Rügen Circumnavigation - The Baltic Odyssey

December 17, 2024

Article written by Magdalene Krüger and Jason Guindon

My origins as paddler, and my love of Rügen

I’ve always had an affinity for the water, ever since I took my very first inflatable boat for its maiden voyage as a 9 year old, paddling into the breaking waves just off the Nordstrand at the Northern tip of Rügen. Little did I know that I would return to circumnavigate this vast island in my first sea kayak this past summer of 2024, nearly 29 years later.

Before starting seakayaking, I kept my passion for water by exploring Ontario’s vast northern lakes by canoe, and by seeking out the opportunity to serve as a deckhand on a cross-Atlantic voyage aboard a 16m sailboat. My journey as a sea kayaker was inspired in an unlikely way; by hearing the stories of a sea kayak instructor after being picked up by one while hitchhiking in Northern Ontario. Since then, I’ve tried my best to spend as much time on the water as I can, both in my home country of Germany and while living and working on Vancouver Island in the winter and spring of 2024.

I’ve really enjoyed the process of improving my skills and confidence as a paddler, making great use of the fantastic paddling clubhouse resources available in Germany. I got a grip on the basics by paddling several thousand kilometers on Germany’s inland waterways, but always longed to be out on the sea. I sought out opportunities to get out onto the Baltic and the North Sea at symposiums like the Seekajakwoche, where I started to develop more skills in rescuing and navigation. Finally, I experienced big tides, tidal currents, and very cold water temperatures when I moved to Vancouver Island in the fall of 2023.

I had spent a number of years on the lookout for “my boat“, knowing that only a kayak that I could take with me while moving to different countries and continents would be suitable. I selected the TRAK 2.0 due to its seaworthiness and portability - two features that I really needed if I was to invest in my own boat. It was during my stay on Vancouver Island in May 2024 that I received my kayak “Rosalie”, a beautiful fuchsia-coloured kayak directly from the company headquarters.

Jason Guindon, a familiar face to many in the TRAK community, began taking me out in a loaner TRAK during the winter and springtime ahead of my own kayak arriving in BC. During this time, I got to know the TRAK kayak better - and, I got to know Jason better as well. Suffice to say that two single paddlers with a shared passion for getting on the water are bound to grow closer, one way or another. During our time together on the coastal waters of British Columbia, we decided to keep our shared adventure going. When I let him in on my plans to attempt a circumnavigation of Rügen upon my return to Germany, he didn’t need to think long nor hard at all about joining me.

Teaming up meant that Jason, who had never been to Germany or the Baltic Sea before, would have a local guide, and I would have an experienced sea kayaker by my side - win/win! I pulled out the charts and we started to plan the adventure of circumnavigating Germany’s biggest island together.

Meet Rügen: Germany’s biggest island

I’ve been coming to the Island every year since paddling my little rubber boat as a 9 year old, and also lived there for an extended period of time at one point. I explored the island by bike, on foot, beach-combing to find precious Baltic amber, and saw its shores in an old wooden fishing cutter together with my cousins and my uncle, who were locals. Time and again I am drawn back to Rügen, and all of those years of exploring have added up to an intimate knowledge of its geography.

Rügen is remarkable not only for its size, but its shape as well. The odd shape of this vast island provides an ever-changing coastline with diverse features at every point. Chalk cliffs with no chance for landing for long stretches, shallow lagoons, long sand beaches stretching on for 10 or more kilometers, narrow fairways with buoys leading through the national park, and capes and points which jut into the Baltic. All of these features impact the paddling conditions one faces during a circumnavigation. The converging currents off of the many capes can create challenging, confused waters - especially when you add strong winds into the mix. Those can be felt the strongest while crossing the mouths of lagoons, which act like funnels channeling strong winds that build up to high, steep waves with short intervals. Despite the lack of big tides, Rügen is not to be underestimated - it will test your judgment as a paddler!

For those inclined to history, Rügen also tells a rich story dating back to pre-Christian times all of the way through to the more recent GDR (East German Republic). Inhabited by the Rani Slavs for centuries before subsequent conquests by the Teutonics, Danes, and Swedes, there are numerous archaeological sites that have revealed many artifacts over the years. In more recent times, Rügen was the northern frontier of communist East Germany and retains architectural remnants from that time.

From Saxony to Stralsund and out onto the Baltic

In the second half of August of 2024 Jason joined me in Dresden, Saxony, approximately 450 km south of the Baltic Sea. Together we started our adventure by hauling our kayaks and expedition gear over cobblestone sidewalks to get to the train station, where we took a nearly full train to Berlin. There we changed onto the train for Stralsund, which was also jam-packed full of people trying to get to the Baltic Sea. Among the many who had no chance to grab a seat, we stood beside our abundant luggage for almost the entire three-hour train ride to Stralsund.

The city of Stralsund is situated on the mainland directly across from Rügen, sporting an amazing old city with preserved Hanseatic Gothic style buildings made of red brick. It is also fittingly called ‘Das Tor zur Insel Rügen“ - “the gate to the island of Rügen“. A long, thin stretch of water separates the mainland and Rügen, known as the Strelasund, is bridged by the mighty “Rügenbrücke”.

We utilized the amazing system of watersports clubs in Germany and stayed at the Stralsunder Kanu Club. After stocking up on groceries, the next day we set up our TRAK kayaks on the lawn of the club property, loaded our gear and food for this 10-day expedition and launched onto the waters of the Strelasund directly from outside the club gates.

Slipping away from the shore we headed east and surely felt like we were passing through a portal when paddling past the afternoon silhouette of Stralsund beneath the gigantic Rügenbrücke and starting our circumnavigation in a counter-clockwise direction. The forecast for the next days predicted winds steadily building to speeds just shy of gale forces blowing from the west, which would give us a tailwind, pushing us east along the Strelasund waterway.

We passed by Dänholm island and made our way diagonally across the Strelasund until we reached the shoreline of Rügen, which we followed rounding the point of the large Drigge peninsula and passing by the inlet of the Gustower Wiek. After a calm paddle of 13 km in the late afternoon sun we made our first camp that night at the Prosnitzer Schanze, situated at the shortest distance between the island and mainland. The Swedes knew that at this spot is only a few hundred meters across through mostly shallow waters, crossing this short distance when pushing onwards to conquer the mainland in the 17th-century.

Peeling out of our little tent the next morning we were greeted by a heavy rain squall and gusts up to 30 knots per hour. Knowing that the waters of the Strelasund are extremely shallow, in many places only between 50-150 cm deep, I knew that we would get waves whipped into a steep frenzy of short intervals.

I didn’t have that much experience yet with surfing a fully loaded kayak without a skeg or rudder, and certainly was in for a bit of a challenging day. While Jason seemed to enjoy his surfing for the first half of the day, I was practicing how to keep a semi-straight course while the waves kept pushing me off to either side.

As predicted, the wind speed kept building and finally reached a peak during our approach to the landmark of the Ferry of Glewitz. Our original route was supposed to round the ferry dock jutting out into the messy waters and confused seas. Crossing past the dock did not look appealing to me at all at that point, and so we decided to make for land. What followed next for me was a big learning moment that would serve me well in the coming days: I wasn’t yet experienced in surf landing in such big conditions, and so I didn’t wait for a lull in the set of waves. I broached the wave I landed on, and stumbled out of my kayak nearly swept off my feet by my trusty “Rosalie”, who hauled herself against me with full force. What a joy it was to watch Jason elegantly land between sets in a controlled way. Lesson learned!

At the food truck beside the ferry terminal we got some delicious Fischbrötchen (fish buns) and learned that the ferry service was canceled that day due to the strong winds. Determined to continue, and “where there is a will…” - we found a way to carry our heavily laden flotation gear bags and kayaks to a weedy boat slip beside some dinky wooden fishing boats past the ferry landing and slipped away in the wind shadow of the ferry landing and onwards to the east. The waves kept building again but we had bypassed the treacherous cross chop in front of the ferry landing.

There were more meter-high waves while rounding the landspit Palmer Ort at the southern tip of the Zudar peninsula. The waves were coming at me sideways and, while they required my full concentration, they turned out to be quite manageable. Jason and I kept chatting about how to apply optimal pressure to the TRAK hydraulic jacks, especially when wind came across our beam. I kept experimenting with varying amounts of pumps to help me stay on course without a skeg or rudder while forced to employ regular sweep strokes and, gradually, more edging. What a change this brought to the paddling technique that I had developed up to that point!

On day three the wind was still on our tails, I started to catch the occasional wave and together we had fun surfing into the harbour of Lauterbach. We made some big leaps onwards, getting past Vilm island and making 5 and 4 km crossings through the Rügischer Bodden with 1.5 m high waves that kept hitting us diagonally. The wind wasn’t going to let off and would keep increasing to 40kts per hour the next day. We had finally made it all the way to Thiessow at the very southern tip of Mönchgut Peninsula and, considering the 40kt winds, enjoyed a day of well-earned rest. It was howling all day as we hiked up the cliffs and explored little fishing boat harbours while the local kite surfers were having the time of their lives.

Towards the halfway point, covering the eastern coastline

We awoke on day 5 motivated to make some progress towards the landmark beach of Prora, about 30km away. The harsh winds had finally relented, only to be replaced by very hot temperatures and hours of direct sun exposure that challenged us in a completely different way. We made about 14km of progress before we stopped for a much needed shady break outside of Göhren. I made coffee for Jason while we prepared snacks of peanut butter and Ritter Sport chocolate - two staples that both fueled and motivated our progress along this expedition. Once satisfied, we moved on to tackle the next half of the day, which involved crossing the picturesque Bay of Binz. After covering most of the eastern coast in a day, we landed and began to make camp in Prora.

Prora is a unique place in Germany, featuring monolithic concrete buildings that were constructed during the National Socialist era as a resort complex. Many of these enormous structures line the beach, left in disrepair up until recent times when they have been rehabilitated into holiday condos. We landed our boats and asked a very polite family if they minded watching our kayaks while we hiked towards the nearest Edeka supermarket to re-stock our near-depleted fruit and vegetable supplies. Walking back to our kayaks, munching on fruit and sweets, we deliberated how to conduct a necessary portage up the beach, which would take us an hour to complete in the total darkness that had set in around us.

After portaging our kayaks to a less-exposed section of Prora’s vast beach, we enjoyed a moonlight swim and settled into our trusty tent on the understanding that our camp was in a by-law violation, and that we’d need to pack up and leave at first light the next morning. We took this precaution against the risk of being fined / detained on the beach, and if our expedition had not seen enough interesting turns and conditions thus far, our most interesting day was about to begin.

We diligently packed up our kayaks as early as we could and launched to make our crossing to Sassnitz. Knowing that we would be racing against an incoming storm, and that time was of the essence, we encountered a delay that most paddlers neglect to factor into their calculations; interception by the Küstenwache - coast guard!

The Küstenwache spotted us paddling past the Sassnitz industrial harbour and, likely seeing an opportunity to apply their training, decided to stop our kayaks and conduct an on-water interrogation. Initially asking us our heading and about our welfare, they let us proceed for a few minutes before circling around for a more serious encounter. Their patrol ship was towering over us mere meters from our kayaks as Jason worked hard to stabilize us and draw us away from being sucked against their hull. I was adamant that our documents were inaccessible in the storage holds of our kayaks, and that we wouldn’t accept handing them over via fishing net, nor would we tolerate having our kayaks damaged by them hoisting our boats onto their own. They finally settled on me giving them our names, birthplaces, and ports of registry (laughable, as kayakers) by spelling our information out letter by letter to them, all while a fierce 30+kt storm of wind and rain approached.

With the Küstenwache finally satisfied, we pushed hard and fast to Sassnitz. We found the harbour completely inhospitable to sea kayaks, and made an improvised landing on an ancient, slimy fisherman's slip. We pulled out our kayaks, quickly changed from our wet clothes, and set into town to wait out the impassable winds that had set in around us. We seized the unexpected weather break to tour the beautiful old town of Sassnitz, eat sweets over coffee in a beachside cafe, and treat ourselves to the best pizza in the entire Baltic region.

The famous chalk cliffs and the infamous cape

We finally launched our kayaks knowing we had only three hours of daylight to complete a 17 km paddle to the harbour of Lohme, passing the standout chalk cliffs and scenery of the famous Jasmund National Park. Paddling hard, we passed the chalk cliffs in absolute awe. Standing tall in the distance and unique in the Baltic Sea area, they are covered in one of the last old-growth beech forests in the world. The tallest part of the cliffs bears the name Königsstuhl - or “the king’s chair” and is about 112 m high. Legend has it that the people of Rügen chose a man as their new king who was fastest to climb up that part of the cliff from sea level.

We caught a glimpse of Cape Arkona far off in the distance as the sun began to set in beautiful hues of red, orange and pink. Rounding the Jasmund marked the end of the Eastern coastline, and wind speeds built as we left the coastal shadow and came straight at us at 20kts, with big waves close behind. I was paddling as hard as I could, and it would still be half an hour until we were able to see the red and green lamps at the entrance of Lohme’s tiny marina. We felt tremendous relief upon entering the safe waters of the marina as the afterglow was fading hard on us. But this time, compared to Sassnitz, the harbour was very hospitable to us. A shallow landing decked in carpet awaited us and made it easy for our tired bodies to get to land and slip out our kayaks. We pitched our tent with a smile on the civilized lawn beneath the flag pole next to the harbour master’s office.

Day 7 was upon us, and Jason went up into the village to track down some breakfast (and practice his German!) that we would very much need, as our biggest crossing had yet to be made. After chatting with the harbour master and paying him for the overnight stay, we set out crossing the Tromper Wiek - a bay which sports an 11km long sandy beach. Our distant destination was: the historic fishing village of Vitt which, nestled into the landscape with its traditionally brown thatched roofs, only became visible once we got within a few kilometers of its shore. We began our 18km open-water crossing immediately after leaving Lohme.

The wind came from the West at 15-20kts and would have blown us out to sea had we tried to make a straight line for Vitt and nearby Cape/Kap Arkona. We opted for an 18km hyperbola-style route which took us 4 hours to complete. We made landfall in Vitt later in the afternoon, when most of the tourists had already cleared out. We managed to find the last open cafe and treated ourselves to some alcohol-free beer and delicious fruit cake with streusels, which we made short work of in the late-afternoon sun while looking out over the small fishing houses topped by traditional thatched roofs - a style once widespread but now has almost disappeared. The vibe of this little village is absolutely romantic and we would have liked to stay for longer and explore the nearby historic sites, but the sun was getting lower and we still had a few kilometers to go and to round Kap Arkona.

The wind had surprisingly stopped, as Kap Arkona usually gets big conditions as prevailing winds whip the converging currents up into confused seas. On top of a rough sea-state, fog is not uncommon along this stretch during late August. I had been anticipating this part of the trip to be challenging, but to my surprise the sea was flat and calm with no ripples and the big challenge of the day - our 18 km crossing from Lohme - had already been accomplished.

I felt exhausted as big feelings came up for me when I shared the meaning of this place with Jason. Kap Arkona was former East Germany’s northernmost point and a location of geographic and strategic importance. The cape itself and the surrounding area on land and sea was completely verboten for civilians during the Cold War, and it felt amazing to me as a former East German citizen to be able to paddle these beautiful waters!

We passed Kap Arkona and paddled a few more kilometers, making land and our camp on higher ground above a long beach of the Wittow peninsula known as the Nordstrand. It was a crisp night with bright stars overhead. Jason cooked us some delicious dinner as I set up our home for the night and put on layer after layer of clothing. I surely felt exhausted from these past three strenuous and long paddle days.

On day 8 we woke up to still air and bright sunshine. The crystal clear waters of the Nordstrand were beckoning us for an extended swim. We obliged and enjoyed the cold water and hot sun before once again packing up our gear and hauling our boats and flotation gear bags to the water line. The sun was relentless as we began to paddle, with no wind to cool us or push us along. We kept splashing our shirts and buffs for some relief from these scorching temperatures. We each paddled in our own little bubble trying to cope with feeling overly hot and exhausted. Every now and then we rafted up and I dispensed a few squares of Ritter sport chocolate that was already very soft and melting in my life jacket. To our left, we passed campground after campground and packed beaches full of people. We kept our distance to this hubbub and longed for just a lick of wind to ease our suffering.

Technical approach to Hiddensee Island

We finally rounded the very western point of the Wittow peninsula and started to turn south-west. Hiddensee with its landmark lighthouse on top of Dornbush hill, standing tall atop the northern cliffs, showed up in the distance. The wind was coming on again, much to our relief, but after having come predominantly from the south-west and west it had changed direction and was now coming from the east. Oddly enough, we’d faced offshore winds for the last 5 days entirely - only during our first 3 days did we experience onshore tailwinds.

We had reached our half-way point for the day and made for a deserted beach south of the small town Dranske. The weeds had piled up high along the beach during the strong winds in the past week and were smelling strongly of decay. This was not a very inviting place!

The water was murky and we did not see the submerged wooden jetties that were lurking 10 cm beneath the surface. Unfortunately, Jason hit one and we rapidly made for land to examine the skin of his kayak. We were extremely relieved when we found that there were scrape marks but no punctures - these TRAK kayaks are made of some stern stuff!

At this point, our moods were at a low. We were exhausted from the heat, and found ourselves at this uninspiring smelly beach with no shelter and still had another 15km to go. On top of that, I was in pain and the wind kept building. Also, if we chose to continue, there would be no chance for getting off the water until we get to our final destination Hiddensee, since we were about to enter the narrow fairway ship channels, which mark the highly restrictive passage between Rügen and Hiddensee through the waters of the national park “Vorpommersche Boddenlandschaft“ - Western Pomerania Lagoon Area National Park.

It was mid-afternoon, and tomorrow was supposed to be a day of rest for us. We really longed to make it to the small village of Vitte on Hiddensee which was far across from this smelly beach, looking so close. A direct crossing would have made this fairly easy, but our route required navigating through a maze of buoys along a zigzag course. It honestly tested my patience trying to explain to Jason how, even as little kayakers, it was imperative that we abide by the regulations on this waterway.

We weighed all options and decided to commit to making Vitte. For a while our progress was helped along by Jason lending me his strength and giving me a much-needed tow until we reached the fairway.

I led us through the 10m wide passage between the buoys, luckily making great progress in part assisted by the wind and waves. There was not much boat traffic, thankfully. One sailboat under Danish flag motored by just a few meters beside us while the blond-haired skipper and his freckled deckhand waved and smiled at us. As we took a turn into the passage towards Vitte and Kloster we saw a motor boat coming at us with tremendous speed. I called out to Jason and we retreated into an area just outside the fairway to get out of the way. But this motor boater did not adjust his course and it seemed that he intended to hit us even though we had already moved out of the fairway. It went all very quick. We stuck together and raised our paddles and waved at him. At the very last moment he veered off, lost speed, turned around and slowly approached us. He sincerely apologized and explained that he did not expect kayakers and, therefore, did not look out to see if there was anything “down there”. Needless to say, this was an extremely close call!

We recovered from the shock and moved on but little did we know that the next hazard would soon present itself in the form of an approaching ferry. As we entered the final stretch of buoys towards Vitte, I heard a horn signal off in the distance and remembered that I saw the ferry enter the harbour when we were still far away. Now the ferry to Stralsund was leaving Vitte and barrelling towards us in the narrow fairway.

We moved to the edge of the fairway, as far away as we could, and were almost parallel with the ferry as it closed to five meters away from us when we saw that it created two meter high waves in its wake, swirling into something that looked like rapids in the water ahead. Over the noise of the diesel engine of the ferry I heard Jason yell to me: “Paddle! Keep paddling! Turn into the waves!” as we saw walls of water coming at us in a fan-shaped pattern. We made it over this set of unexpected dumpers and continued onwards in silence, the marina of Vitte being only a few minutes away.

The sun was setting and I commented to Jason that I was still trembling from the encounter with the ferry; his only remark was “yeah, me too”. We were exhausted but beyond happy to set foot on Hiddensee and hoist our flotation gear bags and trusty kayaks out of the water and onto the lawn of the marina. The harbour master welcomed us and, as we paid our fee, he gifted us two shower tokens. Did we smell like we needed one? Probably, after such a day! After changing into dry clothes and setting up camp we enjoyed some well-earned pizza and beers on the patio of the marina’s pub, overlooking sailboats in the company of their crews.

We reflected on the day we just had and felt an amazing affinity for each other; to have made it so far - both from Stralsund on this adventure, and from the Salish Sea in Canada where our journey together began. It felt fantastic to have made it here and to have a day of on-land fun ahead of us. Our circumnavigation was only one day’s paddle short of being complete, and we were sure that we’d be able to tackle the remaining 34 km back to Stralsund the day after tomorrow.

On the morning of our 9th day we walked across to the western shore of Hiddensee for a beautiful swim on a sandy beach. The change of direction in the wind had brought colder water to the shores - we dipped and swam in the 12°C beautifully clear and cold water before heading to an artisanal bakery to enjoy some of the most delicious Franzbrötchen (Northern-Germany style cinnamon bun) and cappuccini that we’d had in ages.

The island of Hiddensee is car-free and on it there are only four small but picturesque towns, many of the houses sporting the traditional thatched roofs of this region. With a bit of imagination, you can see that Hiddensee has the shape of a seahorse - it is 14km long and in most parts only about 700m wide. In the north the island is the Dornbusch hill and lighthouse, perched above tall cliffs. After our stop by the bakery we set out and hiked all the way up to the lighthouse and felt triumphant standing on its lofty viewing platform, overseeing much of Western Rügen and the entire route we had paddled just the day before, and all of the way down south to the church towers of Stralsund.

Coming down from the Dornbusch we hopped on board a horse buggy and enjoyed a ride back to Vitte, where I pulled Jason into a number of traditional Baltic amber jewelry and goldsmith workshops. Being a Canadian and German-trained goldsmith myself, I’m always curious and enjoy looking at local crafts in my travels. Hiddensee still has a vibrant tradition surrounding amber, as this so-called “gold of the sea” gets swept into shallow waters during westerly winter storms where the floating amber is fished out by people whose families have done so for many generations. We finished our restful and explorative day again at the Vitte marina pub, making our plan for the final leg.

The end of the journey, and the beginning of the next

It was now day 10 and, in the end, our glorious return to Stralsund did not go as planned. I was in rough shape. Despite the previous day of rest on this last morning, I was suffering from severe symptoms of a chronic illness - endometriosis, and I’d been burdened by pain and fatigue since the trip began. For years I had been extremely keen to circumnavigate the coastline of Rügen and, finally, in Jason, I had found a fantastic partner-in-crime. I was not going to be held back by anything and, this far, paddle stroke by paddle stroke, I had worked my way around this amazing beautiful island.

In large part I had enjoyed our expedition tremendously. For one thing, the comradery, friendship, and romantic relationship between Jason and myself had deepened and we were having a lot of fun together during this adventure. Unfortunately, the pain and fatigue had been constant companions for me as well. Despite all of that, we had gotten this far and desperately wanted to finish what we had started. On our 10th morning, though, it seemed to be all coming to a head - the long days of paddling and covering large distances in heat, long crossings, and big waves had taxed my body-mind system too much. The cumulative effects were really starting to show.

We made the right choice to call off the last day, rather than paddle the remaining 34km in 30°C with not a lick of wind through the narrow and busy fairways. I spoke to the ferry staff, filled out some freight documents for bringing irregularly sized luggage on board, and we were taken all the way back to Stralsund. I found it an incredibly hard decision to make, and felt very sad about the fact that we did not finish this trip on our own keels. The fact that we had the flexibility to just fold up our TRAK kayaks and take them onto the ferry was a true blessing in this situation. Things don’t always go as planned, and we would have been in real trouble if we couldn’t pack up and take the safer way back.

My conclusion for this expedition and what I learned from it can be summarized as - Rügen is stunning and diverse in its landscape and absolutely worth exploring. Despite the lack of a large tide in the Baltic Sea, the coastal waters of Rügen have very technical stretches with its many cliffs, points, and lagoons that require covering some large distances, navigating shallow and rocky stretches of water, as well as tricky cross chop and large waves. Every bit of it is a fantastic playground for sea kayakers - of which we saw none, beside ourselves, for the entire duration of the trip.

I also learned to plan our next trip with shorter distances as well as a few more days of rest. It is never easy planning a trip and trying to anticipate all important factors and how one’s body will respond under certain circumstances, but now I have a better perspective that will help. Overall, the planning for food, camping, geographical knowledge, dealing with intense weather, risk management, and working together as a team was excellent. This is far from being our last TRAK expedition together!

Epilogue by Jason

Two weeks after having finished the Rügen-trip we pulled our kayaks and expedition gear from the storage hold of the Flixbus in the middle of the night in Dresden, having finally completed circumnavigating Central Europe by train and bus - one month from when we set off in August. We’d just pushed our kayaks (and ourselves!) as far as possible, on and off the water across 8 countries, hundreds of kilometers paddled, and 3,500 kilometers traveled by land.

During our time on the road, we spent 10 days around Rügen before immediately transferring to the Netherlands to attend the week-long Seekajakwoche with the German Salzwasser Union. A week of camping in one spot in Holland felt like a vacation after the strenuous paddling and camping we faced on the Baltic, which gave Magdalene a much needed break to be able to recuperate physically. We attended and offered workshops at the symposium and, for me, it was a great opportunity to connect with the German seakayak community. We even won an award for arriving at the symposium with the lowest carbon footprint, as we’d used trains and buses exclusively to make our epic journey across the continent.

As the symposium came to an end, we had to immediately make our way to Italy where we would be acting as leaders on the first-ever TRAK Lago di Garda Camp on Italy’s biggest lake. This event brought together paddlers from across Europe and North America to collect their new kayaks and put them to use right away in one of the most beautiful areas of the world, right at the foot of the Dolomite mountains.

By the end of the Garda camp, it felt surreal to be finally returning to Germany. We were physically and mentally drained from the whole experience, but satisfied to have succeeded in what we ambitiously set out to accomplish. Traveling with this level of intensity is not for the faint of heart, even when you aren’t carrying your kayaks and expedition kit along with you at every step. It showed me the value of being able to place trust in your partner, in your plan, and in your gear to not fail you.

I’ve had extensive experience with the TRAK 2.0 over the years, but this trip really cements it in my opinion as the only seaworthy boat for European paddlers that can be brought on trains, planes, automobiles, and deliver the high level performance you’d expect from high-end hardshells.

Interested in testing out the TRAK 2.0 in Germany? Magdalene & Jason are available to host test paddles in Dresden and beyond!