For my quest to explore more of planet earth than anyone in history using only human, wind, and solar power to be successful, I need a variety of skills. My chosen methods of transportation are sailing, mountain biking, kayaking, and… well… by foot. Since I’m not a fan of being dead, it’s in my best interest to get as good as possible in all of these disciplines. My target is the lower end of the expert level in each. I got an early start on mountain biking, so that’s the least of my worries. I have some sailing experience under my belt by now. Sure, it’s never enough, but I’ve found the learning curve favorable. The skill I thought would be the easiest to pick up has surprised me in its deceptive difficulty.

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The gap in skill required between flatwater kayaking and open-ocean kayaking feels gargantuan. Get yourself a nice day on a lake with low wind, a boat and the supporting gear, and you’re good to go on day one. Sure, things will feel a little awkward at first. Your paddling technique will need work. Balancing will be disconcerting for a few minutes. But the timeframe from zero to feeling pretty good about things and having fun can be measured in minutes or hours. I don’t recommend that you do this with zero knowledge and zero support, but it can be done. I’ve witnessed other people go through it. I read some technical and tactical information before giving it a go, but baptism by fire is basically how I got started.

I’m essentially a do-it-yourself kind of guy. If I had a therapist, she would probably trace it back to the Lego-rich culture in which I was raised. From my parents’ stereo equipment to sailing to reading anything non-fiction, my habit is to disassemble everything and see how it goes backs together. We can blame Derrida or tiny plastic figures with cylindrical yellow heads, but my penchant for understanding the pieces and the system simply is.

Before I paddled on the ocean for the first time, I did a little due diligence. I spent time in calm waters practicing paddling strokes and braces. I spent time at the gym performing self-developed balance workouts designed to mimic the torso rotation of paddling while my hips and legs were doing something completely different. I put triple-digit miles on the boat. I got to the point where I’d grin when the wind whipped up on lakes giving me the possibility of smashing the bow through some waves. My confidence was rising. I felt competent at least. I’d read magazines and seen pictures of what appeared to be friends of my grandmother out paddling around in the ocean with their fluorescent colored drysuits and having an apparently grand time doing so. Surely a relative whipper-snapper like myself could DIY his way to expertise.

About three seconds after crossing the river bar and officially entering to the Pacific Ocean, I was back to square negative one. Whole… New… Ballgame. Unlike the rivers, the current wasn’t flowing in a visibly obvious and predictable direction. Unlike the lakes, the waves weren’t all lined up in parallel at regular intervals. The submerged rocks that revealed their jagged silhouettes only to be plunged beneath the surface and rendered completely undetectable seconds later was a new phenomena. Should I turn left and line up with the surfers and have my 16′ by 23″ boat take a curling a 6′ wave on the beam? Do I turn right into a scene of agitated seas churning and foaming around volcanic rocks playing hide-and-seek? Maybe I’ll go straight and play chicken with fishing vessels that appear momentarily while I’m at the top of a swell then disappear from the face of the planet when I’m in the trough? What’s worse… that I can’t see them or that they can’t see me? Have they ever even seen a kayaker in these waters before to know to watch for one? I certainly haven’t. And now I’m starting to see why!

The indicator of complete paradigm shift is that these waters are familiar to me. I’ve been sailing here for over a year. I know to expect swells. I know that wind waves are another beast altogether. I know there will be fishing boats all over the place. I probably know some of the skippers piloting them. The first time I hit the ocean in a kayak, none of this experience did me any good. To be perfectly honest, I probably would have had a panic attack if I didn’t know what I knew, but knowing what to expect wasn’t enough to grant me the skills to deal with all of the variables. For the first time, I was faced with the decision to paddle the easy route straight into the swells until I ran into another continent, or turn around. I realized very quickly that at some point I would have to turn parallel to the six foot waves rolling my way in order to even get out of the situation.

I didn’t even know what to look at. Watching the surface of the waves moving in every conceivable direction virtually destroyed all sense of balance. Watching the horizon seemed to return my equilibrium, but felt so unnatural that I couldn’t force myself to take my eyes off the waves. For the first time in a long time, I was not feeling joy from the cockpit of my kayak.

Since that day, I’ve been on the ocean a few times. Each as lasted a little longer and has felt a little more comfortable. However, at this rate, I’m not going to reach competency before I’m 100. That’s going to make the goal of expert difficult to achieve before age 150. Reinventing the wheel has never seemed like a good strategy. Learning from the mistakes and triumphs of others is much more efficient… and prudent.

Someone yesterday commented on an article I’d written inferring that I was one of those types who exercises arrogance by refusing to read manuals at any cost. To be fair, I had missed an important step that caused me hours of frustration. My philosophy is far from refusing to read manuals. When it comes to most things, I try to take them as far as I can on my own. When I can’t figure out the right combination of buttons, I read the manual. I find value in trying to figure things out. With kayaking, I’m to the point at which pressing the buttons is not getting the result I want. I can keep banging my head against the wall hoping for a breakthrough, or I can read the manual. Since not getting the thing to work right potentially ends up with a dead Andrew, I shall humble myself and get some schoolin’.

After a bunch of research online and conversations with people I respect in the industry, I may have found the perfect option. The Kayak Academy in the Seattle, Washington area garners rave-reviews by all accounts. It’s rare to come across such unanimous praise, but when I do, I have to see what it’s all about. It’s billed as “The elite school for kayakers since 1991″. The roster of instructors includes George Gronsenth, Barbara Sherrill, Bob Burnett, and Dubside.

So if you start to miss me next week, it’s be cause I’ll be upside-down, trying not to inhale water at their Five Day Kayak Training Camp. I’m really excited to get some learnin’ from the experts. Of course, I’ll report back with details as soon as possible. If you’re interested in the results, you can stay up to date by subscribing (totally free) or following along on Twitter @sailtotrail…

P.S. I <3 Seattle. Seriously.