A 66-Day Journey

Down the Mackenzie River,
Along the Arctic Coast,
and Down the Thelon River

Copyright © 1997 - 2024 Ray Jardine

Map

Map (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)

Part 1: The Construction of Nunaluk (NOON-a-Luck)

Nunaluk and Siku kayak

History of the Design

Prior to the advent of my first sea-kayaking journey, in 1974, I was fortunate to meet a guy who was planning such a trip, and was looking for paddling partners. Mike Acebo had built several fiberglass kayaks, and subsequently invited me to visit his shop on Catalina Island in order to make my own. Once there, he showed me the procedure, and I was pleasantly surprised how simple it was: cut the fiberglass cloth to size with an ordinary pair of scissors, lay the material in a kayak-shaped mold, mix a batch of polyester resin and hardener then squeegee it into the cloth. When the layout has hardened, simply pop it out of the mold. Mike got me started and then left me to my own devices. A few days later I had the kayak complete, and a few days after that I paddled 27 miles across open waters back to the California mainland. Then on to my first Baja Trip.

At the completion of that trip I sold the boat to another person in need. Yet I was hooked on these Baja trips, so for my next trip I needed another kayak. However, now I lacked access to a mold, so I bought a commercial model that was advertised to go fast. It was sleek and thin, and looked good. But during the trip I experienced difficulty remaining upright in heavy wind and seas. One capsize in the blackness of night was enough to make me relucent go out in bad weather. Clearly, that boat was too narrow, and lacked lateral stability.

I bought a wider kayak and used it on several Baja trips. I also used soft-fabric kayaks, which could be folded up and packed in a couple of gear bags. they took much less space; thus, they could be transported to the start of the journey by bus or airplane, and transported back home, with better ease. The type of folded kayaks I used were very wide and stable; but they were also slow, and leaked at the gunnels.

So for my first Arctic trip, in 1995, I needed a rigid kayak that would keep the ice-cold water out of the boat a little better. And it had to be wide, for extra lateral stability during those long crossings in strong winds and stormy seas.

However, a wide kayak is slow one - at least according the widely accepted notion. But I knew better. A wide and poorly designed kayak is indeed slow. But I knew how to design a wide kayak to keep up with the thinner and sleeker models, at no compromise in stability.

So let me give a bit of background on my design knowledge. Firstly, I am an aerospace engineer. I am accustomed to delving into innumerable technical variables of design, and optimizing them to fulfill certain requirements. Secondly, I am a computer programmer. And thirdly, I studied naval architecture. My boat design project began in the mid 1990's when I wrote a software package to design custom steel and aluminum sailboats. This package outputted to a NC plasma table which cut out the parts. The software, written by myself, is about the same size as my book Beyond Backpacking. It is a pretty hefty piece of code. And it can do a few things that hardly any other package out there could. For example, it can eliminate increasing weather helm as the boat heels over. During my round the world sailing voyage I learned the importance of this feature. My boat "SUKA" became increasingly heavy on the helm as she heeled over in strong wind. This strained the boat's steering gear, and was not safe due to the danger of a broach. And most modern sailboats are the same. So they need nimble yet stout self-steering gear. Back in the days when designers such as Herreschoff knew how to eliminate increasing weather helm versus angle of heel, boats balanced nicely and rarely required self-steering.

So when I needed a custom kayak for the trip along the coast of Arctic Alaska, I made a few mods to my sailboat software then began using it to design a kayak. As a starting point I morphed two time-tested designs: a Dyson baidarka and a Herreschoff canoe. Then I drew upon my own paddling experience, which included a few thousand miles in the Sea of Cortez, and a 3,300 mile trip along the coasts of British Columbia and southwestern Alaska. So in effect, I used boat design science and technology on one hand, and and intuitive reasoning based on tons of experience on the other hand.

A wide kayak is slow because it develops increasing weather helm as it heals. Despite great stability, it's unbalanced. So I programmed my software to minimize weather helm.

With Jenny's help I built the kayak, and named it "Tempest" (more on that later). Then we took it to Seattle for testing, visiting the largest kayak sales shop, and renting their fastest double. This boat was sleek like a needle and outwardly it made our Tempest look like a dog. We took both to a lake, and first we paddled the needle around the lake, both of us paddling together at a very measured pace. It took something like 15 minutes. Then we paddled Tempest around the same course. Tempest was two seconds slower, and maybe we were two seconds more tired. At any rate, it was a pretty close contest. And most importantly, Tempest was far more stable, tracked just as well without sacrificing turning ability, and it could handle many times the cargo. So much for sacrificing stability and gear capacity for speed.

We took Tempest to Alaska and paddled 600 miles of Arctic coast, encountering terrific winds and big seas nearly every day of the journey (hence the name). It was a fabulous boat, fast and rock solid in big seas. And all along the way my mind was cranking out improved design parameters. By then I had used my software so much that I hardly needed to sit at the computer. I could do it in my head. So by the time we returned home I had my next set of improvements nicely laid out.

I spent the next two weeks at the computer, iterating the improved design. Imagine someone playing a computer game so much, day after day, week after week, that they hardly need to think about it. They become "wired into it." This is when things begin to Flow. And this is what happened with me and my kayak design software, as round and round I went, iterating values and arriving, ultimately, at an optimized design. And I must note that I was not starting again from scratch. I was standing on the shoulders of Tempest, and reaching for the stars.

The result was our second home-built kayak: "Siku kayak."

Siku went 1,200 miles along the Arctic coast, including all the way across the top of Alaska. Aside from an initial capsize in big surf, she handled the trip magnificently. And during that trip once again, my mind was continually working on the next improvements.

We returned home and I went straight to the computer with my next set of values. Again another two weeks of iteration, and we built our third kayak: Nunaluk (new-NAHL-lik).

Nunaluk was to go nearly a thousand miles down the Mackenzie, then along 200 miles of Arctic coast, until, like the previous summer we were stopped by polar pack ice. But it was enough to test the boat in a variety of demanding conditions. And I returned home after trip with no improvements. My next kayak will be just like Nunaluk. I am not saying the design is perfect, but I would not change anything about it.

Building Nunaluk (Noon'-a-Luck)

Building Nunaluk

We're about to start the build process, but before the snow flies we have to replace the roof of our house and garage.

Our first step was to cut the stringers out of 1x4's, then hang them up in the garage to season. We tied them high where the air is warmer and dryer. Kiln dried wood was not available.

My two weeks of computer redesigning is complete, and it's time to start drawing the frames on a piece of particle board. The computer printout gives me the points, and I draw the curves with a spline (thin length of lath). Drawing these curves accurately is an art, and takes a lot of practice.

In this photo we have removed the lateral cross pieces of the strongback, of the previous year's build, then spaced them according to this year's computer printout and nailed them back on.

We have covered the floor with cardboard to catch the epoxy drips. We then taped the cardboard to the floor, all around, so we don't continually trip on it. And here Jenny is taping the strongback legs to the cardboard so they don't move when bumped against and degrade the layout accuracy.

I cut out the particle board frames using a jig saw - oversize, and here I am trimming them to final size with a high-speed belt sander.

We have fastened the first frame to its strongback cross piece, leveled its horizontal reference line, and positioned it with an accurate hight above the high-tension wire. The wire runs the length of the strongback, and keeps the boat straight.

All frames are mounted, and covered with stringers. This time around we're covering the stringers with structural foam.

This type of foam is hard as a board, and must be softened with heat in order to be bent. And once cooled, it retains the shape, and becomes hard as a board again.

At this stage we are building the mold, not the actual boat.

The mold is sanded smooth with longboards, then panted, and longboarded again.

The mold is covered with a thin layer of polyester putty, and then longboarded again. The underlying paint reveals the low areas.

After another round of putty and longboarding, the mold is given a final coat of paint.

A short plastic skirt is tapped to the mold, all the way around. This will connect to the vacuum bag and provide the needed seal.

Now we are building the actual boat, with a layer of Kevlar soaked with epoxy squeegeeed on, with a layer of carbon fiber waiting.

The layup is covered with peel-ply, breather/bleeder, and a vacuum bag. The hoses are connected and the vacuum pump turned on. The pump draws the excess epoxy, and makes the boat much lighter and stronger.

We have removed the vacuum bag and peeled back the breather/bleeder (white) and peel-ply (brown), and we're getting our first look at the new hull. Looks good!

Popping off (removing) the new hull from the mold

The new hull (upright) and the mold (facing down)

The mold is removed from the strongback, inverted, and nested back into the hull. I'm using the mold as a guide and trimming the ragged edges of the hull with a jigsaw.

A sharp pair of household scissors cuts the Kevlar and graphite easily.

Marking where the bulkheads will go.

Making a set of padded supports to hold the upright hull. Cardboard bulkheads pattens started.

Cutting strips of blue-cell foam used to reinforce the hull and spread the load of the bulkheads.

Beveling the strips with a sanding block.

The strips are positioned with wet epoxy and are about to be vacuumed down tightly to the hull.

The strips are covered with wider strips of s-glass, then breather/bleeder (white) to soak up the excess epoxy.

Vacuum bagging the reinforcement strips.

The hull is 22 feet long and incredibly lightweight.

Photo from an earlier build showing how we size the bulkheads.

The bulkheads are cut to size, laminated with s-glass, covered with peel-ply and breather/bleeder, then vacuum bagged.

The bulkheads are dry-fitted against their reinforcement strips. Their upper parts have not yet been trimmed.

Vacuum bagging a bulkhead to the hull.

Vacuum bagging the Kevlar tape that will hold the bulkhead to the hull.

cap

Homemade rudder pedal bracket on a blue foam pad, about to be vacuum bagged the hull.

Vacuum bagging the rudder pedal brackets to the hull. Note the extra layer of carbon to reinforce the hull under the brackets and person's feet.

Time to start making the deck mold.

Plates glued together with spray foam, with their edges held even with binds, temporally screwed to the plates.

Here again we are using putty and longboard to smooth the surface. Note that we haven't trimmed the edges. We'll do that later.

Jenny replacing the sandpaper on a longboard.

The boatworks is interrupted by a truck delivering a load of books

A rack of Kevlar (covered with a dust cloth) drying in front of the woodstove. Ramps in the mold for the rudder steering cables. The plastic skirt for the vacuum bag seal.

Rolling on a layer of carbon, with the Kevlar waiting nearby.

Vacuum bagging the new deck.

About to start on the deck's underside, we're making a set of cradles to hold the upside down deck.

The upside down deck is in its new cradles, and we've begun to add the underside reinforcements

Vacuum bagging the reinforcements.

Nunaluk: hull and deck

Joining hull to deck; first on the inside with Kevlar tape and epoxy, while the joint is held tight on the outside with boxing tape.

Then on the outside with Kevlar tape, epoxy and vacuum bagging. Meanwhile we've added cockpit comings, hatch risers, and a bow handle.

The kayak is ready to be baked.

The kayak cooking in our homemade autoclave - a large insulated box with heaters, fans and thermostats. The high heat cross-links the epoxy molecules and makes the kayak much stronger.

Nunaluk is 22 feet long, has three water-tight compartments that can hold two weeks food and gear. She's fast, light, and incredibly stable. If swamped, you can easily crawl back aboard; and this a huge safety feature.

A BBC film crew wanted to see Nunaluk in action, so we took them to a nearby lake.

BBC film crew. Second from right: Richard Else: director and producer, BBC Television.

All seven of the BBC film crew wanted to paddle Nunaluk, and all seven came back ranting. They all said that the boat was fast and easy to paddle; that it seems to simply glide over the water. This photo: Cameron McNeish, presenter BBC Television "Wilderness Walks"; and Keith Partridge, BBC DV digital cameraman.

Keith Partridge, BBC DV digital cameraman and sound recordist.

And now its time to ship the kayak to northern Canada, where we will begin our trip.

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