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by Tamia Nelson
I have a confession to make. I love lists. When I pick up any sort
of travel book, the first thing I do is look for the author's gear
list. If I don't find one, I feel cheated. When I do find one, though,
the effect is magical. I'm immediately transported away from the
here-and-now to somewhere remote in time or place.
Just the other day, I was in the stacks of a local library,
grubbing about in search of a technical monograph. I wasn't having
much luck, and my back was starting to ache. I stood up, stretched,
and looked around me. Then my eye fell on a book. It had a one-word
title, South!, and the author was the celebrated polar
explorer, Sir Ernest Shackleton. Intrigued, I took the book off the
shelf and flipped through the pages. It was Shackleton's own account
of his ill-fated 1914-17 attempt to cross the Antarctic continent. The
expedition failed in its objective, but it was a heroic failure,
accurately described by Shackleton himself as "a story which is unique
in the the history of Antarctic exploration." So compelling is the
tale, in fact, that it's the subject of a recent best-seller, Caroline
Alexander's The
Endurance.
That was all well and good, but I had work to do, and I was just
about to put the volume back when I came to—you guessed
it—The List. In this case, it was a list of stores assembled by
Shackleton when he and five others were preparing to cross 800 miles
of the world's least hospitable seas in the 20-ft-long open boat JAMES
CAIRD.
And what a list it was! From the first item ("30 boxes of matches")
to the last ("Aneroid"), it held my interest as nothing else could.
Only twenty-five items in all. Just imagine that. Farwell and I take
more things with us when we go out for a one-hour paddle on the 'Flow.
From that moment on, I was well and truly hooked. I kept the book
with me and checked it out. It's now sitting on the bedside table,
ready to take me away to the great Southern Ocean for a few minutes
every night. Any book with a list that includes "250 lbs of ice" and
"some blubber-oil in an oil bag" simply can't be left unread. (The
ice, by the way, was a store of fresh water.)
Of course, my passion for lists doesn't end here. I make my own
lists, too. Whenever I'm not actually paddling—and let's face it,
that's most of the time, isn't it?—I'm drawing up lists. With the
exception of maps (see "Maps
and Dreams"), nothing opens my mind to the possibilities of a
voyage like a list. Nor can anything rekindle the memory of a past
trip half so well as discovering a smudged and tattered scrap of paper
headed with the words "Baker tent (check netting)" or "4 lb Lapsang
Souchong tea."
And I know that this love of mine is not a solitary passion.
Farwell likes lists, too. Good thing, that. We'd never have stayed
together if he didn't. In fact, a lot of folks apparently share my
love of lists. One quarterly paddling publication even offers a free
copy of what the publisher calls "the Ultimate List" as a come-on to
new subscribers.
That's a good idea, but is this really the Ultimate List? I doubt
it. Lists are like double shotguns or suits. You can always make do
with something you buy "off the peg," of course, but the very best are
"bespoke"—made to order. Unlike shotguns and suits, however, the
best lists are made by the ultimate user. They grow by accretion, just
like sedimentary rocks form. Little by little, line by line, the best
lists grow as their makers' experience grows, reflecting their
developing interests and personal quirks. I won't go anywhere without
a notebook and a box of watercolors, for example, and Farwell takes a
small down-filled pillow and a pocket edition of the Oxford Book of
English Verse. The great Arctic explorer John Rae, on the other
hand, always carried a one-volume Shakespeare, a book of sacred
poetry, and a needle-case. (Rae was a surgeon.)
"OK, then," you say, "but where do I start?" Good question. Begin
by looking at other people's lists. Nearly every book on canoe- or
kayak-camping has one. Then take a sheet of paper and jot down what
seems most important to you, but keep your priorities straight.
Remember what J. says in Three Men in a Boat: take "enough to
eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink, for
thirst is a dangerous thing." That's good advice. You can't have fun
if you're cold, hungry or tired. Clothing, shelter, food and bedding
come first. It's true that Farwell won't leave home without his
Oxford Book of English Verse, but you can be damn sure that he
won't forget his sleeping bag either. He did once. He'll never do it
again.
One good starting-place is the list of "ten essentials" compiled by
The Mountaineers many years ago. A lot of folks have tried to make it
better, but to my mind at least it hasn't been improved upon. On any
trip longer than a walk to the mailbox, be sure to take:
Of course, you won't forget your boat, paddles, life-jacket(s) and
other paddling gear, will you? A lot of folks do, though. In the years
when Farwell and I were chasing the spring run-off from stream to
stream every weekend, we soon learned to throw a spare "universal"
life-jacket and a couple of cheap paddles into the truck—and we
found takers for them at almost every put-in. Oh, yes, don't forget
the eleventh essential: an extra set of car keys!
It's not so hard, is it? Start with a list of things for a day-trip
or an over-night at first. Add to it as your trips get longer. Change
it as your experience dictates. Just don't expect that you'll ever
stop, and don't imagine that you'll ever be satisfied with somebody
else's idea of the Ultimate List, however impressively packaged. When
all is said and done, there's only one ultimate list, and that's the
one you make yourself.
© Verloren Hoop Productions 1999
We've been getting a lot of mail from folks who want to know how
to get started in paddlesport. Next week, look for the first part in a
two-part series on "Starting Out." In the meantime, we'd like to hear
from you. Send your comments and questions to us at sameboat@paddling.net. (No
attachments, audio clips or family snaps, please!) We won't promise
that we'll answer each letter, but we can promise that we'll read
every one—and we will. 'Nuff said.
The Joy of Lists
Looking for the Ultimate List
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