By Paul Lebowitz

Kayak fishing, like other sea kayaking disciplines, is normally a safe sport for those well prepared for the rare spot of trouble. When conditions get tough those who are not ready for the challenge can find themselves quickly in over their heads. Sometimes even seasoned paddlers are reminded of the limitations of their small craft. The following story holds lessons for all paddlers, especially those who feel their sit-on-top style kayaks do not require the frequent practice of rescue skills. The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

Man in the Water!
It was a sunny and beautiful day in Puerto Santo Tomas, a remote village on the Pacific coast of northwestern Baja California, Mexico.

The wind was howling out of the north at better than 20 knots. Out to sea, the ocean was covered with whitecaps. Such a strong wind was ample reason to call the trip in favor of a leisurely breakfast in some nearby café. In fact, several members of our group opted to relax and fish from shore rather than face the nasty conditions.

About 20 of us in our informal group of intermediate to advanced kayak anglers rigged and launched. In unspoken agreement our group headed upwind so the landing site and safety would be just a quick downwind paddle away, then we hunkered down in a large kelp bed no more than a quarter mile from the launch. The wind ruled out fishing the open waters. At least in the kelp there were no whitecaps, and with the kayak tied off to a stringer it was possible to fish the windows in the canopy. The water temperature was approximately sixty degrees Fahrenheit.

The fishing was good. Lingcod, kelp bass, and a wide assortment of rockfish were eagerly striking our hooks. Although the wind was uncomfortable it did not seem particularly unsafe given the experience level of the group.

THE REMOTE Mexican fishing village of Puerto Santo Tomas. PHOTO COURTESY KEITH MARTIN

KAYAK ANGLERS hunkered down in the shelter of the kelp. PHOTO COURTESY KEITH MARTIN

We usually scatter far and wide in search for fish, but on this day we instinctively joined up with another kayak or two for safety. The group was loosely clustered in an area about 300 yards wide.

It seemed our group of kayak anglers was well prepared for anything that might happen that day. Many in the group carried handheld VHF radios. There were plenty of flares, first aid kits, hand pumps and towing ropes scattered amongst us. The anglers who’d remained on shore were monitoring their radios and watching the action. I was at one edge of the group, where I’d just released a beautifully checkered kelp bass, when I heard a call on my radio.

“We’ve got a man in the water,” a call crackled over the radio. I recognized the voice as that of Bill, one of the more seasoned members of the group. From my spot on the upwind, northwestern edge of the group I visually scanned for the trouble, but I couldn’t make out the location of the incident. Instead, I listened anxiously as a rescue unfolded over the radio. Those on the scene seemed to have matters well in hand, so I held my position. Although I did not see what followed, I was able to piece together this account later. 

While moving to fish another spot, Frank’s fish stringer tangled in the kelp. When he leaned over to untangle his fish, the combination of wind, swell, and body position caused his Ocean Kayak Scupper Pro to capsize.

When Frank went into the water, his fish stringer and paddle leash wrapped around his leg. It took Frank just a few seconds to unclip and discard his fish stringer, to free himself so he could surface. His PFD was not as much help as it could have been. Because Frank had failed to properly tighten the PFD straps, it had ridden partially up over his head. [Was Frank a big guy? Many paddlers with thick midsections can’t get PFD belts to do much good. If of average build this is more of an operator error Frank was moderately overweight. The error was more one of carelessness and lack of prior preparation than it was of poor fit]

Frank managed to right his kayak, but when he attempted to remount it from the side it flipped back over on top of him. He may have grabbed the side rail and then may have tried to pull himself onto the kayak without kicking his legs to the surface. Simply pulling yourself up on either side rail tips the kayak over. Frank should have positioned his body close to horizontal and then lunged across the kayak. Crawling over the bow or stern, a common reboarding practice for SOTs wasn’t an option for Frank because his deck, like that of many kayak anglers, was rigged with rod holders and fishing equipment. Frank could not climb back on from the bow or stern. Although he had been fishing ocean waters for well over a year and had taken a safety and paddling skills class, Frank had apparently not practiced self rescue in rough water, only in the calm conditions of a bay. [previously you mention the group was experienced. We need to square this with Frank’s lack of practice. Was he at the lower level of skill or is reentry not commonly practiced? I’d peg Frank as an intermediate. Only a small percentage of kayak anglers take any paddling classes at all. He should have performed better.] He was out of breath from the shock of his sudden immersion and his failed self rescue and was drifting south in the heavy wind.

Another kayaker had been fishing less than 50 feet upwind of Frank but hadn’t heard the splashes from his capsize nor of his failed attempt at self-rescue. Since he did not have a radio he was unaware of Frank’s emergency. Only those of the group who happened to be looking directly at Frank or monitoring their VHF radios were alerted to the situation.

Fortunately, Tom, a more seasoned kayaker, had been nearby and facing Frank. Recognizing Frank’s difficulty, he paddled over to help. Bill was also nearby and was ready to render additional assistance if necessary. In the meantime he used his radio to keep the group advised of the progress of the rescue. Together Tom and Frank righted the kayak. Tom held Frank’s boat to steady it and this time Frank was able to clamber back aboard. Although out a couple hundred dollars of rods, reels, and other equipment as well as his fish, Frank seemed none the worse for the wear.

Rescue Redux
We all returned to fishing, including Tom, Bill and Frank. Only a few minutes had passed when a member of the shore party radioed that Frank had drifted downwind a few hundred yards to the south of the landing, at least 500 yards south of the closest member of the group. While preoccupied with stowing his remaining gear and tackle, Frank had drifted out of the shelter of the kelp and into open water. Shockingly and inexcusably he had been unnoticed by those kayakers nearby. Frank was now paddling hard into the wind but getting nowhere.

Members of the shore party who were watching Frank through binoculars, reported over the radio [unless by “reported” you meant reported over the radio. Yes, reported over the radio] that Frank was paddling on only one side of his kayak and making no headway. Frank was trying to paddle directly back to the launch site to the north-northwest, about 25 degrees off the strong north wind. Instead, its force continually caused his kayak to weathercock, or turn into the wind. [Need to clarify the role of weathercocking here. If he’d paddled straight upwind would he have regained the group? His paddling on one side was an indication the he was trying paddle a course at an angle to the wind but his boat weathercocked badly. If he had paddled directly into the wind he would have been paddling directly towards the group, and closing the distance to the landing] The shore party repeatedly radioed Frank to tell him to paddle directly into the wind, which would have solved his problem with weathercocking and also have allowed him to narrow the distance between himself, the landing site, and the group of kayakers, but for some reason Frank was not getting the message. We later learned that Frank heard the shore party on his radio, but didn’t want to stop paddling to respond—if he had, he feared he would have lost more ground to the wind—but he didn’t explain why he didn’t heed the advice.  

Based on his lack of response to radio calls and his inability to make progress while paddling on only one side, it seemed that someone should paddle south to Frank to assess his situation and render further assistance.

With a full complement of safety gear and some dry clothes on board, I headed south toward Frank. My safety kit contained a tow rope (a diver’s game clip, which is something like an oversize carabineer [what is this? Picture a giant stainless steel locking safety pin], 15 feet of light line, and a load-rated carabineer), first aid kit, VHF radio, GPS receiver, drift chute, aerial and hand held flares, signal mirror and flag, dye marker, and smoke grenade. As I reached the southernmost patch of kelp I heard Bill on the radio. Bill and Tom had flagged down a passing panga, a Mexican open-topped fiberglass fishing boat with an outboard motor. Although neither Bill nor Tom speaks Spanish, they had somehow communicated that a kayaker needed help.

I stood by about 200 yards away in the shelter of the kelp to await developments. As I looked on, the panga approached Frank, circled him, hesitated and then motored off alone. We later learned that when the panguero (panga pilot) tossed Frank a rope to take him in tow, Frank simply picked it up and held it in his hands. Apparently Frank did not feel secure enough to scoot forward out of the cockpit [fishing rod holders in the way? No, kayak anglers routinely scoot up to the bow hatch. Shock?] to tie the towrope to his bow toggle, a routine practice for a kayak angler on a SOT. When the panga attempted to tow him, Frank could not keep his bow pointed in the direction of travel. Not willing to risk another capsize, Frank let go of the rope and waved the panga away. Incredulous, I watched the panga depart.

The panguero could have taken Frank on board, or affixed his towrope to Frank’s kayak himself. The language barrier may have prevented him from understanding the nature of Frank’s distress. Frank waved the panguero off, so the skiff left the area

As soon as I saw the skiff leaving without Frank I radioed the group to say I was going south to help him. Bill asked me if I wanted assistance. I requested Bill to stand by in case I needed additional help. Bill was safe in the kelp and could have paddled downwind to reach me within a couple of minutes. I knew that if I couldn’t get Frank upwind to our launch cove, I could get him to another sheltered landing that lay not far downwind. With the wind at my back it took me no time at all to reach Frank.

“You look like you could use a friend,” I called cheerfully to Frank. I quickly looked him over. Frank did not seem cold, merely tired. Although Frank seemed happy to have company, he protested when I clipped my towrope to his bow toggle. Frank insisted he was fine and did not need assistance. I refused to accept his protests. After a bit more urging Frank hooked the other end of the towrope to my stern toggle, and off we went. Although using a tow harness or anchoring the rope just behind my cockpit would have been preferable, rod holders and an equipment crate would have fouled the line. Fortunately, the arrangement worked fine for paddling straight upwind, but otherwise could have limited my steering ability. [Insert: While using the stern as the towing point can limit steering ability, the arrangement worked fine for paddling straight upwind.]

With both of us paddling we made good progress.  Frank could generate much more momentum paddling on both sides than he could by paddling on only one side of his kayak. With his bow held on course by the towrope, he didn’t have to struggle to hold his course. It took only a few minutes to pass by our launch site and regain the shelter of the kelp where we stopped to rest.

The launch site was now on a downwind course, behind a headland that partially blocked the wind. Frank said he could make it the rest of the way on his own. I unclipped the towrope, then played wingman and escorted Frank to the beach. Frank beached his kayak, dried off, and changed into warm clothes. The rescue was finally complete.

Lessons Learned
Later that afternoon most of the people involved in the rescue gathered on shore to talk about what went right and what lessons were learned. Frank did not wish to participate. Instead he maintained that he was never in serious trouble and could have rescued himself. His erratic and ineffective actions on the water argue otherwise. 

Of course the incident could have been avoided if everyone had remained on shore. After investing a lot of time in the long drive to get to the launch it may be hard to make the decision to call off the day’s paddling. One’s hopes and expectations should never factor in an evaluation of whether to launch or remain on shore. Either the sea state is safe or it is not.

A few common traits of kayak anglers complicated the situation. Kayak anglers extensively rig their sit-on-tops to improve their fishing ability. The modifications and additions, such as rod holders and fishfinders, are obstacles to
self-rescue and in some cases dramatically limit remounting options. In dire circumstances this gear can and should be discarded to allow for a successful self rescue. Many people who fish from their kayaks are anglers first; kayakers a distant second. As a consequence many kayak anglers do not practice their paddling skills or rescues nor do they dress for immersion.

Kayak anglers are often individualists used to ranging about on their own. Group leadership structure, as it was on our outing, is informal and undefined except during a guided trip. As with all paddlers, self-reliance is the key to safety, but it is not always every man for himself.  Kayak anglers do generally look out for one another as the events of this rescue illustrate. This incident highlights the need for more formal arrangements, particularly in remote locations and on rough waters.

I shudder to contemplate what might have happened if we hadn’t been well equipped with handheld VHF radios. When the lack of a formal group structure failed us, the radios allowed us to overcome our mistakes. They were truly indispensable.

The hardest lesson to learn was the need to see a rescue through to its conclusion. That none of us monitored Frank’s condition after his initial rescue was a serious error that could have led to tragic consequences. Only the presence of a shore party over watch prevented the situation from becoming unmanageable. If just a few more minutes had passed before Frank’s downwind drift was noticed, he would have been driven far enough out onto the whitecapped water that he would have been difficult to see. We were in a remote spot in Mexico and Frank could not have counted on being quickly found by a Coast Guard helicopter or a search and rescue team.  Frank may not have realized the danger he faced; the lapse of attention that allowed Frank to get back into trouble after he capsized still disturbs me. 

Frank’s experience is a good example of how quickly an accident victim’s judgment and physical performance can be impaired. He was fine once he reached shore, but not in control on the water. Like Frank, anyone who has just experienced a sudden capsize, who may be cold and tired, and perhaps distracted by the loss of expensive gear, may not be self-sufficient even if uninjured. The need for a second rescue could have easily been avoided if someone nearby had simply ensured Frank was moored to the kelp until he recovered from the mental and physical shock of an unplanned swim in difficult conditions.

Frank was not well prepared for an on the water emergency. In my experience, most kayak anglers are very cavalier when it comes to outfitting for safety. I’m unfortunately in a small minority because I carry a lot of safety gear. Frank may have reasoned that he did not have to rely on his own resources to recover from his capsize as he was with many other kayakers. To his credit he was not dressed only in heat-robbing cotton clothing, but his paddle pants and jacket were just splash wear, with only light-duty seals to keep the water out. He should have backed up his outerwear with a thermal layer such as a wetsuit. Once he was out of the water, his nylon garments provided some measure of insulation but not enough to keep him from getting chilled.

Frank eventually shared his observations on what went wrong. The capsize and subsequent events were the result of a series of errors. The first mistake of course was capsizing. He believed that his weight combined with the weight of his gear might have resulted in compromising the stability of his kayak and contributed to his capsize. The capsize might have been avoided if Frank had put his feet in the water to steady himself while untangling his fish stringer from the kelp. He knew how to do this but chose not to on this occasion. Hanging your legs over the side of a sit-on-top drops the paddler’s center of gravity, greatly enhancing stability. Although he did not share his concerns with anyone, Frank was uncomfortable in the strong winds. I know Frank well and I didn’t believe the conditions were over his abilities. If he had spoken up, at least he could have arranged to have another kayak at his side but given his concern over the difficulty of the conditions, he should have remained on shore.

Once Frank had capsized, his ill-adjusted PFD encumbered his recovery. He had not practiced self rescues in rough water. When he tried to get back aboard, he pulled his kayak over onto his head. Since he had to climb back onto his kayak from the side (the bow and stern were blocked by his deck rigging), Frank should have performed a Scramble self-rescue. First place one hand on each side of the kayak in front of the cockpit. Next, kick your legs while also lifting your upper body onto the kayak with your arms. Several kicks may be necessary. You can rotate directly into the cockpit, or else you can lie flat on the kayak as if it was a surfboard, drop your legs over the side and scoot your seat back into the cockpit.

After the assisted rescue Frank did not notice he was drifting into open water. Once he realized his predicament, he took the wrong angle back to the landing site. When the strong wind caused weathercocking that continually deflected the bow of Frank’s kayak away from his desired course and into the wind, instead of submitting and paddling directly upwind, he chose to paddle ineffectually on one side of his kayak. When the panga came by to offer a tow, Frank did not have a bowline to toss to the skiff pilot, and could not find a way to attach the skiff’s towline to his bow. Frank’s reticence to impose upon anyone and to admit he again needed help delayed his rescue. Pride is a difficult factor to overcome, and as this case illustrates, someone in trouble may be reluctant to acknowledge the seriousness of his situation.

In the days after his rescue, Frank continued to claim he was never in much danger and could have extricated himself without help if necessary but a few weeks later he rounded up some friends to practice self-rescues. On his next trip out in less-than-ideal conditions, he left his fishing gear on shore and stuck close by a partner. A short time later he bought a kayak with greater stability and a higher weight capacity.