Tuesday morning things looked fine for a spin around the island. On our little bay here, not a ripple. Sun was just coming up. A fair bit of beach was under my boat, so I was pretty sure it would be the slightly longer route today, avoiding the portage altogether.
These last few days, mornings like this have helped enormously in my hope to surpass last year's times around the island. That was 28. After a slow start this season, I have managed to at least match it, Twenty eight times around for 5 km each means I've paddled 140 km this year so far.
I go in the mornings before the wind picks up. But in these first weeks of September, another factor weighs in; the water level. It's extremely low right now, lower even than the comparatively low it's been all season. This means my regular route, which has already required a very short, easy portage over a small sand bank, may or may not be available to me. The rest of the shallow part, past the sand bank, is just too long and marshy with mud and large sticks at the bottom; okay to float over, but not so nice to wade through. Besides, the water is cold by now. And the air too. It's only been 9 degrees when I start out!
A note here. While I'll never be known as a fashionista, something I'm just fine with by the way, my fall kayak get up would push me closer to a different kind of style distinction. Might be called 'cottage grunge,' or 'boating dork.' There's my Tilley hat, then the life jacket. And now in the cooler weather, long pants and snug warm socks. But the best part is my bright blue swimming shoes from the dollar store. Kayaking, and portaging actually, is best done barefoot. But not right now. Not in that early morning chill.
Back to Tuesday morning. Off I go, and things are all bliss and serenity...until I nose out past The Shadow and head into the small bay that will open up to the bigger water. I'm surprised. There really was no indication of this in the more protected channels, as there usually is.
The waves are already splashing over the covered bow, and I'm really having to pull hard for each stroke. I'm able to hug the shoreline for a bit to block the swell, but coming out around the point, let's just say, it's a thing.
It's not like I'm anxious about it. By now I know what my kayak can handle, and we're nowhere close to being swamped. But the grunt work of this particular time out is going to require more than I care to put out this morning. I make the decision to go for the portage.
Remember, I'm wearing long pants and socks. Remember the bit about the dollar store swimming shoes. I come in to the sand bank and stabilize the boat. Time to hike up the pants, and remove socks and shoes. Feels a little awkward to do this in the kayak, but later it will seem like the easier part of this.
The water IS cold! And the levels are low enough that I have to push the kayak much further into the muck than I'd prefer. But there it is, that moment when there's enough buoyancy, and back I climb in and settle myself into the seat and paddle-push myself over the rest of it.
I leave my socks and shoes off until I'm really clear, because I half expect to the need to get out again over some of the shallower parts, but no. I manage instead with a semi-gondola effect, and now I'm clear! Floating for real.
And my feet are cold! So the thing to do is to put my socks and shoes back on, right?
Do you have any idea how hard it is to put snug warm socks on wet feet, while in a kayak, wearing a life jacket? And that was the easy part. These swimming shoes, honestly! The opening is small and stretchy. Of course they are. They're meant to stay on while you're in the water. But it is almost impossible to point enough of your toes into that small, stretch opening, and bed over enough when - have I mentioned this - you're in a kayak, wearing a life jacket.
I struggled for many minutes doing this. Drifted up against the shore and almost got myself grounded again doing this. I grunted and huffed and complained while doing this. Nothing graceful about it at all. Nothing of the kayak's reputation for bliss and serenity was present in these ridiculous moments.
I thought about that philosophical question, "If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it still make a sound?" Only I wondered, "If you struggle with wet socks and swimming shoes in a kayak, and there's no one there to see you, are you still a dork?"
[The ironic answer to this question is likely, "Not unless you write about it." But never mind.]
When it was all done, I took a deep breath, readjusted myself on the kayak seat, and picked up my paddle to continue, as if nothing at all happened. Off-we-go-isn't-this-lovely-beautiful-morning, and all that.
It is my hope, temperatures and wind and water levels notwithstanding, to achieve at least two more times around, making for a nice neat number of 30.
We'll see.
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