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Larry Monczka
Mentored by the eminent Canadian photographer and educator Freeman Patterson, Kathy and Larry have been engaged in photography since the late 70s.
Canada, where historically the canoe reigned supreme, has embraced recreational kayaking in a big way. And although I had enjoyed kayaking for exercise and as a means of exploring far and wide from the water in my younger years, my ’yak has recently become an important part of my current photographic tool kit. Personally, I prefer it over a canoe for its ease of solo use.
The natural, balanced rhythm of paddling in a kayak suits my current fitness level. My gouty feet have limited my hiking, but once I’ve launched the kayak (admittedly with more galumphing clumsiness than grace these days), my water-based movement aboard is easy and pain-free.
In my salad days during the 80s, I was fit enough to enjoy expedition kayaking with small guided groups of adventurers. Destinations included Prince William Sound in Alaska, Ellesmere Island in Canada’s high arctic, The Queen Charlotte Islands (now Haida Gwaii) off the coast of British Columbia, the Mingan Archipelago in the Gulf of Saint Lawrence in Quebec and the wild waters of Gitche Gumee (also known as Lake Superior). Memories from these exotic locations, before I had become interested in photography, are vivid but ephemeral.
As my personal and professional life evolved with changes in housing and location, kayaking was put on the back burner for the next 30 years. However, in retirement, I now live in a quiet hamlet in a rural county in Southern Ontario. The geography of home includes rivers, creeks, wetlands and one of the Great Lakes, Erie, all within an easy drive. Photography has been a constant in my life since I began an extended series of workshops with the eminent Canadian photographic educator and conservationist, Freeman Patterson.
The freedom of retirement and marriage to fellow expressive photographer Kathleen Pickard has allowed me to visually and creatively explore our local patch on a more or less full time basis these last few years, albeit from terra firma.
Senior-friendly designs in kayak manufacture (smaller, lighter, increased stability) began to catch my attention in recent years. In addition, the social constraints of the COVID years conspired to lure me into aqueous distancing with a camera in hand. The ocean kayaks of my younger days took some flexibility to scamper into. They moved quickly and easily through the roughest water but required a certain amount of technique to manoeuver and keep upright. Designed for expeditions, they had room for all the gear needed for rough camping, but the compromise was increased weight and a certain fragility of build.
My current model, an Old Town (an only too appropriate moniker given my demographic) Sorrento, by comparison, weighs in at 30 pounds and is 10 foot long. An open cockpit design allows me to unceremoniously plop in and the tough plastic of its make-up can withstand rocks, sand and general thoughtlessness. I can slide it up and onto my sub-compact vehicle without help, strap it onto the roof rack in minutes, and I’m off for a few hours paddling, camera in hand, with minimal constraints except for common sense.
It’s taken a few years of practical knowledge of the local water and weather patterns through the seasons (and a few unexpected wet exits from the kayak), plus the caution and supposed wisdom of age to assert itself but at 75 and with a sensible wife on the home front, I have become more aware my limitations and now mostly exercise a certain restraint on the water. Weather apps, especially “Windy” are invaluable when planning an outing on the larger bodies of water nearby.
My high-end camera and pro lenses remain on land now–I have no intention of having them join my expensive prescription sunglasses and a very fine Lumix camera body in Davy Jones’ Locker. Mrs. Santa (aka Kathy) has gifted me with an “OM System Tough” f/2 waterproof (to depths of 50 feet) point and shoot with a wide angle zoom lens. Its RAW capture ability suits my needs for waterborne intimate as well as grand landscape photography.
My current kayaking universe is a tale of two bodies of water. Lake Erie in the “Deep South” of Ontario, with its near-shore marsh habitat and the narrow tree lined creeks that flow into it, is shallow and sandy and tinted with a café au lait hue when the rough winds blow. Georgian Bay, further north, is deep, strikingly colourful, rocky and primal.
I usually hit the water at the tail end of April when the air temperature creeps up over 10c. The strain on flabby winter muscles dissipates within weeks while steady paddling liberates generous amounts of body heat. I meander along the serrated margins of reed beds and into sheltered bays dotted with colourful lily pads, drinking in the sights and sounds of abundant bird and insect life. The month of May on the water hereabouts is a sensuous feast.
The many regionally protected conservation reserves in Norfolk County largely prohibit motorized water craft, allowing hand propelled canoes, water-boards and kayaks to have serene interactions with nature. Dawn is my favourite time to launch into the nearby Long Point Provincial Park wetlands. The play of first light on calm water, together with the seemingly endless horizon and big sky, can be magical from the low-lying vantage point of a kayak. I find that the zen-like silence quiets the mind and sensitizes me to the photographic possibilities.
On breezy mornings, Big Creek, referred to by local kayakers as “The Amazon of the North”, often remains relatively wind-still during the early hours, occasionally offering the added charm of rising mist. This narrow waterway twists and turns upstream for miles before becoming blocked by fallen trees. Flanked by overgrown riverbanks and distanced from busy roadways, I often encounter beaver, muskrat, deer and waterfowl going about their natural routines, relatively undisturbed by the hush of my kayak gliding unnoticed under the dense canopy of overlying vines and trees.
Mid June and the fall months find us driving five hours north to our annual cottage rental on the eastern shore of Georgian Bay on the Bruce Peninsula. The deep crystal clear waters here are a world away from the shallow sandy Great Lake of home. This wilder shore, often accessible only by rough hiking along the Bruce Trail, can be explored from the water from a variety of put-in points.
The photographic possibilities from the water, which acts as both a window to the rocky depths and a mirror of the luminous sky and wooded limestone cliffs are remarkably varied and stimulating. Inlets, overhanging rock faces and grottos along the extensive shoreline provide vantage points towards the shore that are fresh and not available to land-based photographers.
First time visitors to the Bruce Peninsula shore of Georgian Bay remark on the Caribbean hues of the water. Its clarity and depth absorb and reflect a vivid and ever-changing palette of greens, blues and purples. Caution and common sense are the watchwords when venturing any distance from shore, however. Millpond conditions, when the exquisitely reflective water melds with the soft ether above, can change quickly to tumult and chaos.
I hope the images that accompany this essay hint at the unique viewpoint photography from a kayak provides. The fresh perspective with its expressive potential has stimulated my seeing and enriched my portfolio as well as improved my physical and mental well being.
