Setting Records
07/05/19 05:30
The spring, 2019 issue of Canoeroots Magazine, which is now a part of Paddling Magazine, has a two-page photo of brothers Kyle Roberts and Tom Schellenberg carting lightweight skin-on-frame canoes across a narrow foot bridge hight in the Himalayan Mountains. Prayer flags hang from the underside of the bridge and the brothers sport heavy packs as well as the canoes carried traditionally, over their heads.
The article reveals a very strange portage of canoes. The pair hiked from the city of Lukla at 8,383 feet above sea level to Everest Base Camp at 17,600 feet the 58-mile trek took them 18 days. And when the arrived, of course, there is no river or lake to paddle at Everest Base camp, so the pair picked up their canoes, which even though ultralight, weighed 30 pounds each, and walked back down. They had planned their trip for more than two years. They knew the conditions of their destination. They knew that the altitude and winds would make carrying canoes and staying upright very difficult. They knew that their hands would get so cold that it would be hard to maintain a constant grip on the gunwales of the canoes. They knew that they would leave a whole bunch of us scratching our heads and wondering, “Why in the world would anyone do that?”
They did the trip to raise funds for The Women’s Mental Health Centre facility for Koshish, a Nepalese organization providing short-term care for women with mental illness. The pair are the founders of The Weight We Carry, a non-profit organization. They have vowed to carry canoes to the most unlikely places on earth to support mental health. The canoes are symbolic in several ways. They are carried to symbolize the extra weight that must be borne by those who suffer from mental illness. The pair chose carrying canoes because of their love of outdoor adventure.
The 115-mile round trip certainly ranks among the most arduous portages in history. I don’t know if there are official record books for that kind of thing, but it deserves to be noted as some kind of record. I carry around canoes quite a bit and I am aware of the dangers of the twist and lift that is required to pick up a canoe and get it into carrying position. Once, when I was a much younger man, I twisted my back in such a fashion that it took several years, several repeat injuries and a round of physical therapy for me to recover from the injury.
You can dismiss it as a crazy stunt, but the funds they raised are significant and will help to relieve a bit of suffering for others.
I read about a lot of stunts done with canoes and kayaks and not all of them are undertaken for a cause other than to do something that no one has done before. Some records stand for a long time. In the mid 19th century, Sir George Simpson, lead a team including seasoned Mowhawk paddlers from New York City across Canada to the Pacific and back, with a side trip to York Factory on Hudson Bay. I think the record stands. Not even three-time-cross Canada canoeist Mike Ranta has undertaken such an epic adventure all in one expedition.
Other records don’t last long at all. Pedro Oliva launched his kayak off of Salto Belo Falls in Brazil, free-falling 127 feet before successfully splashing down and staying in his kayak, setting the world’s tallest kayak fall. His record lasted less than a month before Tyler Brandt successfully kayaked over 189-foot Palouse Falls in Washington.
Of course not everyone who sets out to conquer a record succeeds. In 1934, John Smith decided to paddle from Peterborough, Ontario to Peterborough, England in a 16-foot cedar-canvas canoe. He is buried in southwestern Newfoundland where he and his canoe washed up on the beach.
There are all kinds of records for outdoor adventurers and it seems that each year someone discovers some new record to achieve. After his minister father died of cancer, Nebraskan Mikah Meyer decided to undertake a three-year trip to visit every US National Park Service site, including parks, seashores, preserves, reserves and monuments, in the US and its territories. He traveled and lived in a van, except when crossing oceans required flying, visiting every state and territory, covering 200,000 miles. He was just 19 when he started and felt that his father’s death had taught him an important lesson about chasing life while we have it. One of the ways that he funded his trip was to sing in churches along the way where free will offerings were received to support his travel.
Some of us, however, will live our lives without setting any records. I’ve been content to paddle my canoes and kayaks in places where others have gone before. I don’t find any need to be fastest, highest, longest or most accomplished. I’m delighted to be able to visit a new park or monument and simply enjoy the beauty that lies before me. I find great joy in simply setting out on a short paddle in a canoe I made with my own hands or watching my grandchildren in a kayak that came from my workshop. I’m the kind of guy who studies the photograph of the brothers carrying their canoes across the high bridge and thinks, “Wow! Those are neat canoes! I wonder who made them!”
Out on the west coast of British Columbia Gibson Paddle Club has a special insignia for anyone who paddles 100 consecutive days in the same year. I’m pretty sure that I’ll never even make that mark. I enjoy being able to wake up on a rainy day and decide not to paddle, but to roll over and get a bit more sleep. I’m thinking it would be fun, perhaps after I retire, to paddle 100 days in the same year. I’d have to do some of the paddling in places where the lakes don’t freeze, but it might be fun.
On the other hand, I’m probably the happiest when I’m not counting the days or keeping track of the numbers. The best for me would be to do it without noticing what I’ve done.
The article reveals a very strange portage of canoes. The pair hiked from the city of Lukla at 8,383 feet above sea level to Everest Base Camp at 17,600 feet the 58-mile trek took them 18 days. And when the arrived, of course, there is no river or lake to paddle at Everest Base camp, so the pair picked up their canoes, which even though ultralight, weighed 30 pounds each, and walked back down. They had planned their trip for more than two years. They knew the conditions of their destination. They knew that the altitude and winds would make carrying canoes and staying upright very difficult. They knew that their hands would get so cold that it would be hard to maintain a constant grip on the gunwales of the canoes. They knew that they would leave a whole bunch of us scratching our heads and wondering, “Why in the world would anyone do that?”
They did the trip to raise funds for The Women’s Mental Health Centre facility for Koshish, a Nepalese organization providing short-term care for women with mental illness. The pair are the founders of The Weight We Carry, a non-profit organization. They have vowed to carry canoes to the most unlikely places on earth to support mental health. The canoes are symbolic in several ways. They are carried to symbolize the extra weight that must be borne by those who suffer from mental illness. The pair chose carrying canoes because of their love of outdoor adventure.
The 115-mile round trip certainly ranks among the most arduous portages in history. I don’t know if there are official record books for that kind of thing, but it deserves to be noted as some kind of record. I carry around canoes quite a bit and I am aware of the dangers of the twist and lift that is required to pick up a canoe and get it into carrying position. Once, when I was a much younger man, I twisted my back in such a fashion that it took several years, several repeat injuries and a round of physical therapy for me to recover from the injury.
You can dismiss it as a crazy stunt, but the funds they raised are significant and will help to relieve a bit of suffering for others.
I read about a lot of stunts done with canoes and kayaks and not all of them are undertaken for a cause other than to do something that no one has done before. Some records stand for a long time. In the mid 19th century, Sir George Simpson, lead a team including seasoned Mowhawk paddlers from New York City across Canada to the Pacific and back, with a side trip to York Factory on Hudson Bay. I think the record stands. Not even three-time-cross Canada canoeist Mike Ranta has undertaken such an epic adventure all in one expedition.
Other records don’t last long at all. Pedro Oliva launched his kayak off of Salto Belo Falls in Brazil, free-falling 127 feet before successfully splashing down and staying in his kayak, setting the world’s tallest kayak fall. His record lasted less than a month before Tyler Brandt successfully kayaked over 189-foot Palouse Falls in Washington.
Of course not everyone who sets out to conquer a record succeeds. In 1934, John Smith decided to paddle from Peterborough, Ontario to Peterborough, England in a 16-foot cedar-canvas canoe. He is buried in southwestern Newfoundland where he and his canoe washed up on the beach.
There are all kinds of records for outdoor adventurers and it seems that each year someone discovers some new record to achieve. After his minister father died of cancer, Nebraskan Mikah Meyer decided to undertake a three-year trip to visit every US National Park Service site, including parks, seashores, preserves, reserves and monuments, in the US and its territories. He traveled and lived in a van, except when crossing oceans required flying, visiting every state and territory, covering 200,000 miles. He was just 19 when he started and felt that his father’s death had taught him an important lesson about chasing life while we have it. One of the ways that he funded his trip was to sing in churches along the way where free will offerings were received to support his travel.
Some of us, however, will live our lives without setting any records. I’ve been content to paddle my canoes and kayaks in places where others have gone before. I don’t find any need to be fastest, highest, longest or most accomplished. I’m delighted to be able to visit a new park or monument and simply enjoy the beauty that lies before me. I find great joy in simply setting out on a short paddle in a canoe I made with my own hands or watching my grandchildren in a kayak that came from my workshop. I’m the kind of guy who studies the photograph of the brothers carrying their canoes across the high bridge and thinks, “Wow! Those are neat canoes! I wonder who made them!”
Out on the west coast of British Columbia Gibson Paddle Club has a special insignia for anyone who paddles 100 consecutive days in the same year. I’m pretty sure that I’ll never even make that mark. I enjoy being able to wake up on a rainy day and decide not to paddle, but to roll over and get a bit more sleep. I’m thinking it would be fun, perhaps after I retire, to paddle 100 days in the same year. I’d have to do some of the paddling in places where the lakes don’t freeze, but it might be fun.
On the other hand, I’m probably the happiest when I’m not counting the days or keeping track of the numbers. The best for me would be to do it without noticing what I’ve done.