The Guide's View: Decisions in the Round

February-March 1998

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

By Ann Linnea

Wilderness guides have an immense responsibility for participants' safety, well-being, and happiness. I believe they can be greatly assisted in these goals by returning to a leadership style that is older than any of the old growth trees we're lucky enough to paddle by.

Painted, beaming faces of trip participants

This teaching tale shows how three wilderness guides at Ta'i Li Lodge on Cortes Island used a council of all their kayaking trip participants to make a difficult decision about route choice when weather, desire, and skill level were clearly in conflict with one another.

The third day of our August kayak trip dawned clear and still. As was my custom each morning, I crawled out of my tent and walked carefully over dried moss and downed conifers to the edge of our unnamed island. Looking east across Desolation Sound to the sun rising above Denman Peak, I replayed yesterday's paddle: my own enjoyment on the water and the ever present weight of concern for everyone else. I felt gratitude at what we had accomplished so far and began to think

Flipping on my weather radio, I heard the third consecutive day's forecast for Johnstone Strait reporting gusts to 35 knots and small craft advisories. So far we'd been spared that kind of weather. Next was our forecast, northern Georgia Strait: "...afternoon winds out of the northwest, gusting to 25 knots."

Flipping the switch off to return to the silence of the morning, I sat down on a boulder just above last night's high tide mark. This was the day we'd scheduled our longest paddle from base camp. And though an intermediate level trip, we did not have all intermediate level paddlers.

A seal popped up about twenty yards off shore and studied my pensive pose. When he disappeared, I rose and headed to the camp kitchen - somewhat steadied by the seal's calm gaze, but still carrying the guide's inevitable worry about the day's plans.

The kitchen crew had tea, coffee and oatmeal ready. By 8 a.m. all twelve of us were scattered on the rocks eating breakfast. I shared the weather report with my two other guides: Christina Baldwin, my partner in PeerSpirit™, and Christine Robinson, T'ai Li's head guide. Christine promptly pulled out her chart and tide table and noted that the effect of tides and currents on our route although minimal would be to our disadvantage in the afternoon on our planned route.

At that point, Christina Baldwin announced the day's forecast was for high afternoon winds and that morning council would be at 8:30 AM.

This was our established camp pattern: each morning and evening all twelve of us gathered in a circle to plan the day's events or to de-brief and share stories. Coming into a circle was our mode of governance based on the belief that the wisdom of the whole is greater than the wisdom of any single person.

At 8:30 a.m., with people still finishing up breakfast, I summarized the weather report, tide and current conditions, and passed an eagle feather we had found to the woman on my left. As each person in turn held the feather, she spoke about her energy level, desire for the day, and view on what the group should do. The check-in took about a half hour.

What surprised me the most was that our least experienced paddler wanted to do the originally planned long outing. I spoke last and said that I honored each person's contribution, but as a responsible guide, I had to say that Jane's (not her real name) level of experience made it unsafe for her to attempt a long paddle on a day when the weather was likely to be challenging.,

Because thre were so many unanswered questions, we sent the feather around a second time. Christina prefaced the round by asking each woman to speak to whether she wanted to do: (1) a short morning paddle with one guide or (2) a longer paddle with the other two guides. This round went more quickly, because we all knew we needed to get going while it was still calm. Again Jane incorrectly judged her ability and placed herself on the longer trip.

A feather, a stone, or other object can be passed around the circle, giving the bearer the "floor"

Four of the nine participants wanted to take the shorter, hour long exploratory paddle to a nearby island with Christina; four of the five remaining had the ability and the passion to test themselves on a longer paddle in more inclement weather with Christine and me; and Jane was still insisting she be included on the longer paddle and clearly did not understand that she was not capable of doing it.

At this point Christina said, "In our circle there comes a time when all the information has been gathered and those who are the elders on a particular subject must make a decision. Ann and Christine are the most experienced guides; they need to design a paddling plan that balances the group's desires and safety. We need to trust that we've been heard and grant them authority to make a decision. I would ask them to do this in front of us."

Christine Robinson offered a solution. "If we change our route from the proposed long open water crossing to exploring the large bay to the south, we can stay together until noon and then either Ann or I will return with those who are tired. The rest of us will head up further into the bay before returning. The bay will be protected from northwest winds and we'll have only a mile-and-a-half crossing partly in the protection of Kinghorn Island." I agreed with her proposal.

The short route paddlers, who were going with Christina Baldwin, helped the rest of us into the water so we were launched by 10 a.m. In thirty minutes we had crossed from our island to the mouth of the bay. We meandered in and out of small inlets exploring oyster beds, watching eagles, and drifting along in the comanionship of seals. By noon we had finished lunch, enjoyed a brief swim, and checked the weatherband. Strong northwest winds were still predicted, even though the waters before us were flat calm.

"Jane and I are heading back now," I announced. "Anyone who wishes may join us." (Christine and I had agreed earlier that I would make the announcement and give Jane no choice about continuing.)

I then asked Christine when she would turn the others around and join us back at camp. We chatted in front of the group and agreed on 2 p.m..

Jane and I enjoyed our paddle back to the island, stopping often to take photographs and chat. We returned by 2 p.m. The wind was beginning to build. It had taken us an hour to cross from the mouth of the bay.

The short trippers, under Christina Baldwin's direction, were already back. Some were napping, others were snorkeling. I took a brief swim and took note of the building wind and seas. The collective energy on our island quickly shifted to alert.

My first thought was to jump in a kayak and head out to provide Christine Robinson the support of a second guide during the crossing, but the others objected. "Ann, you need to stay here. None of us is strong enough to go with you. At the moment you don't even know exactly where they are. We are going to need your help hoisting all of their boats up into safe storage."

As we talked about this, we were pulled back into the strength of the circle, and my thinking moved from impulsive response to the larger picture. Each woman volunteered to do something. Jane stepped forward and agreed to begin supper. Two others volunteered to help her. A fourth woman organized hot drinks for the returning paddlers. Everyone worked out a plan to help land the boats and get them quickly out of surf's reach. Christina and I took up watch on the south end of the island with binoculars.

By 3 p.m. we caught sight of our companions at the mouth of the bay. With strong trailing seas, I sat poised and ready to go, yet confident of Christine Robinson's ability to lead her four paddlers to safety. For an hour-and-a-half we watched the tiny bright dots struggle across increasingly choppy, gusty seas. It seemed forever before they made progress beyond the mouth of the bay where they had to battle both the fiercest winds of their crossing and some flooding waters. But they were still paddling strongly and seeming confident.

As each woman arrived, we greeted her with shouts and applause. One of us steadied her boat while another escorted her up the rocky beach to hot drinks. Then two of us carried her boat to safety.

At our evening council we shared tears, laughter, song, and humility. Winds were still gusting at 25 knots and it was clear to all of us that the original planned paddle to the Curme Islands and back would have separated us into two camps on this night: one group here, one bivouacked on some rock shore. The wisdom that had come from morning council, including Jane's determination to be included in a longer paddle, had shaped a trip that met each person's needs and kept us all safe. The wisdom of all had once again been greater than the wisdom of any single voice.

Ann Linnea is the author of Deep Water Passage, a Spiritual Journey at Midlife which chronicles her kayaking circumnavigation of Lake Superior's 1800 miles shore line. With her partner Christina Baldwin she teaches a methodology for circle called PeerSpirit™. Their business by the same name is based on Whidbey Island in Puget Sound. Christine Robinson, formerly of Ecomarine Ocean Kayak Center, Granville Island, is head of Tai Li's Kayak Program on Cortes Island.