Still Waters and Still Learning

 

A rainy morning keeps me from heading out on paddle number 30.  Oh so close to surpassing my all time high of 33!  I did not get there last year.  But I’m holding out hope that over the next few days while I’m here, the wind and water will cooperate and I’ll get to that elusive 34 (or maybe better, who knows).

Meanwhile, here are some of my favourite kayak shots.

And a story.

This will explain why I’ve adopted a perhaps more cautious approach to getting myself out there, and why I only put this out as a ‘friendly competition’ with myself about how many times I get around the island. 

It is nearing the end of the season last year.  That means I am experiencing the same kind of tension, even a little bit of self-inflicted pressure, to make it past 33.  My hands-down preferred condition for a paddle is when the water is like glass, not a whisper of a breeze, mist hanging in perfectly still suspension, looking for all the world like floating cotton candy, pink in the subtle slant of sunrise.

This particular morning is not like that.  It is breezy.  Even in our protected channel the water is rippled.  Not stormy, or there wouldn’t be a story because I’d have stayed home in that.  Of course.  Like sensible people do.  But…yes…there is a stiff breeze.

I decide to head out and then make a decision about how far I’ll go once I get to the end of The Shadow.  For those not familiar with Cognashene or the Freddy Channel specifically, The Shadow is a particularly narrow and also very shallow part of a side channel that leads out into a wider part of the bay that then leads out into the open water. 

It’s in coming out of the shelter of The Shadow that I often encounter waters just a bit rougher.  Not always.  Early in the morning it’s not unknown to have even the wide space of water at that tip of Portage Island be calm.  I always take a picture because I just love it when that happens. 

But usually, yes, at the end of The Shadow, I can tell.  Should I turn back because it’s just too rough?  Or can I press on through?

I’m a confident enough kayaker that I can handle some waves without freaking out.  Not white-water rafting or anything like that.  But something that makes me work for it?  Well, that’s not entirely a bad thing.  In fact, it can be exhilarating.  Puts air in your lungs.  Gets the blood pumping.

So on this particular morning, it’s more like that.  And since I have a point to prove and a number to achieve, I start out. 

You know when you get to the point in any endeavor where you realize you’re probably out of your depth but you’re committed and there’s nothing for it but to keep on?  Took a bigger bite than you can really handle, but you just have to chew anyways?  Picked up too many grocery bags at once, but you have to get up the stairs with them anyways?  Yeah.  It’s like that.

I really have to pump the paddle!  And I’m convinced that the wind comes up even more as I head around the point that marks half way.  It’s the roughest bit.  And now I am actually getting a little nervous, because the waves are strong enough that I have to really work it to keep from being banged up against the rocks.

Into this increasingly anxious scenario comes the sound of a large boat behind and beside me.  It seems to be rounding the point too.  I guess this from the sound only, since I don’t dare look up and try to stretch around to see for sure, lest I catch a wave broadside and be capsized. 

Two thoughts happen simultaneously when I realize there are people on the boat watching me struggle in the waves.  One is that I must look quite the fool.  A 65-year-old woman thinking she could tackle this wind?  How embarrassing!

The other is relief.  Well, at least if I do capsize, there’ll be someone to fish me out.

It gets worse.

The people in the boat recognize me.  It’s Ruth Anne!  Yes, Pastor Ruth Anne who leads us in our opening service at our Church up here on the rocks every year.  The one who often uses illustrations from kayaking to talk about serenity and wisdom.  Yes, I do believe that’s her out here in this bluster.  How odd.

All of this they say in my head.  But what they do say out loud is, “Are you okay?”

By now I’ve rounded the worst of it and am heading into another sheltered inlet.  Knowing the contours of Portage Island as I do, I know that the rest of the trip is going to be very doable, no question.  I try not to sound as winded as I am when I shout, “I’ll be fine from here on in.  But thanks!”

I only made 33 last year.  That’s why.

And this morning it’s raining and a tad breezy so I’m staying put.  For now.

Will I get out this afternoon?  Will I reach 34 this summer?  Will unsuspecting cottagers have to rescue me from my own folly?  Stay tuned for another exciting episode of “Ruth Anne’s Krazy Kayak Adventures.” 

But really, I’ll just keep you posted once I make 34.

And I hope whatever comes your way this Wednesday, you’ll be granted the serenity to accept the waters as they are, the courage to head out when you can, and the wisdom to know the difference.