The first time I packed for Level 3, I wasn’t really packing gear.
I was packing armour.
I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was the checklist. The need to be prepared. The quiet math of performance.
Dry bags. Charts. A knife on my PFD.
And under all of it was an old, familiar voice that had gotten me through everything so far.
Tight-lipped. Sharp-eyed. Stoic.
The one who’d held through hospital beds, hockey tryouts, gym class eyes.
The one who didn’t flinch when someone asked why I moved differently, why I didn’t feel like the other boys.
He carried the code: don’t let them see.
And it worked.
He got me here.
He packed as if he were going into battle. Not a sea journey.
He knew how to pass tests. Read a room. Prove readiness before anyone questioned it.
He didn’t cry… in public.
But he was always tired. And never allowed to rest.
Years later, I’m still packing.
Unpacking, more accurately.
The voice is quieter. He’s still there, the warrior, but we talk now. We don’t fight as much.
I’m not trying to earn space anymore. I’m trying to hold it.
I’m trying to make room for other paddlers who don’t know yet that they don’t have to perform for anyone.
I’m not always successful. I try.
Sometimes I get through. Sometimes they’re not ready. Not yet.
Especially “the boys.”
Or the version of themselves they built to survive them.
I teach differently now.
We still run the drills. Just as hard. Sometimes harder than “that other guy.”
Still train in wind, swell, and long crossings.
I expect no less.
Actually, I expect more. Just not what you thought it was.
Because the real work is in the unpacking.
The quiet teaching. The co-leadership. The truth.
Strength isn’t control.
Leadership isn’t command.
And the ones I trust most on expedition aren’t the loudest. They’re the ones who are present, even when they’re scared.
I walk this as my ethos, and I’m proud to say I made it work. For that hurt warrior.
I used to think I had to be the hero.
Now I want to be the dragon who flies beside you when the storm comes in.
We can fight together. I will fight. But you better stay, too.
I want to be the one who sees you.
Not for how well you perform.
But for how real you’re willing to be.
I still zip the drysuit. Still love a clean line through confused seas.
But I don’t wear the armour anymore.
I carry it.
I honour it.
It got me here.
But it’s not how I want to lead.
What Level 3 Was — and What I Needed
When I finally did the course, Level 3 wasn’t what I needed it to be.
It gave me structure, but not the support I needed.
Technique, but not truth.
It tested my skill, but never asked who I was becoming.
It was built for a paddler I was pretending to be.
Although at the time, I didn’t know that.
Stupid, young, fucking brain.
I powered through. Performed what I needed to. Said the lines. Ran the rescues.
I made it through to the good stuff. The group dynamics. The decisions that matter. The fiery conversations you have between headlands.
But I had to walk through a lot of performance culture to get there.
And I don’t think anyone else should have to.
What We’ve Built Instead
We still offer Level 3. But we’ve redesigned the path.
Yes, we teach the skills. The crossings. The rescues. The judgment.
Yes, you can still get the certification. If you need it.
Do you need it?
That’s for you to sit with. You need to reflect on that in your own space.
But if you do, we’ll support you through that too.
It’s hard.
It’ll take time.
There will be tears. And there will be joy when you earn it.
But the difference is:
You won’t have to pretend.
You won’t have to become someone you’re not just to pass.
The course we run underneath the structure.
The real one.
Is built for the paddler who’s ready to lead without posturing.
To paddle in a team.
Not alone. Not “self-reliant.”
As a contributor. A fledgling leader. One of those rare people who can seemingly own the sea and never need to say so.
To grow. Not perform.
Who This Is For
This version of Level 3 is for paddlers who didn’t see themselves in the old system.
For those who were told they didn’t look the part.
Or didn’t come up through the right channels.
Or never got the invite.
It’s for queer paddlers. Trans paddlers. BIPOC paddlers. Neurodivergent paddlers.
For men looking for a challenge they didn’t know would be this hard.
For women who were told not to.
It’s for people who lead from behind. Or sideways. Or through presence instead of command.
It’s for anyone who ever thought:
I know I can do this. If I’m allowed to do it my way.
We’re not gatekeeping paddling anymore.
We’re sharing it. Honestly. Responsibly. Together.
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