full 360. Plus, it won’t nuke your night vision by shining directly in your eyes. Continue reading