An obituary for my favorite kayak
RIPPrijon EmbudoBorn: circa 2001Death: Jan. 16, 2022Approximate age: 21Spending time outside to ski, climb, bike, boat or backpack requires an array of interesting gear. This colorful range of textiles and hardware includes ropes, packs, paddles, plastic boots and a whole lot more, and finding the best gear for a given activity can become something of an obsession.
Sometimes, though, you come across a coat, pack, bike or pair of skis you love so much it becomes a near-permanent part of your arsenal, far outliving its useful life. No piece of gear has fueled my passion for discovery, exploration and self-improvement like my beloved eight-foot-long boat, a German-engineered kayak called the Prijon Embudo.
Today, though, it's time to move on.
The Prijon Embudo was a top performer for its day
Me and my Embudo on Skull Creek, north Idaho, in 2015, near the end of its service.
For more than 10 years, from about 2003 to 2013, the Embudo joined me--you might say took me--on adventures to the far-flung river canyons of the western United States.
It was a progressive design at the time--my second modern creek boat and the first kayak to become an intuitive extension of my body. I knew how deep it drafted, how easily it pivoted, and where the tip and tail were in relation to nearby rocks or hydraulics. I knew the angles I could hold on a cross-river ferry and how much current I could fight peeling into or out of eddies.
I knew all these things without thinking about them, and that's as much as you can ask from any piece of gear. When gear does its job without fuss or forethought, you're left to perform to the best of your ability, and that's what the Embudo did for me.
The Embudo started to show its age in 2011 during a self-supported Hells Canyon trip on the Idaho-Oregon border when a leak sprung from a small hole in the stern.
Riverside medical attention included two strips of duct tape in the form of an X, and the repair--replaced every other year or so--served the Embudo for the duration of its life.
The rivers my Embudo paddled
Photos of the Embudo appear many times in Paddling Idaho. It’s the boat I used most while researching the book.
The Embudo took me places I never imagined I'd go, places without roads or trails, canyons that most people will never see from the riverside perspective. I took the Embudo down the majority of Idaho’s rivers and creeks, and it was the vessel I used doing the brunt of the research—including a lot of flat-water paddling—it took to write the guidebook, Paddling Idaho.
Reminiscing about these adventures make me want keep the boat and hang it on a wall for others to appreciate. I mean, this boat and I went places, and we experienced some pretty extreme trials together. Letting it go feels like letting a formative piece of myself go, too.
I last paddled the Embudo a couple years ago on a three-mile-long class IV section of the Yankee Fork of the Salmon River during peak spring runoff. It was fitting, I guess, because it’s one of the first rivers I paddled in the boat 20 years ago.
In those intervening two decades, the Embudo took me on dozens, if not hundreds, of Class IV and V river trips in New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Idaho. I was so scared in the Embudo I pissed my shorts and felt warm urine pool under my butt—a half dozen times. I was so happy in the Embudo that I lurched with joy, fist pumping and a toothy smile streched beneath my helmet brim.
I watched from the seat of the Embudo as a friend swept upside down and backward into a sieve. I carried it on my shoulder through patches of poison ivy so thick a machete would have been helpful. I stood in the cockpit when I was surprised by a coiled rattlesnake. I used it to rescue a half-dozen boaters in need. And I paddled that boat on rivers easy and hard. Some of the most memorable were mellow flat-water paddles, paddling alone with nothing but birdsong and crickets that echoed among river canyon ramparts.
For all the adrenaline I experienced in this beloved kayak, those quiet flat-water days are some of my favorites--with a slowed pulse on lazy currents, the rush and buzz of the modern world was far, far away. Just me and my boat, experiencing the world's natural rhythms and currents.
Prijon Embudo cause of death
While my Embudo's 2011 hole in the stern was a tough blow, it's HTP blow-molded plastic proved strong enough to continue much longer into its golden years.
To be fair, I attempted a couple of years ago to donate the boat to an organization that teaches kids to kayak, but it was too far over the hill for the organizer, who already has a brim-full fleet of well-used boats.
So now, 11 years after the hole formed and 21 years after it was born, it's not the integrity of my Prijon Embudo's plastic that has caused it to flat-line, but neglect.
For the past two years, the Embudo has been crammed into a crevice between the back of my garage and a fence. While I bought new skis, mountain bikes and climbing gear, I never even pulled the Embudo out for a good cleaning. It's full of rancid water, last year's leaves, pill bugs and black widows. And the fact is, boat design has advanced a lot in 20 years.
While resuscitation may be possible, it's also time to admit that the Embudo and I were partners that came together for an intense 15-year affair when we traveled the West together, adventured into some of the most remote places in the contiguous United States, and tested the currents of some of America's best whitewater.
Today, though, it's time to offer my respects and move on.
This adventurous, intrepid and sturdy creek boat, the Prijon Embudo, passed away today, Sunday, January 16, 2022, at the approximate age of 21. It was born in Rosenheim, Germany in an unknown year and died in Boise, Idaho, USA. Those who knew the Embudo were impressed with its integrity and lifespan, but most of all of its accomplishments. The Embudo experienced more river miles in 20 years than many boats do by the simple fact of its longevity. And all the while it made its owner smile.
RIP, old friend.