Kayaks in Khor Al Najd

When someone says 'Fjord' it's normal to think somewhere cold and ice-bound, but there's a shattered land at the tip of the Arabian peninsula riven by deep fjords where no snow falls and the sun scorches mercilessly all year round.
It's called The Musandam.



On a breezeless, sultry November day I found myself paddling on mirrored-water bound by towering ridges that tumbled rock-strewn into the deep. Ahead and behind, good friends dipped and pulled their paddles, scattering glittering droplets like diamonds carelessly discarded. From each boat, like a spiderweb in the dawn, a fishing line caught the light as the lures dragging behind bobbed and curtsied to unseen fish.



My kayak sliced effortlessly through the smooth surface and tossed tiny rippled wakes that caught the sun. All was silent, the loudest sound the gentle splash of the paddle and the buzzing of my ears. Each paddle-stroke a measured dose of calm that coursed through my veins and progressively dissolved the stress and annoyances of city life. I let out a deep peaceful sigh.



As the sun climbed so did the temperature and the humidity with it, no breeze stirred to cool us. In local fashion I tied a ghutra around my head to shield it from the sun and cast a shadow for my eyes, leaving a tail at the back to protect my neck. All my fellow paddlers were riding dedicated fishing kayaks piled high with camping gear and assorted fishing tackle. My kayak, a skin-on-frame Kodiak, was the odd one out, but by far the most stable and comfortable of them all. My camping gear was all stowed below deck and I'd jury-rigged a fishing rod holder to allow me to troll for whatever predatory fish cruised below the surface.

I spied something floating ahead and paddled closer, the stench of death and decay assailed my nostrils as I pulled closer. The corpse of a turtle drifted aimlessly in the stillness.



The water was crystalline and when the depths rose to within 20 feet of the surface we could clearly make out coral formations and sandy stretches.
The convoy broke up at times as some when closer to shore and cast into the shallows with plugs, reeling them in quickly so they jigged and jittered across the surface. At one point, trolling close to the shore, but where it still dropped off steeply, I heard then felt the splash and plunge of a garfish as it went for my lure, but to no avail. The fish remained elusive all day.




After a few hours we rounded a point that opened the fjord up to the east, and the Indian Ocean, and exposed us to a stiff breeze that we'd been shielded from so far. With relish I paddled into the stiff chop and felt my boat hug and caress the incoming swell. The fishing kayaks, loaded and top heavy as they were, did not fare so well and it wasn't long before the party decided to turn around and cruise back into more sheltered waters. I decided to stretch my legs and ease the numbness of my butt, so paddled ahead and pulled onto a small rocky shelf. The water was so inviting that I donned mask and fins and snorkeled around looking at the coral and bright reef fish, triggers, parrots, angels, puffers and surgeons.




The rest of the afternoon was spent idling along, casting the occasional line and swimming every now and then, until we reached a wide pebble beach that was to be our base camp for the evening. Kayaks were pulled ashore, tents were rigged, firewood was gathered and frozen water bottles hacked up with knives to provide ice for the day's end G&T. As the setting sun painted the opposite shore in roseate hues we casted towards the drop-offs, placed patient fingers gingerly on the taught lines and waited, drinking in the immensity and the silence.





This part of the world is prime scorpion country, aqrab in Arabic, but I decided that on such an evening I would not be sleeping in a tent but under the canopy of the northern constellations and so made my camp just above the high water mark on a large tarpaulin. A million dollar view for the price of some sweat.



At last the fish started biting and we soon had fresh Sheri scaled, gutted and waiting for the coals. There are few meals more satisfying then fresh caught fish grilled over an open fire right at the shoreline. We, big men all, with a day's paddling behind us, ate 'til replete.

There was no moon that evening and water was black velvet in the night, some went swimming and the phosphorescence sparkled green in the inky dark. Slipping quietly away from the swimmers I quietly eased my kayak into the brine and paddled out. It was pure magic, each paddle stroke a splash of vivid green, fading fast, and a tiny luminous wake trailing behind. The water was so clear and the phosphorescence so strong that I could clearly see green comet trails below the surface as spooked fish darted away from the looming shadow of my boat. After a few minutes I shipped paddles and simply drifted in the depth of the dark and the quiet murmur of soft voices, the only light a gentle glow from the fire on-shore and the occasional phosphor-flare of darting fish below.

Late into the night we sat in the cool water and chatted as the wheel of heaven swam it's great arc over us, the stars matched by the sparking water from a moving hand or shrugged shoulder. By the time my head hit my pillow I was asleep, neither cold nor scorpion would be able to wake me.

I drifted up from fathomless sleep and became dimly aware of the smell of dawn woodsmoke and the stirring of the camp around me. Coffee! Then breakfast made over the open fire and the packing of camping gear. Since our landing the day before, the tide had dropped and risen and dropped again and so the kayaks had to be manhandled to the water before we pushed out from shore to start the day's journey back to our launch point of the prior day.



We were in no hurry, and again we loafed along dragging our lures, casting along the shore and snorkeling here and there. Like the day before the water was clear and every now and then, even from the cockpit of my kayak, the shape of a large stingray could was discernible against the buff sand.





A tuna, silvered flanks shining, breached ahead like a small dolphin, eliciting excited shouts and a flurry of paddling to position the lures. But despite criss-crossing the area they refused to have a go, although more than once we saw one come closer to investigate.

It was over all too soon, my kayak dismantled, packed into its bags and loaded into the rear of the LandCruiser. A second fishing kayak lashed to the roof rack and cinched down against the jostling of the steep, rutted track that would take us over the pass to Khasab where we would stop at one of the many small roadside Biryani joints for plates piled high with chicken and rice, washed down with icy soft drinks. Then the border crossing and the long drive across the desert to home.

And to Buurman, Anton, Nic, Jacques and the not-so-light-anymore laaities: Dankie Manne!



Afterword: I did not take the picture below, it was taken by a fellow paddler named Jacques Bezuidenhout when I handed him my camera and asked him to shoot a few of me. I just did some post-processing for black and white. Seeing as I'm usually behind the camera it's nice to get shot of myself now and then. Thanks Jacques, it's a great image.



After the Afterword: All the images in this post were shot with my $70 Nikon D100 mentioned in this post. It's not the camera, folks, it's your eye!

Craig
sunburnt ... and in need of a shave.

How to Seal a Folding Kayak's Deck Seam

We were one of the earliest customers to buy a Cooper from Folbot, the Carolina based manufacturer of durable folding kayaks, and a wonderful boat it's turned out to be: sleek, quick and easy to assemble.
Labour intensive jobs drive costs upwards so Folbot has a philosophy to keep the cost of the kayaks low by not doing those tasks that the consumer can easily do at home. Some don't like this view and want to buy a completed boat, but being a budget-minded, DIY-sort-of-guy I like the idea.
Folding kayaks, being skin-on-frame boats, have a tough hypalon hull stitched to a water-proof canvas deck and it's this seam, running the length of the boat on both sides, that can allow ingress of water unless sealed. The sealing is not a difficult task, just time consuming, so Folbot doesn't do it in-factory but ships some seam sealer with the boat.

So how do you go about sealing your nice new Cooper without covering yourself, the kayak, the kids and the neighbour's dog in gooey sealant? It's quite easy, all you need is the seam-sealer, some masking tape, patience and a six-pack of your favourite malt and barley (optional to some but not to me.)

1. Firstly, assemble the Cooper and inflate the sponsons tightly. The seam runs along the sponsons and inflating them keeps the seam open as well as giving you a taught surface to work on. Open seams also allow better penetration of the sealant into the seam gap.

2. Place the kayak at a comfortable working height, I put mine on some cheapo Ikea saw-horses. Having it on the floor is not the end-of-the-world but stooping makes the work harder.

3. Now you're free to open the first victim in the six-pack, but take it easy as you need a steady hand for the next few tasks. I recommend intermittent sips, rather than a good chug, as the way to go.


4. Before applying the tape you need to clean the seam area properly to remove any grease, salt, moisture and so on. My solvent of choice is usually acetone, but to be honest I can't quite remember what I used for this job, most probably white spirits from my local hardware store. I leave the choice up to you, but be careful and first test whatever solvent you use on a small, out-of-the-way patch of BOTH the deck and the hull. Acetone is great but can dissolve things, I'll tell you about the underwater camera housing some other time, so white spirits is probably safer. After testing, and assuming no gaping holes have been eaten through the fabric, have another sip to steady the nerves then clean all along the seam as shown in the picture above, concentrating on the hull.

5. While waiting for the cleaning solvent to evaporate and dry completely I recommend taking a few sips. No, not the solvent ... from whichever victim you're on by now. But remember, the next step needs the really steady hand, so take it easy.

6. Now, lay two layers of masking tape on either side of the seam from stem to stern. As you can see in the picture below, I've laid the hull-side tape quite close to the seam, there's just a narrow black band showing, while the deck-side tape is just off the stitching. Keeping the hull gap to a minimum makes the sealing job less noticeable when you remove the tape. Keeping the two lengths of tape as parallel as possible, take some time to firmly press the tape down, I run a thumb nail along the edges, otherwise the sealant can creep in under the tape leaving an unsightly ragged edge rather than a clean line. You're almost there, so have a few well deserved slugs, mmmh!


7. Now comes the trickiest part: applying the sealant. The trick in applying the sealant is to keep an even thickness all the way, the best way of doing this is to point the tube in the direction of travel, not away. So, start at one end, stern or bow it's up to you, point the mouth of the tube at the other end and gently squeeze the end of the tube until some sealant comes out, now keep pushing the tube as steadily as possible along the seam while squeezing lightly all the time. The bottom lip of the tube should help spread the goo evenly without breaking it up into gobs, which happens when you pull the tube. Make sure the sealant squishes into the gap of the seam but don't make the layer too thick, it only needs to seal the gap and the stitching, not add structural stability! If you get it all perfectly even, please let me know how you did it ... even with the best will in the world I still had to smooth things over with a wet-finger. I also ran a bead of sealant around the deck-ring fastenings, just in case.

8. Don't wait too long to remove the tape, you want it set but not cured. Depending on your malt/barley consumption rate I'd say give it a two-victim break and then remove the tape. There is also a trick to removing the tape to ensure that you don't lift the sealant edge with it. Lift the end of the tape just enough to get a good grip, then pull the tape back along itself, not upwards, the section being pulled loose should be virtually folded over. Doing this steadily, without yanking it, should leave a clean edge. If you're brainier than I am you may think of leaving a bit of an overlap at the end to make lifting the tape easier.

And your done! And not a moment too soon seeing as the six-pack has only one left. Leave the Cooper as it is to allow the sealant to cure, overnight should be fine, but seeing as our kayak was destined for use in the ocean I left mine for 24 hours. This was probably overkill but we've had no leaks after 4 years.

And now you can let your lovely wife paddle her own kayak out to the Dhows.

Update (19-Jan-2010): I received a email from Dave AvRutick, Folbot head-honcho, in which he clarified Folbot's position on in-factory seam sealing of the Cooper "we do not apply the seam sealer as we do not think it is necessary for 'average' use -- not as a cost saving measure. Depending on the customer's paddling, it may be something they choose to do -- it is nothing that is mandatory."
Sounds fair enough to me. Thanks for the input, Dave.


Craig
sunburnt ... and in need of a shave