Kāmana Project

Sometime in late 2018 I decided it was my duty to build a canoe. Furthermore I decided that whilst power tools were available, these did not suit my style. No, it was hand tools for me. The very notion of the intrusive, destructive, awful machines was alarming. They were antithetical to my style, inherently evil, harbingers of all things bad and so forth. Also I didn't know how to use them. In truth I chose hand tools because I wanted to see how hard it would be. Could I pick up a saw, sandpaper, paintbrush and with little else build a boat? Thus was the enticing dream.

The idea formed slowly in my head, inspired by a number of books acting in concert.

• Firstly, An Englishman Aboard: Discovering France in a Rowing Boat by Charles Timoney. A tale of the authors piecemeal descent of the Seine river in a homemade rowing boat.
• Secondly, The Pull of the River: A Journey into the Wild and Watery Heart of Britain by Matt Gaw. Collected explorations of different rivers in Britain by canoe.
• Thirdly, the faithful The Unlikely Voyage of Jack de Crow by AJ Mackinnon.

I searched around online for some plans as confidence for the construction of a boat from scratch was thin on the ground. With this plan from Bateau in hand I promptly went down to the store and bought two sheets of the best quality plywood I could find. It wasn't marine grade but with an inexpert eye I assured myself all would be well.

Off I went. This was to be my first construction project with nobody 'experienced' around and it would be my first time using epoxy. What could go wrong? Marking and cutting the necessary shapes from the plywood proved relatively easy going. Soon I had strange curved pieces sitting around outside my room. My first experience with epoxy also went smoothly, the pieces grew in size. At this stage it was possible, in a vague sort of way, to glue the pieces together in my mind and believe that what I was constructing was indeed a boat.

Pieces begin to take shape.

The next stage was less successful. I arranged the pieces of plywood into the shape of a canoe with the aid of tape and a couple of strategically positioned offcuts. Then came the fibreglass seams, the most structurally important part of the entire build. The epoxy went off quicker than envisaged and the strands of the fibreglass tangled around anything conceivable. I made the first batch of filler too runny and it leaked through the seams. In short, I made hard work of it and the task left me frustrated and exhausted. However, two days later I peeled off all the tape and what emerged was undeniably a boat. I proudly showed off my creation thus far to anyone who cared to be nearby and talked nonchalantly of curing times and where I would paddle her first.

I made a few touch ups to my seam job, did a lot of back breaking (hand breaking?) sanding and as far as I was concerned I was almost done. I could list the final requirements off in my head: rail, seat, thwart, breasthooks and a coat of paint. So began the longest section of the build and the part where I like to think I showed some slight measure of craftsmanship. Firstly the rail. I made pains to buy two rails long enough that they could span the full edge of the canoe in one stretch. In practice, without going out and buying many more clamps it was impractical to bend the rail through this radius. To solve this dilemma I cut the rail into sections for individual glueing. This was still no mean feat with a singular metal clamp to work with. It took some rope and many pvc clamps to get this all done. Once the rail was attached there was still more sanding and filling to do to ensure that everything was smooth and fair as could be.

The rail comes together, bit by bit.

The seat, thwart and breasthooks were enjoyable to construct. I sat the boat on a flat surface, identified the balance point and built the seat just aft. My idea was that when unloaded the nose would sit slightly above the water and allow for increased manoeuvrability. Comparatively, with loaded boat the canoe would sit level in the water as designed. The seat I constructed at such a height that it could be used in a conventional way but functioned best when kneeling in the boat with ankles below the seat board. With these three final components fibreglassed and epoxied into the hull only paint remained.

Ready for painting.

The choice of paint was a difficulty I did not anticipate. The high quality brands of two part epoxy paint complete with primers were beyond the price range. Instead I settled on a 4L pail of exterior patio paint and a longer drying time. A longer drying time however, was something of a handful. The fickle winter wellington weather would not deign to stay dry and pleasant long enough to complete a few coats on interior and exterior as well as dry for a good week. Fortunately, I managed to sneak the canoe into my room on the floor and with space at a premium I began painting.

Coats of paint in a limited space!

During the hours I spent sanding and painting I pondered what to call the canoe. My first thought was to follow the lead of Piers Mclaren in the wonderful book Wild Rivers by John Mackay. Piers names his raft Whio and hopes the rafts powers emulate the whitewater skill of the bird. I was sold on this theme but didn't want to follow suit exactly. So I turned to other aquatic wildlife of aotearoa. The canoe would be the ideal vessel for exploring lakes and slow moving rivers so I was looking for a bird with this habitat. Contenders came and went but I settled on the Kāmana, a beautiful name for a beautiful bird.

Whilst at primary school I had Which New Zealand Bird? by Andrew Crowe and I liked to check off all the birds I had seen. I was particularly taken with the rare grebe family. One summer the family went on a road trip which included a stop in Christchurch. We went out to Lake Coleridge for a stovetop lunch and I new this was my chance. It seemed unlikely and seems even unlikelier now but somehow I did it. I managed to see not one but two Australasian Crested Grebes. The poetic nature of these creatures is hard to overstate. Their feet are placed so far backward on their body for paddling that they cannot walk. This means they spend all their time on the water, even to the point of building floating nests. How metaphorically resonant is that? Whats more they carry their young in a divot on their back and look downright regal. They inhabit lakes, mainly in wild regions of the South Island. What better than to name my canoe the Kāmana.

Kāmana, meet Te Awa Kairangi.

The Kāmana first touched water on Te Awa Kairangi and it was an inspirational moment. Would she float, would she turn and would she be able to handle minor rapids? Yes, yes and yes. The seat positioning had worked just as I envisaged, enabling relatively easy turning for such a long boat. To paddle the Kāmana felt stately and reserved, not bothered by the splashing progress of smaller, shorter craft. The soft gurgle of current against the edges begged for a longer journey. Between Christmas and New Year 2019 the first opportunity for a real river trip emerged. The water level on the Ruamahanga was perfect and a day trip was planned from Foreman-Jury Road through to Riverside Road, covering some 20km of paddling. The day dawned bright and sunny. The scene of sitting in the Kāmana at the put-in on this crisp day with the water gently sliding the boat back and forth is embedded in my memory. The rapids on this stretch took the form of shingle banks followed by a brief rush toward willow lined banks. The Kāmana took them in her stride and not once was the bottom touched. Gliders circled above on sultry Wairarapa thermals and canvas lined the riverside at Morrison's Bush camp. The dry yellow of the farmland was expansive beyond the river channel. After 15km or so the bare wooden seat was starting to feel a little bony but this was the only minor complaint on a maiden river trip which stretched belief in its perfection.

The Kāmana and the Ruamahanga, flawless.

On the first true voyage of the Kāmana I expected some complexity of emotion, perhaps a recollection of the hard hours sanding or a vision of future trips all tied up with a deep sense of ownership and responsibility. But this was not the case. As I spun the wheels on the bike and dodged trucks on the shuttle I felt a simple and satisfying pride. Maybe the hand tools were the way to go after all. The Kāmana waits patiently for her next voyage, her next adventure.