Dressing for Success
Frogman or Amphibian? The Choice is Yours
Paddlers fall into one of two schools: They’re either Frogmen or Amphibians. The former are go-anywhere, do-anything types, while the latter have a more laid-back approach to their sport. This difference is reflected in their respective wardrobes. Frogmen favor rubber from head to toe, and rightly so. Amphibians, on the other hand, observe a less restrictive dress code. Are you an Amphibian?
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by Tamia Nelson | April 14, 2015
The seasoned whitewater boater knows herself to be the butt of one of nature’s best jokes. The time of year when the rivers run fastest and freest is also the time of year when the water is coldest. So we armor ourselves against the chill as best we can, balancing our need for protection against the constraints of the household budget. But what of paddlers who confine their activities to more temperate seasons? Or those of us who use our boats as transport — boaters for whom canoeing and kayaking are not only ends in themselves, but also the means to other ends. Like fishing, say. Or photography. Or following in the wake of early explorers. Or simply drifting lazily wherever a gentle breeze takes us. Are we also condemned to spend our days on the water encased in rubber from nape to ankle, sweating for hours on end in the sun in order that we not shiver for minutes in an unexpected dunking? Or, to paint the picture in its grimmest light, in order that we not die in a capsize?
Those well-meaning experts who urge safety at any price won’t hesitate in replying in the affirmative to this loaded question. And there’s no denying that they have many good arguments on their side. Who among us has the right to take any avoidable risk, after all? Who would wish to leave children unparented, spouses unhusbanded (or unwived), employers inconvenienced, insurers out of pocket? We are none of us solo travelers through life, are we? Others depend on us. We have obligations, responsibilities, creditors. Our lives are not ours to hazard as we see fit. QED. The conclusion appears inescapable.
And yet… There is a counter-argument to be made. To be sure, it is both selfish and shortsighted. But it resonates nonetheless. Colin Fletcher, who often found himself defending his fondness for solo treks in dangerous and inhospitable places, flung a ringing retort at his critics:
[I]f you judge safety to be the paramount consideration in life you should never, under any circumstances, go on long hikes alone. Don’t take short hikes alone either — or, for that matter, go anywhere alone. … Wear wool next to the skin. Insure every good and chattel you possess against every possible contingency the future might bring, even if the premiums half-cripple the present. … And never, of course, explore the guts of an idea that seems as if it might threaten one of your more cherished beliefs. In your wisdom you will probably live to a ripe old age. But you may discover, just before you die, that you have been dead for a long, long time.
Good advice, all of it. Especially the bit about wearing wool next to the skin. And that brings me to my point: There’s a middle ground between fecklessness and the full rubber jacket, and while this middling attire won’t suffice for early season whitewater, it should satisfy the demands of the reasonably prudent paddler in the months of the year when the sun is high and the waters are more or less clement.
So let’s take a closer look at the very different worlds of …
Frogmen and Amphibians
It will, to some extent, be a look backwards. There was little in the way of specialty clothing being made for paddlers in the distant days when Farwell and I first followed the snowmelt around New York and New England. The more sensible individuals among our motley crew of river rats dressed in second- and third-hand diver’s wetsuits — boardlike affairs all but guaranteed to rub you raw in every crease and crevice before the day was out. Which is why some comfort-loving souls eschewed rubber altogether, resorting instead to heavy woolen clothing picked up for pennies at the army-navy stores that could then be found in almost every town. It wasn’t an altogether happy compromise. Wool stayed warm when wetted by splash, to be sure, but waterlogged wool made self-rescue all but impossible in a capsize. And hauling a helpless wool-clad boater out of the river required a minimum of four big blokes and a winch. That explains why a few of our more affluent companions were quick to substitute synthetic pile for wool. Pile garments had been developed for climbers. They were as warm as wool, but they trapped less water when you went into the river. They were also new to the market and very costly.
That was a long time ago. But paddlers still face similar choices. These were colorfully contrasted by British Canoe Union senior coach Derek Hutchinson, who once posed this rhetorical question to the “advanced sea canoeist”:
In order to be prepared for an unlikely capsize, is he to paddle stinking, sweating, steaming and prickling in rubber equipment like an out-of-work frogman? Or is he to dress like a sensibly turned-out hill walker, depending more on his skill and expertise to keep dry, and meet the freezing rescue when the time comes[?]
It’s a question with no single correct answer, of course. The important thing to understand is that your life may hang in the balance in that “freezing rescue.” There’ll be no second chances then. Still, for experienced and reasonably expert paddlers who are content to wait for the snowmelt to run out into the sea before venturing onto the rivers, there are alternatives to dressing like an “out-of-work frogman.” And there’s a bonus, too. As Hutchinson suggested, the alternative kit is that of the “sensibly turned-out hill walker.” The upshot? If you like to mix paddling and climbing, you can make your outfit do double duty. This is especially good news if you’re a sister (or fellow) Amphibian.
Perhaps you’re now wondering just what it is that sensibly turned-out Amphibians wear? Well, here are some suggestions, beginning with …
Undergarments. The clothing nearest your skin is your last line of defense. It should wick perspiration away from your body (for comfort) and absorb little water when swimming (for safety). Polyester is probably the best choice here, though I’ve had good luck with light wool. Of late, however, pride of place in my wardrobe has gone to a zip-neck mock turtleneck made from “expedition-weight” polyester. In fact, it’s now a mainstay of both my paddling and climbing ensembles.
There’s further good news: At certain seasons of the year, and in some places, you need do no more than pull a pair of synthetic shorts over your undergarments (and don your PFD) in order to be accoutred for all contingencies. But such places and times are few and far between in Canoe Country. Even in mid-summer, you’ll likely want additional …
Insulation. I prefer several thin insulating layers to one thick layer. This makes it easier to adjust to changing temperatures, and it also allows me to mix and match materials to suit conditions. Vests, sweaters, and pants made from light pile, polyester fleece, and Thinsulate get the nod here, and for paddlers still wavering uncertainly between Frogman and Amphibian, there’s a place for a light neoprene “short john.” A wool or synthetic watch cap is de rigueur, too, as is a stretchy headover or neck gaiter. And what about your PFD? I don’t need to remind you to bring this with you, surely. After all, a foam PFD not only helps you keep your head above water in a hard chance, but it provides much-needed warmth, as well. Don’t leave home (or get in your boat) without one.
Now we come to the first line of defense, your bulwark against the elements whenever the sun refuses to shine and the rain pours down ceaselessly from dawn to dusk:
Outerwear. As I’ve already noted, you can get by with a pair of light shorts and a gossamer top on smiling, summery days — provided that the water’s warm and the biting flies have declared a truce. But such days are rare. Wind and rain are frequent visitors to Canoe Country, and waves have been known to come aboard at the least opportune of times. That being the case, it’s best to be prepared. Pairing a drytop — a waterproof jacket with seals at neck, waist, and wrists — with waterproof trousers can give boaters almost as much protection as a drysuit. (Until the top and trousers part company during a swim, that is.) But Amphibians will likely find that a simple paddling jacket — a sort of semidrytop, lacking waterproof seals at waist and neck — and ordinary rain pants are enough.
Don’t be tempted to wear a poncho or cagoule while paddling, however. Reserve these venerable and versatile garments for camp and trail. Not only do both make wonderful sails when worn in a boat — and the Old Woman almost never has your back; she’d much rather get in your face — but you’ll find that swimming in either one is nearly impossible, which means that drowning is depressingly easy.
There’s a final item of clothing to add to the list, one not often considered outwear yet nearly essential for anyone dependent on prescription eyeglasses: a billed cap or pull-on visor. You really do need to see what lies ahead, and glasses aren’t fitted with wipers.
That’s pretty much it. (Though if you think I regard gloves and shoes as optional extras you may want to click on the highlighted links.) Now all that remains for you to do is to look through your closets and then — if you don’t find that you already own everything you need — go shopping. A hint: Military surplus stores, while no longer as common as they once were, are usually worth a look, as are outlets specializing in field gear for foresters and surveyors, whose jobs require that they work in all weathers. And don’t forget Paddling.net’s Gear Guide and Classifieds. These are always worth a visit.
The bottom line? If you’re not going to extremes, you’ll find it surprisingly easy to kit yourself out with a paddling wardrobe. The last dinosaur may have gone to its grave long ago, but we Amphibians are poised to inherit the earth. Or so I’d like to think, at any rate.
Paddlers fall into one of two schools: They’re either Frogmen or Amphibians. The former are go-anywhere, do-anything types, while the latter have a more laid-back approach to their sport. This difference is reflected in their respective wardrobes. Frogmen favor rubber from head to toe, and rightly so. Amphibians, on the other hand, observe a less restrictive dress code.
Are you an Amphibian? Then you’re in luck. You may find that everything you need is already in your closet. Dressing for success has never been easier. Just don’t cut too many corners. There’s still that “freezing rescue” to think about, and no trip is a success if you don’t make it back home!
