June 13th East Sooke Entrance
It was late in the afternoon by the time I reached the launch site at my in laws. Coming down the long drive way I could clearly see the far western reaches of Juan de Fuca where covered in white horses or white caps if you prefer.
I rushed through unloading the kayak and kit and dashed inside to check my father in laws weather station, winds were WNW at 20 knots at the house. On the computer Environment Canada weather stations at Race Rocks and Sherringham Point where reporting 30 plus knots and a Gale Warning had been issued for the Strait.
Finally I had a good day for paddling. This would be a nice test for the Romany S, the first real day of weather since the kayak came home over a month ago.
I headed almost due west out towards Simpson Point into a strong 4 knot flood and stiff winds that were taking the tops off of the waves. At Grant Rocks, the narrowest part of the Sooke Inlet the winds where being funnelled by the high lands to the east and Whiffin Spit to the west resulting in waves about three feet high. If the wind had of been out of the north-east there would have been a great standing wave at the rocks. But today the it was the wind that provided the challenge.
Each stroke of the paddle had to be pushed forward to make the plant, clearly the wind wanted to play with the paddle. I snuggled up the paddle leash as a precaution.
It was slow going, taking almost 45 minutes to cover 1.5 nautical miles to Simpson Point. Once past the point and out into the open waters of the Strait the wind waves and swell steeped up to maybe one and a half meters or about 5 maybe six feet. Steep enough that the Romany's bow would explode over the top of the waves and be exposed back to the coaming before slamming back into the next trough.
Bamm! Bamm! the hull would slam down, the spray would explode up and be whipped roaring back across my face. Off the top of one roller I swung the bow south to head toward Company Point and the rock gardens just short of the point. The swell was now firmly on my starboard beam not quite strong enough to threaten the use of some timely low or high braces, but close.
I had it in the back of my mind to ride the surf into one of the pocket beaches between Simpson and Company Point but a quick survey dissuaded me. The rocks that guard the small beaches where throwing up huge boomer's and the rock gardens where a zone of white water madness. Alone it didn't seem like such a good idea to go play in there, especially as I was only wearing my light summer kit. (Short sleeve paddling jacket and shorty wet suit.
I spun the Romany about and with the swell and waves now on the port beam headed back the way I'd come. Back at Simpson Point I set up for a fast surf ride back into Sooke Inlet. Did I say fast. What took 45 minutes to crawl into flashed by.
With a few stern rudders it was easy to steer the Romany, it surfs like a board. At the end of Whiffin Spit I raised both paddle blades above my head and let the wind drive me forward.
Back in the bay in front of the launch site I surfed in and worked on steering the boat around the crab pot buoys and kelp fronds. Back and forth until I tired of the game. Then I swung over to work the kayak through the support post on the long pier that juts out into the bay. I use the pier to practice my steering strokes. With the wind and waves it turned into an advance class. More then once I thought the barnacles might take a bite but good fortune and timely paddle strokes saved the gelcoat.
Finally I finished with some rough water rolls and some sculling.
On a day when the water was absolutely flat east of Victoria and the wind was only a whisper in town I'd found near perfect conditions. At times it was just like the Irish Sea, strong winds, high seas, blue skies - just me and the Romany. Perfect!
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Quality Control in the Kayak Industry
This high pressure zone over Victoria has absolutely flattened out the ocean. Little wind means few standing waves, and generally flat water. With nothing to surf and little current action I've been riding the web and came across this.
"Generally, Valley kayaks are better made now than in past years. The same can't be said of the NDK made kayaks."
If the guy who wrote that statement (he's a friend of mine) had of done some home work he'd know better. Since NDK's re emergence as Sea Kayak United Kingdom (SKUK)- you've got to love the British sense of humour; quality control has been on the up swing. Check with Leon Somme of Body Boat Blade if you don't believe me.
Yes I have two Nigel Denis kayaks, an Explorer bought used out of Homer Alaska and a Romany S which I purchased last August to paddle around the Isle of Man on my quest to raise funds for cancer research.
The Explorer has been beaten and bashed including being May Tagged in a bolder field while I attended to a kayaker who had just broke his leg attempting to launch into a dumping surf. In spite of the damage inflicted, cracked gel coat, the Explorer has never failed me and has brought me home every time.
I believe two things are contributing to the improved quality of SKUK boats, better quality coming out of the factory and better shipping methods. Improvements in the way the kayaks are being packaged and shipped in the containers has dramatically reduced shipping damages. I've seen this first hand.
When I was in the factory in Holyhead last year the boats ready for shipment where of a very high quality. I had a choice between an Explorer and a Romany S both of which where well built. I could see improvements in build quality over my previous visit to the plant in 2007.
During my circumnavigation of the Isle of Man the Romany developed one fault the skeg cable tubbing came unglued and I was not easily able to deploy the skeg. It barely mattered as the Romany handled so well I hardly needed the skeg. When I got the boat home I fixed the tube down with a piece of fiberglass.
This skeg is on a spring, when you go over a rock or land on a beach if the skeg is down it retracts, but does not kink the cable; slide off the rock and the skeg drops back down to where you had it set. Smart.
Every kayak manufacture struggles with quality issues. There's a well known west coast company that cannot master water proof hatches or bulkheads. There's a story about another that fired almost all it's manufacturing staff when they failed drug tests only to see quality control go into the can.
You can build kayaks while high on crack but it's hard to do without experience. I've heard other accounts of retailers sending entire shipments of North American boats back to the plant because of deficiencies.
Or what about the designer who built a series of hard chined kayaks but did not carry the chine all the way forward to the bow resulting in a weak and flexible bow. After consumers had bought countless kayaks the plug was dropped and a new one built to address the weak bow. Nice of the kayak public to do th R&D for the designer.
I wonder how those owners feel about having boats that didn't quite measure up. Yet these well known manufactures escape the poor quality control tag. Is there a double standard at work?
It could be that the persistent poor quality control tag hung on British boats is due to their market penetration into North America. SKUK or NDK, Valley, and P&H kayaks are easy to spot in North America. I've yet to see a North American made kayak on the Irish Sea let alone for sale in England.
This is of course due to different design parameters. I contend that North American manufactures design kayaks for a large recreational market which wants light strong kayaks. British builders build for a more demanding sea condition. An Explorer is laid up by hand with lots of Gel Coat not for strength but as a sacrificial layer that will chip off when landed in anger on a rocky shore. Thus their boats are heavier. Han laid chop strand glass is use for strength and to minimize the size of cracks when the worst does happen.
Slam a kayak constructed with an H lock between the hull and the deck into a rock during a storm on the Irish Sea and you can crack the glass beneath the 2ml layer of gel coat or you run the real risk of popping the H lock or splitting the fiberglass hull. Any of which will bring your day to an end.
But don't take my word for it. Just take a look at what kayaks are used for extreme adventures - Iceland, Ireland, Great Britain, New Zealand, South Georgia - the vast majority are British built or designed.
Quality issues are normal to any industry based on low wages, rotten working conditions and dangerous chemicals. One retailer recently told me, "a lot of these long time fiberglass layup guys can really drink beer and smoke cigarettes well. Just don't asked them to do math." It comes from breathing all that styrene.
There are inherit strengths and weaknesses in all kayaks and not all kayaks are designed to do the same thing. Some are big recreational kayaks meant for weak long camping trips on benevolent seas, some are pond boats, while others are meant for hard conditions.
"While the NDK designs are amongst the best, it still comes down to the paddler and his or her skills." that's the concluding statement from my friend who I quoted at the beginning.
His statement is only partly true. If you are the skilled paddler and in a boat that runs straight like a train but does not turn, you are going to be using a lot more energy then the equally skilled guy next to you in a boat that runs both straight and can still turn.
Your kayak does not have to be the best at anything but it should be really good at everything. And that's why readers of Sea Kayaker magazine chose the Romany as the best day boat and the Explorer as the best expedition kayak.
"Generally, Valley kayaks are better made now than in past years. The same can't be said of the NDK made kayaks."
If the guy who wrote that statement (he's a friend of mine) had of done some home work he'd know better. Since NDK's re emergence as Sea Kayak United Kingdom (SKUK)- you've got to love the British sense of humour; quality control has been on the up swing. Check with Leon Somme of Body Boat Blade if you don't believe me.
Yes I have two Nigel Denis kayaks, an Explorer bought used out of Homer Alaska and a Romany S which I purchased last August to paddle around the Isle of Man on my quest to raise funds for cancer research.
The Explorer has been beaten and bashed including being May Tagged in a bolder field while I attended to a kayaker who had just broke his leg attempting to launch into a dumping surf. In spite of the damage inflicted, cracked gel coat, the Explorer has never failed me and has brought me home every time.
I believe two things are contributing to the improved quality of SKUK boats, better quality coming out of the factory and better shipping methods. Improvements in the way the kayaks are being packaged and shipped in the containers has dramatically reduced shipping damages. I've seen this first hand.
When I was in the factory in Holyhead last year the boats ready for shipment where of a very high quality. I had a choice between an Explorer and a Romany S both of which where well built. I could see improvements in build quality over my previous visit to the plant in 2007.
During my circumnavigation of the Isle of Man the Romany developed one fault the skeg cable tubbing came unglued and I was not easily able to deploy the skeg. It barely mattered as the Romany handled so well I hardly needed the skeg. When I got the boat home I fixed the tube down with a piece of fiberglass.
This skeg is on a spring, when you go over a rock or land on a beach if the skeg is down it retracts, but does not kink the cable; slide off the rock and the skeg drops back down to where you had it set. Smart.
Every kayak manufacture struggles with quality issues. There's a well known west coast company that cannot master water proof hatches or bulkheads. There's a story about another that fired almost all it's manufacturing staff when they failed drug tests only to see quality control go into the can.
You can build kayaks while high on crack but it's hard to do without experience. I've heard other accounts of retailers sending entire shipments of North American boats back to the plant because of deficiencies.
Or what about the designer who built a series of hard chined kayaks but did not carry the chine all the way forward to the bow resulting in a weak and flexible bow. After consumers had bought countless kayaks the plug was dropped and a new one built to address the weak bow. Nice of the kayak public to do th R&D for the designer.
I wonder how those owners feel about having boats that didn't quite measure up. Yet these well known manufactures escape the poor quality control tag. Is there a double standard at work?
It could be that the persistent poor quality control tag hung on British boats is due to their market penetration into North America. SKUK or NDK, Valley, and P&H kayaks are easy to spot in North America. I've yet to see a North American made kayak on the Irish Sea let alone for sale in England.
This is of course due to different design parameters. I contend that North American manufactures design kayaks for a large recreational market which wants light strong kayaks. British builders build for a more demanding sea condition. An Explorer is laid up by hand with lots of Gel Coat not for strength but as a sacrificial layer that will chip off when landed in anger on a rocky shore. Thus their boats are heavier. Han laid chop strand glass is use for strength and to minimize the size of cracks when the worst does happen.
Slam a kayak constructed with an H lock between the hull and the deck into a rock during a storm on the Irish Sea and you can crack the glass beneath the 2ml layer of gel coat or you run the real risk of popping the H lock or splitting the fiberglass hull. Any of which will bring your day to an end.
But don't take my word for it. Just take a look at what kayaks are used for extreme adventures - Iceland, Ireland, Great Britain, New Zealand, South Georgia - the vast majority are British built or designed.
Quality issues are normal to any industry based on low wages, rotten working conditions and dangerous chemicals. One retailer recently told me, "a lot of these long time fiberglass layup guys can really drink beer and smoke cigarettes well. Just don't asked them to do math." It comes from breathing all that styrene.
There are inherit strengths and weaknesses in all kayaks and not all kayaks are designed to do the same thing. Some are big recreational kayaks meant for weak long camping trips on benevolent seas, some are pond boats, while others are meant for hard conditions.
"While the NDK designs are amongst the best, it still comes down to the paddler and his or her skills." that's the concluding statement from my friend who I quoted at the beginning.
His statement is only partly true. If you are the skilled paddler and in a boat that runs straight like a train but does not turn, you are going to be using a lot more energy then the equally skilled guy next to you in a boat that runs both straight and can still turn.
Your kayak does not have to be the best at anything but it should be really good at everything. And that's why readers of Sea Kayaker magazine chose the Romany as the best day boat and the Explorer as the best expedition kayak.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Return of the Romany
Can there be anything better then sailing into Friday Harbor on a sunny Friday morning.
We're almost home. Ten months after completing my Isle of Man circumnavigation my kayak has almost made it home.
Thanks to the graciousness of Shawna Franklin and Leon Somme' I did not have to travel down to the Seattle/Tacoma docks to retrieve the kayak. They picked her up and brought her up to Orcas Island.,
I had hoped to paddle it the 25 nautical miles from Orcas over to Victoria. But time simply didn't allow and I ended up having to drive around to collect the kayak. Which turned out to be a good thing as someone had nicked two of the hatch covers.
This is a lucky boat even when bad things happen to her she somehow manages to turn misfortune to an advantage. On that last day on the Isle of Man when the hull was accidentally cracked and the last 10 days of my adventure literally slipped through the crack; it was a turn of good fortune.
Trapped ashore for those ten days I was able to save the money budgeted to cover the expenses of what was to have been the circumnavigation of Angelsey. With the money saved I was able to buy airfare home after the air carrier Zoom went bankrupt taking my return ticket down with it.
Zoom was to have returned the kayak with me. Luckily Nigel Denis of Sea Kayaking United Kingdom stepped forward and offered to send the kayak in the next available container to Seattle.
As I write the kayak is down below on the ferry into Sidney. She's looking a little rough. Dust from ten months in the work shop obscures her bright red deck. The skeg still needs a little work, I'll have to add the keel strip that was over looked. However the cracked hull has been repaired.
The biggest problem to over come will be the hatch covers. Without them she's not sea worthy. But I'll improvise.
I want thank everyone who took part either as a contributor to the Canadian Cancer Society or as a direct or indirect sponsor. Together we raised $5,800 to help in the fight against cancer. A special thanks goes to Nigel Denis, Shawna and Leon.
Foot note
After a week in the garage the preliminary keel strip has been added to the Romany, it still needs a little work. I'm not very good at gel coating but it'll due for now. late yesterday afternoon the kayak was introduced to the Pacific Ocean for the first time. It felt great, indeed she performed every bit a well as my limited memory recalled. Short smooth turns without any drama or suspense, she picks up following waves like a dream and surfs better then the surfer sitting in the cockpit. I'm going to really love this kayak.
After standing back and assessing the keel strip I added I contacted Peter Harris of Pacifica Paddle Sports and will have him tear the strip off and replace it. I learned two lessons from this exercise don't gel coat in the garage when the wife is home and keel strips are a lot harder to do then small repairs.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Sea Kayaker April Issue
Picked up the April issue of Sea Kayaker magazine to read on the flight over to Europe and was pleased to find myself drawn into a great edition.
Three items jumped out above the usual, Chris Cunningham's editorial, the letter from Pat Donlin and the article on Health. Like many in my generation I suffer from acid reflux an found the last item to be particularly pertinent.
But first to the editorial. I carefully read and re read the editorial then went to the letter from Pat Donlin that raised the question. I concluded that there were really two questions here; 1st should Search and Rescue (SAR) Teams be expected to come to the rescue of high risk adventurers? And 2nd should we idolize these adventurers.
Cunningham takes on the first question and answers it with an emphatic yes. He of course is absolutely correct. No SAR team, be they professional or volunteer units, has a litmus test to determine if a response is warranted. Lets see, you're irresponsible, poorly trained, poorly equipped and not very admirable, sorry we can't save your soul. Thankfully it does not work like that.
But the second question never really gets resolved. It's a tricky one. One of those principal, ethical and moral questions whose answer is usually found in some Grey area. Neither yes or no. The type of question that confounds the usual rhetoric generators - politicians and sports figures. In Donlin's letter it's implied that we should not idolize these adventures. The question is never clearly stated but it lays there between the lines.
Cunningham comes at this question sort of sideways because to some extent the magazine is part of the myth making machine. It regularly runs story's of adventurers accounts of their firsts a-rounds or fast crossings. In fact there is an excellent account in the April issue about the descent of the Atrato river in Columbia.
These story's when well told inspire. Maybe they provide the spark to do something extraordinary in another wise ordinary life. Or, maybe they only light up the imagination for a moment or two. Either is important and a positive result.
Cunningham references Joshu Sloccum's adventure as the first person to solo sail around the world. But don't take his word for it. Read Slocum's book. I believe the book is what made the adventure. It was his ability as a story teller that elevated the events. Face it sailing alone entails long stretches of tedium, boredom personified. The same happens on kayak trips, but a good writer can make the adventure.
Most adventures are complicated undertakings made simple while the people who undertake them always remain complex. You train, you develop the skills, you plan, you organize, you implement it's straight forward, it's just not easy.
When I was a boy I idolized a certain sports figure. I cut his pictures out of Sports Illustrated and taped them to my bedroom walls. This was long before the swim suit editions or I am sure other figures would have made it to the wall. Later I learned that my hero was a wife beater. Heroism crashed hard that day.
So as a father the lesson I taught my son was not to put people on to high a pedestal. Celebrate the accomplishment but keep in mind how complex humans are.
Freya Hoffmeister has left her family to complete her circumnavigation of Australia. Even if I had her skill, her fitness and her tenacity I would not do what she is doing. My family and the joy I derived from raising my son has kept me at home. That's about values mine are simply different from Freya's.
In fact I'm so out of step with the world that I believe raising a child up to be a successful and compassionate part of society is the greatest thing any parent can do. Paddling around a continent pales in comparison. Call me old fashioned.
Nevertheless when she succeeds I hope her account inspires someone to do something extraordinary, who knows maybe it'll be her own son.
Freya is closing in on successfully completing the 575 km crossing the Sea of Carpentaria.
Three items jumped out above the usual, Chris Cunningham's editorial, the letter from Pat Donlin and the article on Health. Like many in my generation I suffer from acid reflux an found the last item to be particularly pertinent.
But first to the editorial. I carefully read and re read the editorial then went to the letter from Pat Donlin that raised the question. I concluded that there were really two questions here; 1st should Search and Rescue (SAR) Teams be expected to come to the rescue of high risk adventurers? And 2nd should we idolize these adventurers.
Cunningham takes on the first question and answers it with an emphatic yes. He of course is absolutely correct. No SAR team, be they professional or volunteer units, has a litmus test to determine if a response is warranted. Lets see, you're irresponsible, poorly trained, poorly equipped and not very admirable, sorry we can't save your soul. Thankfully it does not work like that.
But the second question never really gets resolved. It's a tricky one. One of those principal, ethical and moral questions whose answer is usually found in some Grey area. Neither yes or no. The type of question that confounds the usual rhetoric generators - politicians and sports figures. In Donlin's letter it's implied that we should not idolize these adventures. The question is never clearly stated but it lays there between the lines.
Cunningham comes at this question sort of sideways because to some extent the magazine is part of the myth making machine. It regularly runs story's of adventurers accounts of their firsts a-rounds or fast crossings. In fact there is an excellent account in the April issue about the descent of the Atrato river in Columbia.
These story's when well told inspire. Maybe they provide the spark to do something extraordinary in another wise ordinary life. Or, maybe they only light up the imagination for a moment or two. Either is important and a positive result.
Cunningham references Joshu Sloccum's adventure as the first person to solo sail around the world. But don't take his word for it. Read Slocum's book. I believe the book is what made the adventure. It was his ability as a story teller that elevated the events. Face it sailing alone entails long stretches of tedium, boredom personified. The same happens on kayak trips, but a good writer can make the adventure.
Most adventures are complicated undertakings made simple while the people who undertake them always remain complex. You train, you develop the skills, you plan, you organize, you implement it's straight forward, it's just not easy.
When I was a boy I idolized a certain sports figure. I cut his pictures out of Sports Illustrated and taped them to my bedroom walls. This was long before the swim suit editions or I am sure other figures would have made it to the wall. Later I learned that my hero was a wife beater. Heroism crashed hard that day.
So as a father the lesson I taught my son was not to put people on to high a pedestal. Celebrate the accomplishment but keep in mind how complex humans are.
Freya Hoffmeister has left her family to complete her circumnavigation of Australia. Even if I had her skill, her fitness and her tenacity I would not do what she is doing. My family and the joy I derived from raising my son has kept me at home. That's about values mine are simply different from Freya's.
In fact I'm so out of step with the world that I believe raising a child up to be a successful and compassionate part of society is the greatest thing any parent can do. Paddling around a continent pales in comparison. Call me old fashioned.
Nevertheless when she succeeds I hope her account inspires someone to do something extraordinary, who knows maybe it'll be her own son.
Freya is closing in on successfully completing the 575 km crossing the Sea of Carpentaria.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
More From Paris - late March
Two days in Paris and I no longer sound like a rube from Purgatory Ontario. Not bad for a guy with two weeks of grade nine French. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to learn French in high school but my basketball coach told me, "you have to keep your grade average up and that Dike fails all the jocks in her French class." Just because she was Dutch was no reason to slander her. Nevertheless I left the French lessons behind to my everlasting regret.
Now when I enthusiastically greet people in Paris they don't look about me as a poor Angles, they look upon me more as the village idiot from Gascony. I'm moving up.
Our first stop of the day was the Rodin Museum, it was just around the corner and only six kilometers from the hotel - so we walked. We could have take the tube from the hotel door and got out at the gate to the museum but it was pouring rain so we walked. Once inside we picked up a floor map rented the audio guides and headed off. The museum started life as the Hotel Biron. After falling on hard times it was taken over by nuns who operated it as a school. judging by the way they stripped the building of all its paintings it must have been a rather bleak school. Next it became an artist community headed up by Rodin himself and finally if evolved into the museum it is today.
As this was an evolutionary process there are some quirky things going on. For instance the floor map is conveniently numbered as is the audio guide. Unfortunately the exhibits and floor map numbering system are not entirely related to the audio guide. I believe this is done as a test to humble the casual tourists. Just as you begin to see what Rodin was doing to the face of that poor gargoyle you realize your actually facing the wrong way and the audio guide is talking about the piece behind you. These French artist enjoy a clever joke as much as the rest of us.
Rodin was of course a genius. He worked on the gates of hell for 30 years making changes trying to get it just right. Interestingly his mistress went crazy and had to be confined for the last 30 years of her life. Hmmmm!
Perhaps the most remarkable part of the tour is the stroll through the gardens. Here the scale of the sculptures are displayed to there perfect glory. Late spring would be an ideal time to visit when the trees, shrubs and beds are in full bloom. Of course, "The Thinker," is very prominent. You come across it just before you enter the main museum. The Gates of Hell are off to the right but the sculpture that I found most intriguing was that of the Burgers of Calais. If you walk through the gardens counter clockwise it'll be the last one you see before you exit the property.
After leaving the Rodin museum we head to the Musee d'Orsay. This is a converted railway station right along the south bank of the Seine. It is an impressive museum, very grand in it's scale. It contains works from Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cezanne, Van Gogh and countless others. With it's soaring ceiling this is a very impressive site and would be worthy of an extended multi day visit, but we were running short of time.
Day Two
Leaping backward from Rodin to the the Palace of Versailles we disembark from the metro and walk 500 meters turn the corner and there's the Palace. On this cold wind swept day it does not immediately overwhelm. But as we approach the gates the sun breaks free of the clouds and the gates ignite in a wild display of golden light, just as quickly the sun retreats leaving us with only a hint of what awaits inside.
If you have an Internet ticket go to the stone outpost to the right of the gate and exchange your electronic ticket for a proper pass. Don't go directly to the main entrance without the pass. You'll end up going back for it. Do get an audio guide, again they can be quirky but with thousands of people jostling for position they're ideal - just stick the speaker to your hear and ignore the throngs.
Opulence is not a grand enough word to discribe Versailles. From its beginning as a hunting lodge Louis XIV created what is one of the worlds leading heritage sites. The Hall of Mirrors, the grand canal and fountains are astounding. For me the Grand and Petite Trianon's were fascinating. Being almost a mile from the main Palace in the Marie-Antoinette's estate they were largely empty of the crowds in the Palace. Ironically that was exactly why they were built sort of a retreat from the main court and all the intrigue around the Royals.
If you go heed the advice go on less busy days and get there early. Take the metro.
Now when I enthusiastically greet people in Paris they don't look about me as a poor Angles, they look upon me more as the village idiot from Gascony. I'm moving up.
Our first stop of the day was the Rodin Museum, it was just around the corner and only six kilometers from the hotel - so we walked. We could have take the tube from the hotel door and got out at the gate to the museum but it was pouring rain so we walked. Once inside we picked up a floor map rented the audio guides and headed off. The museum started life as the Hotel Biron. After falling on hard times it was taken over by nuns who operated it as a school. judging by the way they stripped the building of all its paintings it must have been a rather bleak school. Next it became an artist community headed up by Rodin himself and finally if evolved into the museum it is today.
As this was an evolutionary process there are some quirky things going on. For instance the floor map is conveniently numbered as is the audio guide. Unfortunately the exhibits and floor map numbering system are not entirely related to the audio guide. I believe this is done as a test to humble the casual tourists. Just as you begin to see what Rodin was doing to the face of that poor gargoyle you realize your actually facing the wrong way and the audio guide is talking about the piece behind you. These French artist enjoy a clever joke as much as the rest of us.
Rodin was of course a genius. He worked on the gates of hell for 30 years making changes trying to get it just right. Interestingly his mistress went crazy and had to be confined for the last 30 years of her life. Hmmmm!
Perhaps the most remarkable part of the tour is the stroll through the gardens. Here the scale of the sculptures are displayed to there perfect glory. Late spring would be an ideal time to visit when the trees, shrubs and beds are in full bloom. Of course, "The Thinker," is very prominent. You come across it just before you enter the main museum. The Gates of Hell are off to the right but the sculpture that I found most intriguing was that of the Burgers of Calais. If you walk through the gardens counter clockwise it'll be the last one you see before you exit the property.
After leaving the Rodin museum we head to the Musee d'Orsay. This is a converted railway station right along the south bank of the Seine. It is an impressive museum, very grand in it's scale. It contains works from Monet, Manet, Renoir, Cezanne, Van Gogh and countless others. With it's soaring ceiling this is a very impressive site and would be worthy of an extended multi day visit, but we were running short of time.
Day Two
Leaping backward from Rodin to the the Palace of Versailles we disembark from the metro and walk 500 meters turn the corner and there's the Palace. On this cold wind swept day it does not immediately overwhelm. But as we approach the gates the sun breaks free of the clouds and the gates ignite in a wild display of golden light, just as quickly the sun retreats leaving us with only a hint of what awaits inside.
If you have an Internet ticket go to the stone outpost to the right of the gate and exchange your electronic ticket for a proper pass. Don't go directly to the main entrance without the pass. You'll end up going back for it. Do get an audio guide, again they can be quirky but with thousands of people jostling for position they're ideal - just stick the speaker to your hear and ignore the throngs.
Opulence is not a grand enough word to discribe Versailles. From its beginning as a hunting lodge Louis XIV created what is one of the worlds leading heritage sites. The Hall of Mirrors, the grand canal and fountains are astounding. For me the Grand and Petite Trianon's were fascinating. Being almost a mile from the main Palace in the Marie-Antoinette's estate they were largely empty of the crowds in the Palace. Ironically that was exactly why they were built sort of a retreat from the main court and all the intrigue around the Royals.
If you go heed the advice go on less busy days and get there early. Take the metro.
Trains late March
We left Amsterdam in a flurry of wind and rain the perfect anticipation for a high speed train rush to Paris. It was only a tease as the train plods along comfortably like a Dutch burger through the flat and featureless countryside.
Getting out of the city is a blessing as the miles roll by you get a real sense of what the Dutch Masters and van Gogh were capturing. It is the sky that dominates. As in Saskatchewan the sky writes the poetry.
Holland in the winter would be a giant studio for the landscape artist. With the sun low in the southern sky for much of the day, the magic light of morning and evening is elongated giving the artist time to capture the subtle play of light on thunderheads, fleeting clouds and wisps of mists. But there is little warmth in this sunlight. the price of painting here could be high as the artist racing against the cold would have to work fast capturing the light before the seemingly ever present rain washes all away and the cold numbed fingers let the brush drop from the hand,
As we roll south the land is flat and without relief; a hill would be a welcome site. Everywhere the canals hold back the water. But they 're cold and without natures sparkle they are only ditches lacking the life of a river or the sea.
Through the low lands the train rolls until finally we reach Brussels where the train inexplicably breaks down in the terminal. There's a practiced scramble for a sister train, apparently this happens often. Once reembarked we slip into France and truly begin to race with the small countries behind us we literally begin to cut through the rolling hills of northern France faster and faster we plummet south trying in vain to catch the days last rays of sun.
Finally as the sun sets we slide into Gare Nord. Off the train we climb down into the darkness of the Metro only to pop up like mushrooms miles away. A short walk and we have reached our hotel. Next to the hotel is a tiny restaurant, small tables covered in pure white linen we crack open the glass pane that separates the magical room from the sidewalk and sit down to a wonderful dinner. Its what you come to Paris for. A perfect first night.
Getting out of the city is a blessing as the miles roll by you get a real sense of what the Dutch Masters and van Gogh were capturing. It is the sky that dominates. As in Saskatchewan the sky writes the poetry.
Holland in the winter would be a giant studio for the landscape artist. With the sun low in the southern sky for much of the day, the magic light of morning and evening is elongated giving the artist time to capture the subtle play of light on thunderheads, fleeting clouds and wisps of mists. But there is little warmth in this sunlight. the price of painting here could be high as the artist racing against the cold would have to work fast capturing the light before the seemingly ever present rain washes all away and the cold numbed fingers let the brush drop from the hand,
As we roll south the land is flat and without relief; a hill would be a welcome site. Everywhere the canals hold back the water. But they 're cold and without natures sparkle they are only ditches lacking the life of a river or the sea.
Through the low lands the train rolls until finally we reach Brussels where the train inexplicably breaks down in the terminal. There's a practiced scramble for a sister train, apparently this happens often. Once reembarked we slip into France and truly begin to race with the small countries behind us we literally begin to cut through the rolling hills of northern France faster and faster we plummet south trying in vain to catch the days last rays of sun.
Finally as the sun sets we slide into Gare Nord. Off the train we climb down into the darkness of the Metro only to pop up like mushrooms miles away. A short walk and we have reached our hotel. Next to the hotel is a tiny restaurant, small tables covered in pure white linen we crack open the glass pane that separates the magical room from the sidewalk and sit down to a wonderful dinner. Its what you come to Paris for. A perfect first night.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Off to Amsterdam and Paris
Heathrow, March 23
Vancouver to Heathrow sharing my corner of the AC flying canoe with a nice Norwegian herring fisherman. Really! After the first two hours I couldn't tell he fished at all.
The Norwegians have discovered Revelstoke as a ski haven. Granted the mountain is sublime and the snow light and fluffy but I suspect the main attraction is the price. These young Nordic gods can descend on the village, ski the mountains for a week, and fly home for the price of a cup of coffee in Oslo.
After arriving and making my way from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 I found myself craving a plate of smoked herring. Odd as I normally don't like smoked fish. Luckily there's just enough time in Heathrow to sample the ale list at The Tin Goose. I've started with a pint of London Pride; it has a fruity after taste.
The place is full of pale Irish faces wearing rugby union green shirts and sporting some massive hangovers from Ireland's defeat of the Welsh for the Six Nations cup. Normally the Irish accent is a lilting thing of beauty but these voices are ruined wrecks from 80 minutes of singing and god knows how many hours of drinking. I share a pint of Guinness with a few before drifting off to make my connections to Amsterdam.
This of course is not a usual kayaking trip. Normally if I'm crossing the Atlantic I'm heading for the Irish Sea but this time the destination is not adventure but romance. I'm “hoookiing” up with my beautiful wife in Amsterdam for a few days then it's down to Paris where we honeymooned 23 years ago. I may find time to check out kayaking on the Seine – not likely.
Wednesday March 24
It's now early Wednesday morning and my beautiful wife is upstairs fast asleep. It's raining hard in Amsterdam. Is there any other way. From my window seat at the Port de Cleve hotel I look across the Estrada at an ancient protestant church. Built in the traditional cross shape the Dutch have managed to squeeze in a house between the balustrades. Very practical.
Yesterday we visited the Vincent van Gogh museum and took in “The Colour's of the Night” show. Obviously Van Gogh was a tortured genius but I had no idea that his entire body of work, about 800 paintings, was created in only ten years.
Van Gogh's legacy is not just the wonderful works of art that he created but through that art he allows us to travel through time. Sit in front of one of his pastoral scenes or better yet the night sky over the City of Rhone and you find yourself transported back in time. His landscapes be they the rural views of Holland or the city scenes of Paris and the various villages he lived in are riveting.
Of course the show is extremely popular. Tourists, locals students and school children under the respectful care of curators vie for viewing space. I enjoy listening in as the curators explain this or that aspect of various works. Of course I cannot comprehend a word, but it's a hardly necessary as the passion and respect they convey is universal.
We use an audio headset to help fill in the gaps in our knowledge of Van Gogh. These things are both a blessing and a curse. They educate but I find some of the interpretations just silly. You get a priest like voice, after all they invented interpretive mumble jumble, intoning the listener to; “Look at how Van Gogh has caste the mans face in light and shadow to depict the mans melancholy, regret and sadness of his character.” Well how do you know! Maybe he's just lost a hundred guilders betting on the wrong cards. I much prefer it when the curators stick to the facts and leave the impressions and interpretations to the viewer.
The crowds in the museum can be diverting yet there are roses amongst the brambles. A young woman just on the cusp of womanhood walks across the room. I only see her face in profile framed by her long brown hair but her poise and grace is electric. Like many Dutch women she is fashionably dressed in high leather boots, black tights and a short flirty skirt. I shamelessly watch as she walks across the gallery. Quickly I look about and find at least a half dozen people watching her, yet she's oblivious. All too soon she disappears around a corner fleetingly, like the sun light on Van Gogh's fields of wheat, she's gone. For a moment I thought I could hear a chuckle and a sigh of appreciation. The old master certainly had and eye for beauty.
Vancouver to Heathrow sharing my corner of the AC flying canoe with a nice Norwegian herring fisherman. Really! After the first two hours I couldn't tell he fished at all.
The Norwegians have discovered Revelstoke as a ski haven. Granted the mountain is sublime and the snow light and fluffy but I suspect the main attraction is the price. These young Nordic gods can descend on the village, ski the mountains for a week, and fly home for the price of a cup of coffee in Oslo.
After arriving and making my way from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 I found myself craving a plate of smoked herring. Odd as I normally don't like smoked fish. Luckily there's just enough time in Heathrow to sample the ale list at The Tin Goose. I've started with a pint of London Pride; it has a fruity after taste.
The place is full of pale Irish faces wearing rugby union green shirts and sporting some massive hangovers from Ireland's defeat of the Welsh for the Six Nations cup. Normally the Irish accent is a lilting thing of beauty but these voices are ruined wrecks from 80 minutes of singing and god knows how many hours of drinking. I share a pint of Guinness with a few before drifting off to make my connections to Amsterdam.
This of course is not a usual kayaking trip. Normally if I'm crossing the Atlantic I'm heading for the Irish Sea but this time the destination is not adventure but romance. I'm “hoookiing” up with my beautiful wife in Amsterdam for a few days then it's down to Paris where we honeymooned 23 years ago. I may find time to check out kayaking on the Seine – not likely.
Wednesday March 24
It's now early Wednesday morning and my beautiful wife is upstairs fast asleep. It's raining hard in Amsterdam. Is there any other way. From my window seat at the Port de Cleve hotel I look across the Estrada at an ancient protestant church. Built in the traditional cross shape the Dutch have managed to squeeze in a house between the balustrades. Very practical.
Yesterday we visited the Vincent van Gogh museum and took in “The Colour's of the Night” show. Obviously Van Gogh was a tortured genius but I had no idea that his entire body of work, about 800 paintings, was created in only ten years.
Van Gogh's legacy is not just the wonderful works of art that he created but through that art he allows us to travel through time. Sit in front of one of his pastoral scenes or better yet the night sky over the City of Rhone and you find yourself transported back in time. His landscapes be they the rural views of Holland or the city scenes of Paris and the various villages he lived in are riveting.
Of course the show is extremely popular. Tourists, locals students and school children under the respectful care of curators vie for viewing space. I enjoy listening in as the curators explain this or that aspect of various works. Of course I cannot comprehend a word, but it's a hardly necessary as the passion and respect they convey is universal.
We use an audio headset to help fill in the gaps in our knowledge of Van Gogh. These things are both a blessing and a curse. They educate but I find some of the interpretations just silly. You get a priest like voice, after all they invented interpretive mumble jumble, intoning the listener to; “Look at how Van Gogh has caste the mans face in light and shadow to depict the mans melancholy, regret and sadness of his character.” Well how do you know! Maybe he's just lost a hundred guilders betting on the wrong cards. I much prefer it when the curators stick to the facts and leave the impressions and interpretations to the viewer.
The crowds in the museum can be diverting yet there are roses amongst the brambles. A young woman just on the cusp of womanhood walks across the room. I only see her face in profile framed by her long brown hair but her poise and grace is electric. Like many Dutch women she is fashionably dressed in high leather boots, black tights and a short flirty skirt. I shamelessly watch as she walks across the gallery. Quickly I look about and find at least a half dozen people watching her, yet she's oblivious. All too soon she disappears around a corner fleetingly, like the sun light on Van Gogh's fields of wheat, she's gone. For a moment I thought I could hear a chuckle and a sigh of appreciation. The old master certainly had and eye for beauty.
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