Throughout my childhood and adolescence, my father owned the same lawnmower, a wind-to-start, push-it-yourself model. From very early on I came to perceive it as an adversary, a malevolent, cantankerous contraption never to be trusted. At first I didn’t like it because it assaulted my ears. Then I was told that the hidden rotating blades could slice off fingers and toes in a jiffy. Later I learned of the vile poisonous liquid it consumed, a substance dangerous enough to violently explode if not handled carefully. When I became old enough to cut grass myself, the impression of the mower remained negative. It refused to start without multiple attempts and it picked up rocks to hurl at windows. By this time the fuel gauge had broken and I had to peek into the tank periodically, which invariably left gasoline residue on my hands that wouldn’t wash off.

I projected this wariness of the family lawn mower onto internal combustion engines in general. Whether in cars, chain saws, motorcycles or generators, they were necessary and useful tools, but always had to be viewed with suspicion. Like wild animals, you never knew when they might turn on you. I used the mower for several more years, but with its vile corroded exhaust port, bits of disheveled dead grass stuck to its chipped sheet metal cheeks, and brace of rusty metal teeth devilishly grinning across the front edge, I always viewed it as an enemy.

Then I rode in an old VW bug owned by a family acquaintance named Mr. Johnson. The vehicle was long overdue for the junk pile, yet he had nursed it into operability with coat hangers and duct tape. This introduced me to a different way of looking at engines. Towards the top of a long hill as the car lost momentum, Mr. Johnson patted the dashboard and coaxed his engine along saying, “Come on baby you can do it.” It surprised me that anyone could regard a car this way, like it was a friend.

I realized that there was really nothing to make this VW any less dangerous, dirty or cantankerous than anything else on the road, or a little one-cylinder lawn mower for that matter. The difference lay in attitude. Mr. Johnson knew his car inside and out. He acknowledged that there were components, byproducts, and hazardous misuses of his vehicle that could seriously harm him, but he stayed clear of them. In so doing he had come to depend on and trust his car enough to regard it as a friend.

So it is with a kayaker and water. The first time I went paddling it was almost instinctive to perceive the water as an evil monster intent on swallowing me up. This notion became reinforced after learning aggressive bracing strokes and surf zone tactics. Big waves, dangerous currents, bone chilling temperatures, and an environment conducive to drowning that’s always only inches away, add up to a formidable adversary that must be subdued forcefully.

Yet when I discovered Greenland rolling techniques I found a whole new way of thinking about the kayak environment: the water is your friend. Don’t fight it, dance with it. This philosophy befits a people that depended on the ocean for their survival while at the same time exposing themselves to the harsh Arctic sea using nothing more than driftwood and animal skin watercraft propelled by hand. Rather than try to confront and conquer the water, they made peace with and embraced it.

The traditional Inuit technique known as the balance brace demonstrates this perfectly (the Greenlandic term is nalaasaarneq meaning “to lie down”). A seal hunter would lay right down into the water holding the paddle in one extended arm and float face-up without moving. According to one elderly Greenland hunter, this was a means for taking a nap in the absence of a nearby place to land. I find this a bit hard to imagine, especially in water as cold as Greenland’s. Clearly a balance brace used for this purpose would require complete understanding and trust. One wouldn’t doze off to sleep in the arms of anything but a genuine friend.

Having enjoyed learning dozens of traditional rolling maneuvers, I’ve discarded the adversarial frame of mind that perceives the water as an evil monster. Now I focus on the opposite orientation whenever I go out paddling: the water is your friend. If you love your friend, respect your friend, understand your friend, and protect your friend, your friend the water will never harm you.

Have I made peace with internal combustion engines? Well, I haven’t had occasion to use a lawn mower for a long time. But don’t get me started on jet skis.

Dubside is an instructor and international competitor in Greenland-style rolling and rope gymnastics. His feature DVDs include Greenland Rolling with Dubside and Qajaasaarneq – Greenland Rope Gymnastics. For more information visit www.dubside.net