How to Extract Yourself from a Kayak in 7 Steps

Holding firmly onto both sides of the kayak, Mary slowly lowered her ample bottom into the seat. She winced a little as she squeezed her legs through the tight opening of the vessel, and then wiggled to settle herself in. At last, her feet found the pedals, and she sighed with relief.

As she pushed away from the shore, she reflected that while a kayak may be graceful and smooth-sailing once you’re in it, getting aboard can be pretty unglamorous. As can be the exit.

Just last week she’d felt mildly embarrassed as her neighbor Chad watched her disembark. She’d just returned from an hour-long peaceful paddle down the quiet Shebeshekong river, and there he was, standing on his dock with his hands on his hips, frowning attentively with a critical look in his eye.

Oh great, an audience, Mary thought wryly, I can’t wait to hear his ‘helpful’ comments.

She leaned over to grab hold of a sturdy rock on the shore so that she could use it to hoist herself up. The boulder was too far away to be of much use; in the end, she’d sort of rolled over onto her side, and lurched her way free, her stomach scraping along the shore.

I’m like a hermit crab attempting to exit her too-small shell, she thought, Either that or a beached whale.

At last, her legs slithered free, and she got to her feet, using the rock for balance.

Here it comes, she thought.

“Mary,” Chad called out.

Right on cue.

“I couldn’t help but notice your exit maneuver there,” he remarked with a patronizing chuckle, “Seemed a little awkward, Sweetheart.”

Sweetheart! Mary felt a rise of anger well up from her gut at the word. She swallowed it down and turned around to face him, a plastered smile covering her face.

“Well Chad, I’m not as young and agile as I used to be,” she said, “but I seem to manage alright.”

“Next time you should try to beach yourself. If the kayak were on firmer ground, you’d find it easier.”

More sage advice from the peanut gallery, she thought. Mary bit back the snappy retort, and bent to pick up her paddle, saying, “Thanks Chad, maybe I’ll give that a try.”

She walked up the rocky path towards her house.

The next time Mary had returned from a foray in her kayak, she’d spotted Chad again at the end of his dock, so she’d paddled up and down the river four times, lest he be waiting to unleash his unsolicited opinions upon her once more. At last, he gave up and went back inside his tidy little house, leaving Mary to dismount in privacy.

As awkward as getting in and out might be, the efforts are well worth it, Mary reflected now, as her boat easily skimmed the surface of the open water.

She dipped her paddle in, evenly alternating from one side to the other, and felt her body come into a meditative rhythm. Her mind was able to clear itself of clutter and find a sense of quiet. She felt buoyant and joyful, and her eyes took in the scenery around her with awe and gratitude.

The serenity, the simple timeless beauty of the ancient Manidoowi-zaaga` igan (Georgian Bay) shoreline filled her cup and recharged her. Being in the kayak, becoming one with the water and the rugged resilient landscape — this was Mary’s happy place.

She rested her paddle across the boat and breathed deeply, in and out.

And then she felt something cool slide across the top of her foot. Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment she tried to convince herself it was nothing. A trick of her mind.

Then she felt the dry leathery sensation again and jerked upright in her seat.

Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-GOD! She thought in a fluster. There’s a snake in my kayak!

As if to confirm her conclusion, the snake moved again, his silky skin sliding up along the side of her calf. Mary desperately wanted to pull her legs up and out of the boat barrel, but her rational mind told her it would be better for both of them if she were to remain as still as possible.

My shattered nerves, she thought.

Sitting motionless, except for the gentle rocking action of the kayak as it began to drift out on the waves, Mary realized she was floating further and further adrift from the shore, and that she would have to start paddling.

No jerky movements, her rational mind advised, just take it slow and steady. Be calm.

But what if it’s a rattler? Another small voice worried.

She leaned as far back as she could against her seat, trying to get low enough to peer into the chamber where her helpless, captive legs lay inert. With her chin pressed against her chest, she squinted into the darkness, but it was no use; she couldn’t make out a thing down there.

Mary felt the smooth glide of the snake along the inner side of her knee, making his way upwards. With a sharp intake of breath, she began to panic; her heart rate quickened and she felt a flush of sweat under her arms.

Despite herself, a rogue thought entered her mind:

It’s been a long while since anything snake-like has approached my nethers.

And then she laughed. It was a nervous chuckle, but it was just the pressure release she needed. She felt her tension subside, at least enough for her to be able to think straight. Or, straighter.

She considered her situation.

If I reach in, can I quickly take hold of the snake and throw him out?

That prospect seemed risky. If he was a rattler or water snake, he would likely bite her before she managed to fling him away.

I could get myself out of the kayak, she mused, and then escort his Royal Highness ashore, by swimming alongside.

But again she worried her movements would provoke a defensive attack.

Besides, the other day I proved to myself — and to Chad, damn him — that I’m not very smooth at getting out of a kayak. I’d probably have to attempt an underwater rollover exit — good God.

So Mary picked up her paddle once again and tentatively dipped one end into the water. She pulled, then lifted, lowered, and immersed the other side, and pulled, her arms moving in the familiar figure-eight pattern that she knew so well. Letting her body take over, she focused on breathing. Deep inhale. Hold. Relax the shoulders. Exhale for a count of five...

Slowly at first, then with the increasing confidence that can only come from practice, Mary made her way towards the shore. She kept her eyes fixed on a flat pinkish rock about 100 feet away and steadily advanced towards it. To her growing relief, there was no movement below deck as they neared her destination.

At last, Mary pulled up alongside the rock, which sloped gently away from the water’s edge at an ideal angle, allowing her to once again perform her side-roll disembarkment.

As she began to extricate herself, she imagined she was giving a demonstration in an instructional video, her target audience the “mature-adventurous”:

Step 1: Lean over to one side as far as you can, until your kayak begins to tilt with you. Don’t be afraid to really throw your weight into it for added leverage.

Step 2: Reach your arms as far as possible in the direction that you wish to go.

Step 3: Take hold of anything — a rock, the base of a tree, the ground itself — and pull.

Step 4: Wiggle your hips and legs. This will help to facilitate their dislodgement from your vessel. NB: In the case of a snake being in there with you, keep the wiggling to a minimum. You will need to rely mostly on your upper body strength, and perhaps a short prayer. Good luck!

Step 5: As needed, grunt and groan. This will activate your chi and lend more power to your efforts.

Step 6: Hopefully now, your lower half will have been released from its confines. Take your time coming into a seated position. Relax here until your breathing returns to normal.

Step 7: Congratulate yourself on a job well done.

Once free of the kayak, Mary sat for a moment on the pink rock. (Step 6) As her heart rate began to slow, she felt her shoulders relax and the anxiety leave her body.

Oh my God, Mary, she thought, You did it! You are amazing, you Snake Whisperer, you! (Step 7)

After a minute or two, she rose stiffly to her feet and approached the kayak. Cautiously, she took a firm hold of one end with both hands and rolled it over completely, so that the opening was now facing the ground. Ever so carefully, she raised her end of the boat. She heard the quiet slide of what could only be the snake’s body making its way towards the exit hole. To her satisfaction, he plopped onto the ground, landing in a mottled-brown coil.

“So, you are a water snake!” she observed with wide eyes.

Lucky for me you were in a good mood.

“Go on, you,” she coaxed, flapping her hands in a shooing gesture, “There’s no way you’re getting back in my kayak. This is your new home, my stowaway friend; consider yourself immigrated. You crossed the great channel — a story for your grandchildren.”

The snake fixed his shiny black eyes on Mary with a look of expectancy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I meant your grand-snakelets.”

Apparently satisfied, the snake slithered off through a nearby clump of rushes, and into the water.

After watching him depart, Mary called out across the water, to no one in particular, “I just taxied a snake!”

Then she added smugly to herself, “A story for my grandchildren.”

Something more than a sense of relief flooded Mary’s body. As she stood with her hands on her hips, she tried to pinpoint the feeling. She was in a zen-like state in the aftermath of her ordeal. Also, she felt uplifted, invincible, a certain sense of self-confidence, of self-sufficiency.

Maybe it’s pride, she thought.

Or what does Oprah call it? Oh yes. Empowerment.

Again she pictured herself performing for an audience, only this time she was sitting on a plush couch across from the famous talk show host:

“Well, Oprah, I couldn’t escape or avoid my tense predicament. I had no choice but to deal with it head-on. Somehow I managed to stay calm. I just breathed, and focused on what I knew… and here I am now, unscathed on the other side.”

In her fantasy, Oprah looked impressed, and Mary turned to face the audience to add:

“If I could impart one piece of advice to your viewers, it would be to believe in yourself. Like me, you can overcome any obstacle! With coolness! With finesse!”

Mary chuckled at the imagery. Then she righted her vessel and got herself back inside for the paddle home.

As she neared her own shoreline a half-hour later, she saw the familiar form of Chad, on his dock once again.

It’s like he has a spidey-sense for my arrival time, she thought in exasperation.

He was watching her with anticipatory delight, no doubt waiting to see if she’d give his latest disembarking advice a go.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Mary held up a silencing hand.

“Chad,” she called, as this time she glided directly towards the shallows rather than doubling back down the river to wait him out. She felt no need to hide, no shame; she moved as one with her boat, with the river itself.

“If you have it in mind to mansplain to me how I can improve on my kayaking technique again — save it. Because you know what? I’m all good. Me and my kayak, we are just great.”

Chad stared at her in affronted silence, his jaw slack.

“Are you going to stick around for the show?” Mary asked casually, using her paddle on the shore to pull the boat in lengthwise.

Chad turned with a harrumph and stomped up the hill.

Mary sighed. As satisfying as it was to speak her mind, she also felt bad that she may have hurt his feelings.

Heck, I’ll bring the old bugger a bottle of wine later, she thought. We can make a toast to my magnificent day.

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This story was inspired by my mom, Jane Jones (photo credit), who found herself transporting a water snake in her kayak across Georgian Bay one morning. The angry snake had built a nest in there… and this one wasn’t as easy to coax out of his home as Mary’s was!