Kayak-maker's management style has gone off course

This op-ed appears in the August 12, 2005 edition of the Business Journal of the Triad. Since hearing confirmation that the company would close its Triad plant I've been thinking about how the company's evolution mirrors larger changes in the business world, and in their own industry.

The lights at the Confluence Watersports factory in Trinity will soon go dark and production of the company's canoes and kayaks will move to South Carolina. I feel some sadness about this, both for the displaced workers and because I have my own minor investment in the history of the company.

I moved to North Carolina to work for Confluence. At the time it was known as Wilderness Systems, and it operated in High Point with about 40 employees. The company focused on specific niches in the paddlesports industry; it was known as an innovator and had carved out a good reputation among members of the kayaking subculture.

This was around 1996, right at the start of the kayaking boom. Granted, the industry was small and the boom escaped the broad notice, but for those of us who had been in since its organized beginning -- my own experience goes back to a job selling kayaks in 1978, the industry's "early days" -- the sudden growth seemed explosive.

Many of us were there because kayaking was what we loved to do; the sudden influx helped our countercultural hobby veer toward the mainstream.

Whatever long-time enthusiasts thought of new people taking up the sport, it was good for business. Sales grew. The entire industry consolidated. Wilderness Systems was well positioned to take advantage and attracted investment, acquired other brands and grew at a solid clip.

I left in 1999, in time to miss a series of CEOs come and go, a tough stretch of layoffs and wage cuts, a strong sales recovery, additional investment, another acquisition that gave the company the lion's share of the recreational kayak market, and the shuttering of the Trinity factory.

While the factory is closing, the company went dark long ago -- metaphorically speaking. When news coming out of the company became grim, company representatives stopped talking to the media. Even as the news became more cheerful, they stayed silent.

And until Confluence recently broke its press embargo to announce the acquisition of new brands, speculation about its future replaced fact. But a recent statement suggesting that the Trinity plant would remain open for some time, followed quickly by the announcement of an "extensive review" resulting in the closure of the factory, suggests that in this case, speculation might have been every bit as useful as fact.

It also suggests that whoever is calling the shots is modeling the company's marketing on practices that worked very well -- in the 1950s.

Flash back to the industry consolidation of the late '90s: One paddlesports entrepreneur captured enthusiasts' feelings that the sport was growing away from its grassroots by printing a bumper sticker that declared "Corporate Kayaking Sucks."

His point struck a chord. Paddlers and industry members who had been around while the industry was in its infancy watched as outside investment fueled consolidation. They worried about how this would change the face of the business.

Relationships drove much of the business in the early days, and it was those relationships that were critical to a business where everybody -- manufacturers, retailers and paddlers -- seemed to know everybody.

No one expects to walk onto a car lot and meet the CEO of General Motors; there's a separation between manufacturer and consumer that's accepted. But the social dynamic within the paddling business was always different.

The same guy who was designing your boat on Monday, or running the company that was building it, was out paddling with you on Saturday. That common point of reference -- a shared enthusiasm for a sport -- created strong customer loyalty.

Companies today go to great lengths to start and nurture those relationships. They use viral marketing, blogs and other online tactics to open up lines of communication between company insiders and consumers who have long been relegated to outsider status.

One of the paddling industry's great advantages was always the blurring of the line between insiders and outsiders. This wasn't created by advertising or other traditional marketing methods; it was the product of personal connections. And the payoff was emotional investment in the brands, both by consumers and employees.

You won't find that investment -- the emotional kind -- on any balance sheet. But in industries that depend on the investment of personal passions, it's essential.

Companies like Confluence need people who are personally invested in creating great products; they need customers who invest in brand loyalty; and, they need to connect the two to create a symbiotic relationship that equates to brand credibility and sales.

But in a business fueled by passions and relationships, you don't get there by keeping quiet or communicating through press releases. The people who care about the business -- employees and customers alike -- are sophisticated enough to realize that relationships aren't merely financial transactions.

Ever since Confluence went dark, it hasn't shown much of an inclination to enter into those relationships. But it won't take much to change that: All its leaders need is the willingness to engage in a dialogue with their customers and not hold them at arm's length. The tactical part is easy.

I hope they do it. After all, I have my own small investment in the company, and even after all these years, I'd still like to see it pay off.