Canoe Vs Kayak.
A day on the Mullica River.

It was a blustery day in the fall when I got together with 4 friends to paddle the Mullica. They all wanted to get started early. I later found out it was because of me. I had the only canoe in the group and they were convinced that I would slow them down. After all, everyone knows that, compared to kayaks, canoes are heavy, cumbersome, tippy, slow and hard to manuver on tight turns. After dropping off our gear and a 45 minute shuttle, we got on the river just before 9am with me paddling sweep. By 9:05 we hit the first snag. The paddler of the lead kayak, an Old town Loon 138, misjudged the spaceing of leaning tree and partially floating log. She got hung up on the log and, not expecting any problem on that simple obstacle, I ran into the kayak in front of me and caused a 5 boat pileup. No harm was done, but I was a bit red-faced.
Just below the snag is the railroad trestle with some debris blocking the gaps in the trestle. The 2 Prijon paddlers went at it with an impressive show of speed, both hanging up only inches from making it through. A bit of wiggling and paddle abuse against the trestle got them loose. The Old Town Adventure XL didn't even make it half way over the debris. She had to get out of the boat to free it up. The Loon paddler went right through, but not without a mishap. As the Loon slowed to a stop, she somehow managed to get her paddle between the uprights of the trestle and in one smooth motion, leaned back and pulled back on the paddle. It was a slick move and got her clear of the obstacle, but it left the paddle hanging in the trestle.
It was then my turn at it. I lined up on the gap and accelerated as fast as I could in the short distance. My momentum carried me about 3/4 the way over. Normally I would lunge forward to shift my weight forward to the front thwart, lifting the weight off the rear of the canoe. That generally carries the boat over the smaller obstructions like this one. This time I wanted to stop to collect the Loon paddler’s paddle. To get moving again, I knelt behind the front thwart and humped it over. The trick is to lunge forward gently enough not to make the boat slide backward, then stop abruptly enough to make it move forward. The motion is similar to a little dog humping a bigger one. A few quick thrusts and I was moving again. Kayakers generally don't hump boats over obstacles. It's awkward to get into a kneeling position and not too stable if you do.
The 2 Prijons, a Calabria and Yukon Expedition, did noticeably better in the tight turns of the first mile of paddling then the Old Towns. I still couldn't help but run up on their sterns on the turns. A kayak paddle and the blade angle aren't as conducive to tight turns as the single blade and higher seat position of a canoe. That, combined with the Kayaks nearly rockerless design, means that they slow down in the turns. A properly handled canoe actually picks up some speed on most turns.
The Kayaks have to be nearly rockerless because of the differences in paddles. The paddle strokes are made farther out from the centerline of a kayak than a canoe. If the Kayak had any appreciable amount of rocker it would zigzag down the river. After a short stop, at the first decent sized beach, they let me take point. I think they just get tired of me running up on their stern.
The stretch from the beach to the beaver pond had only 2 substantial obstacles. Both were downed trees. One was a simple punch through. Just get up some speed, line it up and try not to get snagged by branches anyplace tender. The other one was a tricky lift-over. It was in a narrow section of the river and there was no way to get the boats parallel to the log. I was the fastest one over. I just nudged the bow up to the log, walked to the bow before the current turned me sideways and hopped out onto the log. I used the canoe to steady myself on the log and dragged it over. Climbing back in is a bit tricky as the current is pushing the canoe away instead of holding it against the log as it does on the upstream side. I saw some impressive demonstrations of balance watching the kayakers climb over. 2 of the 'yak paddlers got wet in the attempt. You just can't walk the deck to get up on that log and the thorny dense brush on the banks makes draging around an even worse choice.
One might think that the open water of the large beaver pond would be an advantage for the kayakers. It’s not. Beaver ponds are generally shallow with plenty of weed growth. The current gets forced into a channel between the weeds. These channels can be as little as 4 feet wide and during times of drought, disappear entirely. As Murphy’s Law dictates, the wind picked up as we crossed the pond.
A canoe paddler, when faced with gusting cross winds can use a diagonal version of the draw stroke. One still has to paddle diagonally into the wind, but as the paddle stroke is done at an angle that is directly into the wind, the canoe doesn’t turn much with the gusts. It’s a simple principle, really. When your pivot point, the paddle, is up-wind of the canoe, it’s an inherently stable position. If the wind pushes you out of a narrow channel, you merely drag yourself back into the channel with the same diagonal draw stroke.
When your pivot point is constantly changing, as in kayaking, from downwind-forward to downwind-aft to upwind-forward to upwind-aft, the unpredictable nature of wind gusts is a real nuisance. One moment you are upwind of your paddle and on the next part of the stroke you are downwind. The kayak has the advantage of being less affected by the wind. However, when blown about randomly while trying to maintain a steady angle into the wind without straying from a narrow channel into the weeds, expect to work hard. Unfortuately, using the diagonal draw stroke of the canoe paddler doesn’t work very well for the kayak paddler. The better kayak paddles are designed to be most efficient when used for forward strokes and have cupped blades that give you less control on the draw stroke. Kayak paddles also have the drawback of the second blade. When used as for a draw stroke, the second blade is up in the wind, partially counteracting the action of the blade in the water. A third drawback is the lack of a “T” grip. It takes a tighter grip to keep the precise blade angle in the water, adding to the fatigue factor. Also, it’s a stroke that works somewhat better, due to body mechanics, when you are sitting 4-8 inches over the waterline. None of these things are a problem on open water, as in sea kayaking, as there is plenty of room to maneuver and you don’t have to follow a narrow channel.
The Beaver Dam further demonstrated the differences between canoes and kayaks. Touring kayaks, like those on this trip, having little or no rocker, are extremely unstable when only the bow is in the water and the stern is high and dry on the dam. General recreation kayaks are even worse. It’s like being balanced on a 2-inch diameter rail with only the soft 10-12 inch wide spacing of your butt-cheeks to control the kayak. It’s a bit better if you remember to use your knees to brace yourself in the kayak, but it’s surprising how many forget to do so when pointed downward at a 45 degree angle. Another common error is to use the double-ended paddle as a tightrope walker would use a balancing pole. It just doesn’t weigh enough to help much. The best solution is to spend as little time with your ass end up in the air with the stern on the dam as possible. This is one of the few times that yelling “Ramming Speed!” and hitting it fast actually helps.
Beaver dams are tricky for canoes as well. The rocker of the typical solo canoe puts the middle of the canoe a few inches below the center of rotation, that imaginary line from the top of the dam to the bow of the canoe. That’s a slight advantage over the kayaker. If you kneel, the weight of the paddler is in the bottom of the canoe below the center of rotation with the 18 inch spacing of your knees on the firm surface of the canoe for leverage/control. That’s another slight advantage, even over using the knees to brace the kayak. A canoeist can only have the paddle ready on one side. Instinctively a canoeist tends to lean towards the side the paddle is on. This helps, as the roll starts in the direction in which the paddler is prepared to control/stop it. They are only small advantages and some are quite skill dependant, but those small advantages frequently add up to the difference between keeping the “wet side down and the dry side up” and having nothing but wet sides.
This time over the dam was, as usual, no problem for me, even though the water was running over the right dam into a tangle of brush so we had to go over the dry topped left dam. One of the Prijons didn’t move fast enough, leading to a close call and the Loon paddler went swimming. Dry top beaver dams have plenty of friction to slow you down and leave you hanging.
Below the big beaver dam, the river meanders just as much as it does above the dam. It averages about 15 feet wide through the center section and a bit wider below the campsite. That may sound like plenty, but with trees growing in the river and stumps of those no longer growing combined with sandbars, submerged logs, hairpin turns and downed trees across the river it’s still a tight place to maneuver. The tight maneuvering again showed up differences between the way canoes and kayaks handle. I was able to let the hull swing a bit wide, yet still keep the paddle in the deepest water in the deepest part of the channel. Conversely, the kayaks had to stay over the deepest part of the narrow channel and paddle near the shallow edges. On a wider river it wouldn’t make much difference, but on the Narrow parts of the Mullica, it’s a big difference.
About half an hour below the campsite the river opens up a bit. In many areas you just steer and let the current carry you. To avoid an obstacle, like a tree growing in the river or something hanging from overhead, the kayaks had to turn and paddle cross-river. It’s not much work, but it is more than I had to do. I merely did a draw stroke and slid sideways till past the obstacle then slid right back. I got to save the bit of work involved in turning the boat.
By the time we reached the take out, even the most anti-canoe among them had to admit that my canoe was just as good as their kayak. The Prijon Calabria paddler had to get the last word. She said “try this” and Eskimo rolled. I hooked my feet under my seat, took a deep breath and rolled too. Without her spray skirt or air bags in my canoe, we both ended up up-right, but with a boatload of water. Who would have guessed? All that rolling practice in the pool paid off.
It may seem like I’m nit-picking, but when you take into account that you are making tens of thousands of paddle strokes per river trip, saving a bit on each stroke really adds up. On the few straight sections, the ‘yaks had a tiny advantage. On the other 98% of the river, I had a noticeable advantage. Canoes have many small advantages over kayaks and kayaks have only a few advantages over canoes.
If all you paddle are wide-open spaces, then the maneuvering differences between the canoes and kayaks are minimal and the Kayaks have the advantage. As I prefer the more interesting paddling of the tiny rivers and hard-to-get-to places, The canoe is the best choice for me.
If you like to take weeklong trips or longer trips and camp along the route, you need storage space and the ability to dry out as you go. Once again the higher storage volume of the canoe has the advantage. Only one of the kayaks on the trip even came close to my canoe’s gear storage. It was the Prijon Yukon Expedition. Priced at over $1100, it was the most expensive boat on the trip.
If you like to paddle obscure little ponds that are accessible only via portage trail, the canoe is also the way to go. Canoes are far better to portage than a ‘yak. Visibility with your head in that cockpit generally sucks and the lack of airflow makes it a solar heated head sauna on sunny days.
On the way home I got to thinking about the rivers I have paddled and how the differences between canoes and kayaks would affect my enjoyment of the trip. I came to the conclusion that the only river trip that I have done where a kayak would have been the better choice was a day trip on the Hudson River. There was no tight maneuvering involved, no need for space to carry camping gear. There were enough waves from passing barges and dirty spray to keep me from trying to even out my tan so the deck wouldn’t be drawback. My abillity to Eskimo roll isn't 100% so I woulden't be wearing a spray skirt so there would be no rough water advantage to the kayak. However, even there on an open river I think I would be no worse off in a canoe, though with more Eskimo rolling practice, so I could use a sprayskirt, the kayak would have a definite edge.
However, I still don’t see the reason for the fanaticism about kayaks. The best choice for that Hudson River trip would have been a Sea Kayak. The 14-foot touring kayaks have no substantial advantage over my 14-foot canoe! There is no overwhelming advantage of kayak over canoe unless you compare apples and oranges. Of course a touring kayak cartops better than a 90 pound summer-camp canoe. Of course a 12-foot kiwi kayak out maneuvers a 17-foot Old Town canoe. Of course a 10-foot fiberglass kayak weighs less than a 15-foot polyethylene fishing canoe.
When you compare equivalent boats the differences aren’t very apparent. The average 'Yak stats on the Mullica River trip were 14 ft long, 27 inches wide, 55 lbs, $848. My canoe's stats were 14 ft long, 26.5 inches at the waterline, 30 inches at the widest point, 44 lbs, and $810. Obviously these were roughly equivalent craft. Yet, the canoe had nearly all of the small differences in it’s favor.
On open water, the Sea Kayak clearly rules the human powered class of craft and in extreme whitewater, the short whitewater kayak rules. In between, where 90% of the paddling is done, the canoe is the way to go.
The sole advantage the Kayak has in general recreational use is the double bladed paddle. Even a totally incompetent paddler can go in a relatively straight line because errors in technique made on one side are usually made on the other side as well. One blunder cancels out the next and you get somewhere. Unfortuately, many kayakers stay at this level of incompetance because they belive that once they can get where they want to go by a reasonably direct route there is nothing more they have to learn. They end up paddling a craft with limited capabilities, ill suited to the job at hand, with a cheap overweight paddle. Or as one person put it "paddling a barge with a barbell."

Since I added this page to my site I have recived ocasional hate-mail from kayakers. They all make some sort of unfounded claim to support their belief that a kayak is by far the better choice. Here are some of the misconceptions. They generally start out with "Everybody knows.."
Everybody knows that kayaks are better in whitewater than canoes. That's why they are the choice of extreeme whitwater paddlers.
The facts are, in extreeme whitwater, short, highly rockered kayaks are used in conjunction with internal floation and a spray skirt. The spray skirt is a serious safety hazard if you don't have the ability to Eskimo-roll reliably. The internal floatation is just in case you fail and have to bail out. Without a spray skirt, the kayaks low sides are less than half as effective at keeping waves out than the higher nearly vertical sides of a canoe. If you equip a canoe with air bags for flotation and thigh straps so you don't fall out when upside down, a canoe can match a kayak in all but the most extreeme water.
Without a spray skirt, and the skills needed to use one safely, kayaks are pretty much limited to class 1 and low class 2 water. A canoe, without special equipment is capable of white-water well up into the low or mid class 3's. Air bags and thigh straps, and the skills to use them extend that usefullness up into the low class 4 water, maybe a bit higher under some conditions. With a spray skirt on a whitewater kayak, class 4 is very do-able, class 5 if your life insurance is paid up.
The bottom line is that below class 3, where 90% of recreational paddling is done, the canoe has the edge in seaworthiness, unless the kayaker has a 100% reliable roll and is wearing a spray skirt.

Everybody knows that kayaks are easier to cartop than canoes.
It's true that canoes need a wider, front to back, rack spaceing than kayaks, making it more difficult to cartop a long canoe. However, we are comparing apples to apples here. A 14 ft solo canoe needs only about 3 ft rack spaceing minimum, 4 woud be better. There are few cars where you can get a 2 ft spaceing for a kayak where you can't a 3 ft spaceing for a solo canoe. My car has a short roofline, too short for a canoe. The solution was to add luggage rack rails to the solid part of the roof back behind the part where clamp on racks have nothing to clamp too. The front rack uses conventional clamp on towers. The rear uses "Rail Rider" towers. See the Yakima rack catalog for details.

Everybody knows that kayaks are lighter than canoes.
Check the catalogs if you don't belive me. If you compare simillar length boats made of similar materials, nearly every time the canoe comes out lighter.

Everybody knows that kayaks are cheaper than canoes.
I know that I'm sounding repetitive, but check the catalogs if you don't belive me. If you compare simillar length boats with similar capabilities and materials, nearly every time the canoe comes out cheaper. Or, could it be that some kayakers can't read?