Falling for Success
Boat wake is a bitch.
Ten and three-quarter miles into the eleven mile Dam2Dam Great Moose Migration from Arrowrock Reservoir to Lucky Peak Reservoir, my attention had become divided between the gigantic inflatable finish line pylons on the beach directly ahead of me and a large ski motorboat that was passing me less than fifty yards away to my right. Thanks to a predictable e coli outbreak in Boise’s popular Quinn’s Pond, I was no stranger to boat wake, having forced myself to paddle on motorboat infested Lake Lowell for weeks on end while the more convenient water in Boise recovered from too many geese, dogs, and diaper-wearing toddlers.
Boat wake in otherwise calm conditions are quite possibly some of the most difficult conditions to paddleboard in, and I had experienced days that involved falling off my board numerous times while maneuvering riotous cross wake waves trying to get from point A to point B. The core difficulty lies in the fact that if you are paddling in otherwise still, flat water that is now moving turbulently without any consistent force behind it. Under normal circumstances, you would find yourself paddling with effort, despite the relative calm. When otherwise dead water is suddenly whipped into short-lived frenzies, the paddler is still essentially dead in the water, except now they must maintain momentum while working through the technical aspects of riding through small, high-impact waves and swells.
The key is to go back to that pearl of paddling wisdom and “match power for power”. Stay focused on where you’re trying to navigate to and keep paddling as if you’re on perfect glass instead of eight to eighteen-inch fists of water punching your board every two seconds. In general, this approach works pretty well so long as you can track where the wake is coming from. In deeper water, a swell generated by a boat halfway across the lake or reservoir from you can roll up and strike after building up energy for a long distance — usually, from a direction you aren’t paying attention to because you’re not aware of the originating boat. One would think that with experience surfing, etc. that boat wake wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but the erratic nature of it, the lack of current and being completely dependent for one’s own power, makes a large surf break and incoming swells seem easy by comparison. Being able to see the incoming waves and get a feel for the rhythm of the day, makes the exercise ultimately one of prediction and response with consistent results.
Finish line in sight, I was exhausted after nearly eleven miles of constant paddling at a fairly consistent pace. Part of the glory of and intrigue associated with sport are the elements of the unknown for both the athlete and the spectator. Not only was my energy level fading fast, but my mind was beginning to wander. Paddleboard racing, like many forms of endurance racing, is extremely demanding. By mile nine, fatigue was kicking in pretty hard and I could feel the effects of dehydration. I had already fallen off my board twice during the event and my frustration had grown to one of borderline rage directed at the boat traffic that seemed to be increasing.
Now this jackass in his weekend toy loaded with friends was ramping up just as I was trying to get to shore. Incredibly, despite my proximity to the finish, I allowed my attention to be distracted and in a fleeting moment, I was in the water again and scrambling to get back on my board, which I did in a matter of seconds. However, as I stood back up and dug into the water, I watched the paddler whom I had managed to keep behind me the entire race slip past me and reach the shore. My mistake had just cost my coming in second place.
Generally speaking, nobody wants to fall while paddle boarding. That’s not really the point, after all. On the other hand, it’s a water sport. You’re paddling. On water. Invariably, you and the water are going to connect beyond just the board you’re standing on.
Falling, it turns out, isn’t the problem, however. Getting back on your board is. It is not unusual to see first time paddleboarders struggle, sometimes even panic, once they find themselves in the water after losing their balance. I have watched novice paddlers with no training push their boards to shore from where they fell because they could not figure out how to get back onto their boards either out of ignorance or because they literally couldn’t due to their physical condition.
The trick to getting back on a board after falling is based on the same principle as surviving a fall through ice: kick with your legs and lower body as if your life depends on it. Getting your body in a horizontal position instead of vertical in the water allows you to scoot onto the board that is also laying horizontal on the water. This is counterintuitive to the instinct to grab the board and pull with your upper body strength, which will only lead to exhaustion. Exhaustion can lead to panic and panic frequently leads to injury or death.
But very few inland paddleboarders I encounter are interested in finding out if they can get back on their board or learn how to do it properly. Recently, I had a brief conversation with a woman who was sitting on her paddleboard in the water where I was finishing up a workout session. I had fallen off my board earlier in the session while trying to maintain a high vertical angle during a pivot turn around a buoy. Witnessing this, she proudly informed me that she had never fallen off her board which caused me to bite my tongue to prevent my asking if she even knew how to get on her board if she ever did fall or if she really knew how to paddle at all in the first place.
One of the things that most concerns me about the growing popularity of paddleboarding in communities that are far from the coast is the disconnect from the idea of being an all-around waterman. When surfing, falling off your board is a given. It’s going to happen in some way or another virtually every single time you get in the water. Sometimes you fall off your board, just getting out on the water to begin with. The point is, it’s no big deal. It’s part of the experience and there is an expectation that you should be able to get back up after you fall. The water is an element you long to become one with, not afraid of.
Despite this expectation in coastal communities and in more competitive circles, a seemingly increasing number of new paddle boarders pride themselves of having never experienced falling off of their boards. At the risk of sounding redundant, this is nothing to be proud of. What it really tells experienced paddlers is that you lack the skill and knowledge to be considered proficient at managing and navigating your board.
Like getting back on your board, falling properly is a learned skill as well. Not surprisingly, it’s pretty simple: as soon as you feel yourself start to fall, spread your limbs out and try to fall as flat on the water surface as possible.
Feeling yourself start to fall brings us back to what causes most paddlers to fall in the first place. Most falls are really a sequence of events and not just any one single thing. The majority of falls begin with looking at something other than where you want to go. This usually leads to feeling unbalanced and unless you keep your paddle on the water, you’ll usually find yourself going in. The single biggest advantage of falling is learning how to recover from the sensation of falling and not fall using a variety of paddle bracing techniques and incorporating footwork. The fact of the matter is, experienced paddlers have near falls nearly every time they get out on the water, but don’t fall because they know how to prevent the event from coming to fruition.
During days on the water in ninety-plus degree weather, or sometimes toward the end of a long paddle when wearing layers of neoprene in cold weather, I find myself having moments of wishing to fall into the water; the desire to feel the cool rush of it flow over my skin and feel pockets of air pushing to the surface like smoke from a fire being squelched by heavy rain. My limbs feel heavy and my head feels light from dehydration and the temptation to stop and submerge myself in the body below me becomes almost overwhelming. Thinking about the frequency with which I used to fall off my board in those moments is perhaps the most unique form of nostalgia I’ve ever experienced. With only the occasional exception, and those being linked to some form of board experimentation, I usually resist the urge and exercise my discipline to maintain my objective of improving my paddling experience.
One of the greatest women in standup paddling, April Zilg, commented on Instagram last summer that she falls off her board frequently and usually when she’s “trying something stupid”. Similarly, surfing legend Laird Hamilton, the father of paddle boarding as we know it, talks about the concentration that proper paddle boarding requires in his book Force of Nature: “There’s a real Zen aspect to standup. You start thinking about anything other than balancing on that board, you’ll flip yourself into the water.”
These comments aren’t a counter to what I’ve been saying, but they instead represent the opposite side of the same goal. The point is to stay on your board and paddle, however, there’s nothing wrong with falling because it’s usually the only way to learn how not to fall in the future. Also, it’s the only way to learn how to pick yourself up after making a mistake.
Since getting my flat-water certification as a SUP instructor, I’ve had a handful of people I’ve worked with as students. Of those, only one has really fully embraced my instruction. He just happens to be my brother and I’ve been impressed with how much he has immersed himself in the sport. During his first couple of weeks of training, he fell off his board at least one per session, but usually more than once. I’m not going to say that he enjoyed it, or that it was fun to have to get back on his board each time. What I can say, however, is that after a couple of months, he is already more skilled than people I know who have been standup paddling for over a year or more. Taking chances paid off for him and helped him build his focus on what matters in terms of performance. This played out recently on a windy day when we decided to paddle on the Snake River, where the wind was kicking up foot to two-foot waves against the downstream current. My brother went down during the first half mile when the waves really started bucking, but he managed to recover and get back on his board and resume paddling. Had he not spent the previous month falling repeatedly and climbing back on his board, the whole scenario would have played out differently and would have ended with aborting the trip altogether.
Gliding toward shore one evening shortly after he started paddle boarding, we were discussing one of the things that typically lead to falling off your board which is looking behind or to the side of your board while conducting a turn and I caught myself being struck by my own words as they came from me, “If you look at where you’ve been instead of where you’re going, you’ll always fall.”
My words took me back to my moment of frustration at the end of my last race. I had allowed myself to focus on things that had already occurred and could not control instead of keeping my focus on what I was trying to accomplish and it had cost me.
Don’t be afraid to fall, because sometimes life throws its own form of boat wake at you, but if you concentrate on where you’re going instead of where you’ve been, you’ll be surprised how much you can weather.