(from September 2016)
Kayaks are such graceful crafts – they glide effortlessly, barely disturbing the water as they cut through. The kayaker paddles in a Zen trance as the sun shines down and the wind gently lifts her hair. It is the perfect merging of human and boat. Ever wonder why they generally only show the kayak already on the water?
On a gorgeous fall day in September, my husband and I went exploring the nearby marshland and “lakes” – three natural ponds in close proximity to each other, with a shoreline teeming with plant life that I’ll collectively refer to as moose-munch. We bushwhacked our way to the first lake, found the kayaks where he had left them after a previous excursion, and explored the lake and the one connected to it. Then we portaged the kayaks from the north lakes to the main lake and frolicked around there. Sounds so simple and lovely, doesn’t it? The paddling was peaceful – serene even. The getting into the kayak, onto the water, off of the water, out of the kayak, dragging the kayak across the ground between lakes, then repeating the in/on/off/out at the other end? Well, I will be forever grateful that those moments weren’t visually recorded for posterity 🙂
The north lakes have serious mud issues. Like you think you might sink down a couple of inches or so – but then you sink into mud up to the tops of your shins. And when you try to pull your leg out, you get into a tug of war with the mud for your shoe. Mud wins. So now you’re barefoot and your arm is in the mud up to your elbow as you try to tug your shoe out. You grab said shoe – which is now slippery as all heck – and pull. Hard. Then harder. And finally when you’re about to pop an ovary the mud releases the shoe and you fall back holding your prize: a gigantic glob of mud and vegetation roughly in the shape of your shoe. Victory! Except that your other foot has now sunk even deeper into the mud and the process starts looping over and over until you are able to find a piece of land that isn’t the consistency of chocolate pudding.
Luckily, the main lake is vegetationally challenged close to the shore (relatively speaking) so getting the kayaks onto/off of the water is much less fraught with mud. Our excursion taught me once again how cool my husband is. He helped me get into the kayak. He did not laugh during the mud/shoe routine (maybe because he, too, was doing it?). He was encouraging as I crawled and twisted myself into the kayak seat. He similarly was encouraging as I exited the kayak with all the grace of a baby elephant being birthed. Nope – baby elephants are much more graceful than me trying to get into/out of a kayak. And he never laughed and only offered positive encouragement. I totally love that man!
The adventure lasted over two hours. Our dog followed us along the shore, fiercely hunting frogs and other critters. She was very happy. And at some point, something along the shore captured her interest because she started digging. And digging. And digging. And then she was head down into the hole with only a fiercely wagging tail to show she was there. She exited with a snout caked with mud, like she had been frosted by an over-zealous Keebler elf.
After the clogged northern lakes – paddling on the main lake was a joy. Just drifted out to the middle and let the sun and wind push us around. On the north and south edges of the lake there were a bunch of broken off reeds. Maybe broken by moose munching on them? Anyway, various heights and widths. And as the kayak drifted over them, the reeds pushing against the bottom of the kayak started making these incredibly eerie sounds. Like Game of Thrones smoke baby/white walker eerie. And then when the breezes played over the surface, it was almost like they were singing and whistling. A cool, albeit creepy, effect. Totally fun in broad daylight. Glad I didn’t hear it at night 🙂