Bellingham or Bust Episode Three: Construction and Capitulation

[The third episode recounting a summer skin-on-frame kayak build and solo 130 mile kayak journey. From the start - read the first and second episode.]

We cajole our craft,

my fellow builders and I,

In sight of our tents

pitched beneath steely skies,

to the tune of a minstrel

modulating ukulele highs.

11 - 23.June.2014 | Portland/Manzanita, Oregon; Bainbridge Island, Washington

South I flew, to Portland, Oregon, to join up with the eldest brother and shop for the remaining necessaries - food for the next week of construction in addition to the following three weeks of paddling; and some flares, just in case.

Wandered about town with brother and his girlfriend, spent some time with a friend from school; smiled at their queries and tried to reassure their worries, despite an absence of answers. Told them of all the preparations, of the fail-safes, communications equipment, and survival gear that should support me if I have need of them. 

Brother drove me out to Manzanita and dropped boy and luggage at the workshop of Brian Schulz's Cape Falcon Kayak, a large rustic red barn set between country road and rushing creek, fields of wheat waving out in the distance beyond the bridge. Brian, teacher and host, set me to work alongside David, a fellow class participant, preparing materials for the week's construction - David cleaning out the routed gunwale slots, and myself sanding them down afterwards.

When the days work was done, I rode into town with Brian. On the way back, he gave a brief driving tour of Manzanita, Nehalem and the connecting coast, including the namesake cape of his company. We stood for some time there, watching the waves breaking below. Brian detailed his rule of thumb for acceptable surf to paddle out into: 6 ft peaks, recurring every 11 seconds | 5 ft peaks, recurring every 10 seconds | 4 ft peaks, recurring every 9 seconds.

My compañeros for this workshop each had their own intriguing journey to our shared construction project, but I heard the most of David, who lives in the mountain west teaching mathematics to high-schoolers, a job he's held for about a decade, following two eras I recall from his tales - a cross-country cycle trip and a brief career in the NOAA Officer Corps. 


He told of a night on the NOAA cartography ship off the east coast of the US, where the entire crew was violently sick from pitching and rolling, the ship too underpowered to escape the storm's brunt. They survived to add their data to the pool from which accurate charts are created to assist others similarly situated upon the wild ocean. 

Some years later, on their cross-country cycle trip, he and his wife came upon protesters in Washington, arrayed together across a logging road to prevent further felling. The crowd roared in approval at the arrival of these sweaty cyclists, thinking them come to join their cause. Which they did, but for a single night, setting off in the morning to the ringing sound of the idealists' battle-cry. Since that time, David and his wife have become avid kayakers, going so far as to take a two-week long course that included paddling large portions of the rugged Vancouver Island, BC.

Painting oil on frames (note my wee blue tent in the background)

Julia came the following day. A graphic designer for a large sportswear company, she had recently fallen in love with kayaking during several outings with her boyfriend along the Columbia River. The boyfriend himself came out for a few days, along with his wood-strip kayak and ukulele, brightening our undertaking with his strumming and singing.

Colin came up from California to build a tandem version of the F1 (the boat I would be building) so he and his wife could paddle the Pacific Coast together. He works during the day as a luthier, repairing all manner of stringed wooden instruments; in the off-hours he performs the viola de gamba, a rich sounding baroque instrument which he generously regaled us with, sending shivers of delight up our spines as the room vibrated around us.

The build process went like this: Brian would perform a step on a boat he was building, then the four of us students would repeat the process on our own boats. Brian had modified the standard measurements to fit our unique sizes - smaller for Julie, double-length for Colin and his wife, and a bit oversized for David and I.

After two full days and then some of causing the framework of our boats to blossom into a cohesive structure from the various and disparate pieces, we moved all five vessels outside into the sun for oiling. With a backdrop of the sunlit barn and Brian's gleaming Argosy/Airstream, we had an impromptu photoshoot. Brian's enthusiasm for his work was evident now, as it was throughout the process, as he excitedly bounced between camera and boat snapping images of frameworks similar to ones he's already built over five-hundred of at this point. 

David and Brian have expressed grave concern over my planned route, Oregon coast to Bellingham, due to the constant exposure to the Pacific, long stretches of difficult-to-land beaches, and its general isolation. David has offered an alternative - catch a ride with him to Bainbridge Island, across Puget Sound from Seattle, and begin my journey there. Feels like the death of a dream long dreamt of. I'm not quite ready to abandon the intended path.

On Thursday, our efforts transformed oiled whalebones into buoyant boats. This began with the boats upside down, a large sheet of ballistic nylon draping its form. Centered, the skin was tacked onto the keel with thumbtacks, and each end then stitched to create a pocket for the bow and stern to slot within. After flipping right-side up, the first set of stitches commenced, wide zig-zags to pull the flapping sides of fabric towards each other. This was followed by the final stitch, using dental floss, tightly pulling the skin into a closed seam running from bow to cockpit coaming and then on from the rear of the coaming to the stern.

Finishing early, but not with sufficient time to waterproof the skins, Brian looked at the sun and called it a beach day, loading us up for a ride to the coast and a run at the waves. Filled with fun, swamped boats, failed rolls and a sobering realization - that my inchoate kayaking skills were mismatched for a solo ocean-coast trip along the wild Pacific Coast. We finished up in the water, and stocked up in town for an evening bond-fire cook-out. I was run out of the grocery store for violating the shirt/shoes rule, to sit on the sidewalk and contemplate the reconfiguration of my trip.

On the day after, we mixed the two-part epoxy-like goop and spread it over the boats - spreading and pulling and spreading like taffy-pullers, to ensure an even coating without runs. As it began to grow tacky, we moved the boats outdoors in the sun again. Standing back to admire our work, we oohed and ahhed at the completion of a fantastic week of friendship and fruition. Julie and I went with a dye-free finish, for almost completely translucent boats; while David and Colin chose variations on a glowing amber.


Another day on the water followed, this time in our very own boats upon the tidal waters of the local estuary. What a delight it is to power a vessel fashioned by ones own hands, to set down in that constructed buoyancy and float dry in a flowing river, to feel the ripple of power transfer from arms to blade to water to boat forward flung through the honeyed thoroughfare. Back at the creek by Brian's barn, he gave a half-hour's lesson in rolling, resulting in some improvement but of insufficient quantity or quality to merit trusting my roll alone in high-risk scenarios.

Awaking from the final night in the tent staked in Brian's backyard, we the denizens of our tiny and temporary community exchanged hugs and encouragement all around and, with both David's and my boat strapped to the roof of his wagon, sped north to the future. Along the way, I schemed alternative routes - an Inside Passage paddle all the way to Ketchikan; a ride to Anacortes and ferry to Nanaimo; a ferry from Seattle to Victoria. None of these panned out, to my benefit as the route I settled on was an absolute dream, despite my misguided belief that it would be boring and pedestrian.

David dropped me off at Fort Ward State Park on Bainbridge Island. Loading up all the gear and food - which seemed to be in greater quantity than the boat's capacity as it overflowed from the cockpit - I rolled it along upon a nice new set of trailer wheels about a mile into the park for a night at a waterside campsite.

The sun dawned upon a new day. Spent the morning packing, shifting and repacking, suffering the scourge of gluttony - excessive food weight! Set out on a test paddle with the fully loaded boat, a few miles from campsite to the nearby town. Tried for a roll along the way - success! Boat stowed in the weeds, I trotted wet feet to a bar for wifi and a pint.

Met up with David and briefly tried to convince him of how easy and financially beneficial it would be for him to drive me to Bellingham on his way West the next morning, so I could setout on the Inside Passage. He politely declined and I resigned myself to the only route now remaining.

Back at camp, sat watching the Seattle - Bremerton ferry passing by as the sun dipped into the horizon, a glittering gem slipping east across the passage in the dusk. A tender left the fishfarm anchored out in the passage, allegedly an ideal location for frankenfish, as the rushing tides flush out the fish shit and antibiotics the critters are fed to ward off diseases exacerbated by their penned in condition.

A group of cormorants gathered upon pilings stretching out from shore. Two college age boys passed through, asking about the boat and telling a bit about themselves. Shawn, son of an ex-Washington State Public Defender, smiled large and spoke little; Kenny, draped in shoulder-length hair, stared at my boat with an admiration so steady it felt like love.

Tomorrow begins the journey! A week to ten days of solo paddle to end at Bellingham, where a ferry will float me home to Ketchikan. The first leg - Eagle Harbor, eight miles north, to retrieve my passport that had been mailed when I thought the route would transit Canada; then three miles further north to Faye Bainbridge State Park, where I will join my parents and two youngest brothers for an evening. Stay tuned!