by Will Nordby
– Photo illustration by Will Nordby-
The recent sinking of the Costa Concordia brought to mind a subject that has special relevance to those traveling on the sea: the survival instinct. When the cruise ship grounded, the captain, Francesco Schettino, chose to leave before all the passengers were accounted for or, at least, until the situation was judged hopeless. He was roundly criticized by veteran captains for not honoring the unwritten rule of the sea that the captain stay with the ship to direct rescue efforts. What Captain Schettino apparently didn’t know was how he would react in a crisis on the sea. One can only wonder if there was a failure in his training or if he deluded himself about his competency. Why would a captain of a large cruise ship, with more than 4,200 passengers aboard, deviate from his established route to pass close to the island of Giglio so a crew member could “give a shout out” to his village? Instead, a reef gave a “shout out” to the captain. The sea always lies in wait for a stupid mariner. His failure should give all of us who kayak pause for thought and reflection. In a single kayak, we are captain, crew, and passenger. As such, we are responsible for all those identities. How well do we know how we will confront a crisis and the inevitable panic? The survival instinct is not enough if not accompanied by logic and forced calm.
A recent kayak fatality in my area points up the fact that survival instinct alone can be deadly. Two friends decided to paddle out one evening to take pictures of a moonrise. It was reported that the victim’s kayak tipped and filled with water. From this you would be led to believe that the kayak upset itself. Obviously, the victim lost his balance and capsized and came out of his kayak. Did the kayak have bulkheads? No information. If the kayakers couldn’t get the water out then it seems they didn’t have pumps with them or the kayak didn’t have bulkheads. So now what? The friend told the victim to leave his flooded kayak and grab onto the stern of his kayak and he would paddle to shore. A strong ebbing tide hindered the effort. Perhaps sensing he could swim to shore, the victim let go of his friend’s kayak and took off his paddle jacket and PFD and began swimming. The friend, seeing this, immediately took off his own PFD and threw it to the victim and told him he would go for help. As the friend paddled away, the victim let go of the PFD and attempted to swim ashore. Although the survival instinct was urging him on, logic was absent as the 50 degree water began sapping his strength and clear thinking. Despite the victim being young and athletic, there was no way he was going to swim across the fast moving tide. Had he kept the PFD, there would have been a good chance he would have made it to shore if he had swum with the tide at an angle. When the victim’s friend returned from shore, after having called 911, and looked for him, the victim had vanished. His body was never found.
The kayak incident illustrates bad planning and a lack of rescue skills. The thought of going out in the evening and taking pictures of a rising moon seemed like a fun thing to do. It may have been that a land based mentality rather than a water based mentality was in play here. Mistakes made on water can quickly escalate out of control. It didn’t help that it was dark making it hard to see. But, more importantly, the darkness contributed to a feeling of isolation when coupled with the victim’s panic and fatigue in the swiftly moving cold water. The victim’s survival instinct was simply overwhelmed mentally and physically.
It seems reasonable to assume each of us has experienced a situation while kayaking that exceeded our skills and tolerance for stress. I certainly have. Several years ago, when my kayaking skills were at a low level, I was on a week outing along the northwest coast of Vancouver Island with three other people. Our first day route would take us from the put-in at the head of an inlet then out around a small headland and then into another inlet for our campsite. Everything went well until we reached the headland. The wind picked up and a short steep chop developed. Our group stayed together but the rough water was a concern. There was still a mile of open water before the next inlet. Soon whitecaps formed and were hitting us broadside since we had to paddle parallel to the coast. I had not experienced these conditions before and I was becoming concerned not only for myself but the rest of the group. I had thoughts I might capsize since the wind could grow stronger and create larger waves. The shoreline was studded with large boulders along the entire headland and spray was shooting up from the crashing waves.
We were now halfway past the headland and the rough water and wind held steady. However, my concern had grown since I had time to think about my situation and was very uncomfortable. There was no quick out. I did not want to be in this rough water and knew things could get ugly fast. Also, I was uncertain about how the group would function in a rescue situation. In short, my confidence had evaporated and I was definitely feeling bolts of panic. I did not speak out because no one else had. Only my pride kept my voice in check. I wasn’t about to yell out in fear because the thought of being labeled a wimp was greater than my panic as silly as that sounds. Strangely, the sight of my fellow paddlers plugging along helped to quell the uncontrollable feeling of being overwhelmed.
It is hard to know how long my conflicted emotions lasted but it seemed forever. I had never felt this degree of urgency to be away from the situation I was in. Fear and reason battled for control. Little by little, I realized I was making progress not only against the turbulent seas but also the turmoil within. Having regained my confidence, I realized I had learned something about myself in the process. In the face of uncertainty, I was able to maintain control, however shaky. When, at last, our group entered the calmer waters around the headland, I felt a boundless euphoria in my accomplishment. Of course, I never let on to the others in the group the panic I had experienced. But, I had a feeling they had their own personal doubts.
Away from kayaking, and other risky adventures, I find myself drawn to crime documentaries as a source for examples of the survival instinct factor. One particular program caught my attention because it involved a nurse who had been attacked in her home by a hammer wielding male assailant. The narration revealed the nurse had taken self defense training. At first, this information struck me as odd. Here I was looking at a pleasant middle-aged woman who was dedicated to care giving. Why would this gentle woman be concerned with self defense since she spent her working hours in a hospital. Then it dawned on me. Of course, her work places her with people strung out on drugs or those who are mentally ill. These people can suddenly turn aggressive and it is essential that a nurse be able to defend herself.
As the story unfolded, the nurse was being hit in the head and upper body by this strange man in her home. She warded off the blows as best she could while trying to reason with the attacker to stop. He didn’t. At this point, the nurse knew it was a matter of life or death and her survival instinct kicked into overdrive aided by her training in self defense and anatomy. She did not panic but remained focused and, despite her injuries, became the aggressor and got her attacker into a choke hold. Her application of it was swift, efficient, and deadly. It was against all of her principles and ethics but it was a matter of saving a life—her own. Unlike the kayak victim, the nurse was mentally prepared for a crisis through her disciplined training. There seems to be little doubt that the male attacker had the perception that it would be an easy kill for him against a defenseless woman. He could not guess that he was up against a trained and disciplined professional whose survival instinct was superior to his.
The survival instinct burrows to the core of one’s being. How well will you react in a crisis–alone and with others? You will never know until the crisis happens. It is real, it is now and it can’t be changed. For those of us involved with kayaking, it is a question which must be answered. The cruise captain, the kayak victim, myself, and the nurse all found the answer. What will it be for you? As the Ancients counseled anyone going forth: “There be dragons.” What they were saying was that one had to be prepared for the unexpected both externally and internally—the survival instinct may not be enough.
An interesting and thought provoking article. Thank you.
This struck a chord with me. How do we overcome the fight or flight reaction? Blind panic and adrenaline fueled action may not work in every situation. Tempering this reaction into an appropriate response will probably increase the odds of survival.
I believe that engaging in practice and training sessions, simulating situations that may arise on the water, in relatively safe locations, are essential ways of reprogramming the survival instinct.
For example, if I were to capsize my closed cockpit river kayak in the surf, the survival instinct says bail out and get to the surface! Having practiced rolling for many years, and in a wide variety of locations. I feel safe and comfortable upside down; my first response, not reaction, is to set-up and roll. John Lull advocates rolling as a basic skill that should be learned early in the skills progression, not an advanced skill that should be learned at a later time.
Even though we paddle kayaks, the Tsunami Way dictates that we dress for immersion and water temperature. We will swim, maybe not today, but we will swim. Novice paddlers often do not plan on getting wet. This could prove to be fatal. I’ve even stuffed dive fins in my kayak as a last option in case I have to do a long swim.
Rescue practice is essential. Preparation to be on and in the water is crucial. How many paddlers know the rescue choreography for an all-in capsize situation on a group paddle?
I have to admit that when I got into kayaking I did not want to do all the training I should have. After all, the kayak manufacturers told me that if I got their kayak then I shouldn’t have any trouble. Wrong. Fortunately, early in my kayaking career, I met Steve Sinclair and Eric Soares. They quickly let me know that kayaking was not a “paddling” sport, per se, but rather an “in-the-water” sport. Being comfortable in the water is what allowed them to build out all the other skills they needed to be in raging rivers and stormy oceans–along with practice, practice, practice. –Will
Hey Will, good to hear from you on here! You make lots of good points so thanks for posting this article. I have had more than one experience similar to the one you describe, and I’m sure everyone who has ventured out on the open sea in anything beyond benign conditions has also, whether they are willing to admit it or not. What I recall from these types of situations is that after the initial fear and near-panic, a certain calm takes over once you realize that disaster is not imminent and you can begin to relax when you realize you’re going to make it through, in all probability. Relaxing and not giving in to panic is the key to most survival situations.
Training and seamanship (knowlege of the marine environment) is crucial, as you say, and without that kind of preparation, the survival instinct is not going to be enough in a really serious situation. To use the example you cited, the guy in the water probably didn’t know what the current was doing, or even that it was a factor. He could have worn himself out swimming against the current. And of course not knowing how to do a fairly simple rescue was a major contributing factor.
I could go on, but I wrote a whole book on this subject so I said most what I have to say there. 🙂
Good to hear from you John. Gosh, how many years has it been since being in the editing cave crafting your video? I was always impressed with the dedication you brought to surf kayaking and the need for proper training.
You mentioned that a “certain calm takes over” in crisis situations. It is important to note that before that calm can take over, your mind must be conditioned for those situations through preparation just as the nurse was in my blog. Mind over matter, cold logic in the face of hot crisis–know who you are and what you can do–leave nothing to chance. –Will
Great article, Will! Thanks for contributing. I like your mention of the “land based” vs “water based” mentality. I agree that many if not most kayakers have an essentially land based approach to the sport. In warm water that might not be so bad, but in cold water it can be fatal as you point out.
Also, Rainer mentioned swimming and the Tsunami Way. Absolutely correct. It’s worth repeating Steve Sinclair’s mantra that kayaking is an IN-water sport. Eric taught me to swim before every paddle just to condition myself to the water. That way when (not if) I became immersed it was no big deal.
There is a book I’ve been looking for unsuccessfully (I thought we had it around the house) that relates a number of survival and non-survival stories in a variety of scenarios. At the end of the book, the author (dang, I wish I could remember who it was!) discusses the qualities of an individual that contribute to his or her survival in life and death situations. One thing the author noted was the need for a positive attitude. Often the survivors were not the most fit or even the most apparently competent. Those who survived had confidence, faith, and determination. I’ll keep looking for that book:)
Thanks Nancy for your kind words. One of the key elements for both Steve and Eric was to “tune into” the conditions of the ocean before ever leaving the shore. I believe Eric used the term “grokking” for that process. “Tuning in” or “grokking” is the same as mentally preparing yourself for what you are about to do by absorbing the rhythms of the ocean and reviewing your skills in a state of meditation. This is when kayaking actually begins. The higher your skill level, the greater the degree of concentration and projection. You and the ocean are blending and bonding symbiotically. –Will
Nancy,
Is the book “Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why” by Laurence Gonzales? Excellent resource for adventure seekers everywhere, and maybe just anyone trying to survive this life. Moulton has incorporated some of the notions in this book into some of his paddle-related advice. If your blog readers have not read this book (or undergone training in the principals conveyed in this book) then folks are not prepared enough for a survival situation – in my opinion.
I contacted Laurence to try and get some action in the sea kayaking community from the perspective of he himself doing some writing but nothing ever came to fruition – sadly.
Good to read Will’s piece…a blast from the past hearing him. As for keeping calm, it does work though I can attest to the necessary moments in a survival scenario where sometimes all the energy, all the adrenaline, and all the non-rationalistic hell-bent animalism needs to be brought to bear to survive.
Thanks, Doug, I think that is in fact the book I’m looking for. The name and title sound really familiar. I agree that it is an excellent book and a real eye-opener. If you think you’re a survivor, think again. If you think you’re not a survivor, ditto. Interesting.
As an aside, when I got PADI certified in Monterey Bay one of the students started to panic. I was already challenged because I am claustrophobic (why I don’t paddle skirted boats) and visibility underwater was incredibly poor (about 8′ max). Plus my PFD was malfunctioning and kept inflating until my ribs cracked so I had to keep letting air out at regular intervals throughout class. Panic is communicable, and I felt it trying to get its grip on me. Slow, controlled breathing and stubborn determination not to add to the drama saved me. The instructor talked the panicker back to shore and all ended well.
I think the ‘tuning in’ part is critical, both in a survival situation, and in order to prevent getting into a survival situation in the first place. You need to maintain a certain level of awareness (as high a level as possible) and remain alert. When you do that a certain ‘sixth sense’ kicks in and you can often anticipate danger before it’s too late. Sensing that rogue wave before it hits you and moving behind a rock at just the right moment can mean the difference between a non-event and disaster.
This is true in all walks of life, of course, but it’s especially important in the wild (and when you’re on the sea you are in the wild, no matter how close civilization may be). Then again, I also tend to be very alert when walking city streets at night. Even playing my sax in a club, I have to be alert for any lurching drunks who may slam into me. I’ve learned to see it coming and jump well out of the way, as they take a dive, drink flying in the air!
One thing great about kayaking and other adventure sports, is it forces you to concentrate your mind and increase your awareness. That’s when you know you’re alive.
The term used in the military is “situational awareness”–to be aware of your surroundings and to think ahead for anything that could happen. Steve Sinclair’s term for that same concept was “trajectories”. Since Steve had been trained as a lifeguard, he always thought ahead of any situation before it got out of hand. At the beach, he looked for the person doing stupid things and prepared himself for taking immediate action if not actually warning someone.
Whenever he was paddling on the ocean, he always assessed what the ocean was doing and set himself up to avoid problems. He never wanted to be in a position where he had to recover from a preventable mistake. It takes more energy to recover than to go with the flow. And, funny enough, it takes more brain energy to be smart than stupid. –Will
TNT – tuning and timing. Yes, another Tsunami Ranger expression and eventually another blog post (I don’t think it’s been done yet). Will, you need to do a blog post on Steve Sinclair for all those unfortunate kayakers who don’t know who he is.
John, I have this hilarious vision of you surfing the streets of San Francisco filled with reeling drunks kind of like in a mosh pit.
Will’s post reminds me of the countless times that I was certain I was going to die. It wasn’t because I capsized or came out of boat. I clung to that sucker knowing my life depended on it and my PFD. In nearly every–no every–case my perils were the result of wind. The wind that doesn’t come up until 11 am but that came up earlier that day. Or the wind that switched direction from behind us to right in our faces. And then there was the wind that suddenly came over the ridge, down a valley and blew us away from the cove on Vancouver Island where we hoped to land. I frequently paddled with people who had greater skill, strength, and experience than I, so I have to admit that part of the problem was me. But it was mostly the wind. I hate the wind. I even hate the wind on land, but definitely I hate the wind on the water. By the way, the wind doesn’t always die at sundown.
Great subject. Years ago, when I first heard of Steve Sinclair, his declaration that kayaking was an “in-water-sport” really clicked with me. I started kayaking in 1997, but I’ve been spearfishing since 1965. I prefer kayaking the exposed coast, so that the places I used to spearfish at (and still do) are now places I kayak. A lot of the knowledge and experience from the spearfishing was transferable to kayaking, such as the way waves behave around rocks. The bottom line is, no matter how skilled you are, the day will come when you find yourself in the water. Not kayaking anywhere where you wouldn’t swim is great common-sense advice. You should be prepared, clothing-wise, equipment-wise, and skill-wise to handle out-of-boat experiences.
Tony (sorry for all the hyphens!)
Addendum:
The fight-or-flight reflex is a good thing, if used in the right way…it is a part of our makeup for a reason. When a dangerous situation presents itself, first, one must evaluate the circumstances in a disciplined way. Then, once a plan of action is decided upon, let the adrenalin rip, and go for it 100%! This initial calmness and discipline are greatly enhanced by practice, skill development, physical conditioning, and obtaining knowledge of currents, tides, swells, weather, etc. As an example, a typical scenario I often find myself in as a surf kayaker: extra big set approaching. At first, I evaluate: I know the waves have been of the gently spilling type at this break, and even if I meet the wave while it is breaking, with enough determined paddling, I can break the wave barrier…decision made. Then I go for it 100%, going over one wave after another, punching through until I’ve arrived outside of the set. COWABUNGA!!!! Now I can rest and catch my breath!
Tony
Tony,
I have also been in situations where I had to apportion “the rage” for an extended time frame which can happen when the long distance open water touring paddled gets into a situation that is difficult and demanding for a long period of time before safety and shelter are finally gained (either in nautical miles or distance made good). On the few occasions where this has happened I remember making it to shore finally and then “collapsing” in a cascade of physical, mental and emotional exhaustion as hypothermia finally gained the upper hand and it certainly seemed like I had dialed everything in to the last seconds. Ones tends to practice avoidance after a few times of that, though it is interesting the differences face to those who choose to paddle in the broader scope of environments that require sustained commitment as opposed to the surf kayaker or river paddler.
Doug,
One needs to be aware that concentrated attention, over a long period of time, can lead to “brain fry”. When this happens, your mind begins to play tricks on you and this can be dangerous. I’ve had paddlers tell me they could not remember portions of their trip because of this. Somehow their reflexes kept things going–subconsciously.
After driving non-stop, except for gas, for 13 hours straight, I’ve found that I could not remember passing by small towns. Either I fixated on the traffic ahead or got lost in thought because of road hypnosis. However, I’m always careful when I’m near long haul trucks since I can never be sure if the driver is popping pills or not to keep alert.
The longest distance I’ve paddled in a day has been 32 miles. I’ve only done that once since it was too much of an ordeal. Had I had an accident near the end of that day, I would have had a rough time trying to rescue myself because of the fatigue factor both mentally and physically. Long story short, I’ve learned to stay within my limits.
By the way, hello across the reaches of time. –Will
Deep Survival is a great, thought-provoking book; it’s also very humbling to anyone who gets the message. One of the central themes is that action (or inaction) can result from emotion alone, which, in certain situations, can be deadly.
When someone (or a group) gets into big trouble by committing a blunder that flies in the face of reason and / or common sense, people often ask: “What the hell were they thinking.” The sobering answer in Deep Survival is that they weren’t really thinking about their situation at all. Just like the swimmer in Nancy’s post, they were acting on feeling alone. That’s how they missed something that in hindsight appears glaringly obvious. The recent surf class incident at the Lumpy Waters Symposium comes to mind. It’s particularly interesting because some people had intuitive misgivings and failed to speak up, while others missed or dismissed information that was right in front of their noses.
http://blog.redalderranch.com/?p=89
I don’t think it’s possible to be truly certain how you’ll react in a particular crisis situation. Some people freeze when they should run, others run (or swim) when they should stay put; some panic, while others act with precision and restraint. However, I do think there’s one thing that we can rely on, because it’s been abundantly documented in a wide range of desperate situations: in a crisis, people fall back on practice – on what they’ve trained to do. No training, no practice, nothing to fall back on. In the absence of training, you have to think your way through the problem, one step at a time. It’s a slower, more cumbersome process that’s ripe for mistakes.
Whether you’re a police officer in a gunfight, a martial artist under attack, or a sea kayaker looking for a way to get back in your boat, if you’ve spent enough time practicing firing and reloading your weapon, evading a blow and countering with a technique, or doing group and solo rescues, when the time comes, you can react without thinking about what you’re doing. That’s the virtue of practice: it embeds the reaction in your subconscious.
In January, there was a near-fatal cold water incident on the Chesapeake Bay.
http://www.cpakayaker.com/forums/viewtopic.php?f=25&t=6404
A solo sea kayaker capsized in 40F water, blew some rolls, exited, was unable to self-rescue, let go of his boat, and was desperately swimming toward an automated lighthouse 200 yards away. The water was rough, progress was really slow, he was cold and exhausted, and really felt like he wasn’t going to make it. At that very moment, by a stroke of truly amazing good fortune, a boat appeared carrying several people who, as it turned out, were going to inspect the lighthouse, something that happens only once each winter. He began yelling for help, but they couldn’t hear him and it looked like they were going to motor on by without seeing him. However, to his surprise and relief, the boat pulled up to the lighthouse dock, one person got out, finally heard him – and he was rescued.
Among other things, I was struck by the fact that he had a whistle on his PFD. Although he was desperate to get their attention, he never blew it – forgot it was even there. That’s a really good argument for giving a practice toot on the whistle every time you wet exit; also for paddling with a partner, always dressing for the water temperature and swim-checking your gear.
So, so true Moulton! What you say here is especially true:
“In a crisis, people fall back on practice – on what they’ve trained to do. No training, no practice, nothing to fall back on.”
This is why it’s so important to practice rolls, rescues, and other techniques that help get you out of trouble. You can’t predict every possible situation, but you sure can prepare for a lot of likely scenarios. I also think training in certain inclement conditions, under controlled circumstances is very important. For one example, find a windy stretch of water near shore, with an on-shore breeze, where you can practice paddling in strong wind and rough seas with a reasonable degree of safety. That way when you are caught out in open water in such conditions you will have the boat-handling skills in place, and be mentally prepared, so you won’t panic.
And of course practice rescues in real conditions (not just a swimming pool), but in a controlled situation. Then you’ll be more likely to respond quickly and efficiently when in a real-life situation.
Moulton, your point about practice is well taken. We have a motto at our dojo – “Practice makes permanent”. It’s so true. For example, in jujitsu we practice gaining control of the opponent. But when we transition to weapons training, gaining control of the weapon is way more important than gaining control of the opponent. In fact, if you gain control of the weapon, you typically have control of the opponent, i.e. you take his gun away and point it at him. And yet, when students get to this level, it takes quite awhile for them to reprogram their non-weapon based training. They’re doing all these fancy take downs and meanwhile the “bad guy” is shooting them in the leg or they’re shooting their own hand off while the gun is still in the opponent’s control.
Also, I too find it interesting that the guy in your last example didn’t use his whistle. A recent article in the June issue of Sea Kayaker (A Break in the Routine) talks about the same thing. The author, Mans Langert, got separated from his companion. He whistled with his fingers, but failed to use the whistle attached to his PFD. He writes, “Using the whistle in my PFD would have let me whistle loud while keeping my hands on the paddle, for balance and momentum. Looking back it seems strange I didn’t use the whistle I brought for situations like this”. Perhaps he was suffering from what Will calls “brain fry”. But he hadn’t been out on the ocean that long.
I agree that it’s not possible to truly know how we’ll react in a crisis until it happens and I don’t think it takes much for most kayakers to stop acting on common sense (if indeed they have any to begin with) and start acting on feeling and emotion. To develop some self-awareness it makes sense when on land to check in with yourself from time to time and pause to ask the question, “Why am I acting/feeling/talking the way I am?” If we’re very honest with ourselves, the answer might be surprising. We humans are not nearly as rational as we think.
Interesting reading, both the original post and the following discussion on the subject. And finding my own name was a bit surprising!
It was definitely a “brain-fry”, even if we hadn’t been out on the water for that long. The situation was frightening and we were too unprepared to be out there, this caused the “brain-fry” I’m sure. Today I’m a far more confident and experienced paddler and would never expose myself this far from my comfort zone again. I sure learned a lot from the “A Break in the Routine”episode.
Hey, Mans, good to hear from you. Yes, we took your name in vain, or maybe not so much LOL. Thank you for sharing your story in Sea Kayaker since we all got to learn from it, and thank you for reading this post and commenting. Thanks too for confirming the “brain-fry” diagnosis. I’ve experienced brain-fry both on the water and on the mat and I think the only antidote to this debilitating occurrence is repeated exposure to conditions, ideally starting small and gradually increasing the level of risk/danger so you can push the edge of your comfort zone in relatively safe increments.
John, you sure hit the bullseye on all those points. Many learn, but few practice. It may appear to some that we belabor the obvious in giving this kind of advice (practice in real-world conditions etc.), however, many people are so far removed from the natural world that the obvious is invisible to them, perhaps because they’re very rarely called upon to make decisions of any consequence. Instead of judgement, they have a bought it / got it mentality. They mistakenly think that buying a survival or first-aid “kit” off the shelf somehow covers the ground. Or they’re surprised when the brand new tent they’re setting up for the first time after dark on a rainy night, uh, somehow doesn’t seem to work. Oops! As you know only to well, it’s a very long list.
Nancy, I really like your dojo motto, and thanks for reminding me about the whistle in that Sea Kayaker article. I wrote SK a letter to the editor about the cold water safety aspects of that trip, but I completely forgot about the whistle.
No doubt in my mind that we’d be looking at a dead nurse had it not been for her martial arts training. While training is certainly no guarantee of victory, no training at all definitely makes one an easy mark for predators. That reversal must have come as a big surprise to her attacker – SOB thinks he’s dealing with a little kitty and suddenly realizes it’s a Siberian tiger.