I, Kayak

A kayak is a small human-powered boat. It typically has a covered deck, and a cockpit covered by a spraydeck. It is propelled by a double-bladed paddle by a sitting paddler. The kayak was used by the native Ainu, Aleut and Eskimo hunters in sub-arctic regions of northeastern Asia, North America and Greenland. Source : Wikipedia (Notice the glaring omission of the Hebrews, here. No kayaks in the desert I guess)



I went to Coventry, Connecticut for a visit with my friend Dove. That's his last name, his first name is David, which in Hebrew is Dov. Hence the confusion. See, I thought Dov was Jewish. When Dove asked me to go kayaking I figured here was a nice Jewish man who kayaks, maybe this was something nice Jewish people do. In Connecticut. I have never kayaked. I rowboat, slowly, with other people, in Central Park. The water there is just enough of a solid that if you do happen to fall in- you won't sink far.

As we arrived at Eagleville Lake I found out two very important pieces of information. A. Dove is a Unitarian and B. Eagleville Lake is a true liquid- a deep and fairly COLD liquid, all the way to the bottom- where I began imagining squishy slimy unidentifiable ...things, and maybe snakes. Sometimes an active imagination can be a hindrance- like NOW. So I went back to thinking about Dove. I know just slightly less about Unitarians than I do about kayaks. Since I did not know their basic beliefs regarding the afterlife, heaven, hell and repentance for sins before death by drowning, well, lets say I was a wee bit nervous.

Then I saw the sign at the edge of the lake. My first impression was that it was some sort of warning that you should not let the boat hit you in the head. Good to know.



There seems to be no actual dress code for kayaking... other than not nude (it was cold). It seemed like shorts and something warm was the ticket. Dove asked me if I had water shoes- I said only when it rains- no really. Water shoes? I had no clue. The oh-so-thoughtful Dove had brought along a pair of what looked to me like... black men's heavy nylon socks. Wearing them
I looked like a guy from a cheesy vintage porn movie- all pale legs and these black feet. Not my best look. They did, however, keep my feet warm and dry and I figured inside the kayak, who'd see? And when the paramedics pulled my drowned corpse from the lake they would probably slip off. I hoped. Again- imagination- a curse not a blessing. I reminded myself I was an outdoors woman, strong, self assured, clothing was secondary- the focus was survival. I could do this..maybe.

Hillary and Mark had lent us their kayaks. Marc's boat was a 13' fiberglass model and watching Dove wrestling it out of the flatbed of the truck it seemed to me the boat did not want to go. Maybe that was transference. Hillary's boat was a 9.5' plastic boat- kind of a Fisher Price kayak. Hillary is a lovely and diminutive dancer who cannot weigh 100 lbs. soaking wet- she had reassured me the kayak was really light and easy to handle. I didn't think she'd lie to me. I was wrong. I kept peeking inside the boat to see if it had an anchor. Fortunately at the moment I was about to stick my head into the boat's cavity Dove asked if I needed help. Hell yes. Directions back to NYC, pronto.

I walked down the concrete sort of ramp to the kayaks. Dove stood next to them watching me with a puzzled expression on his face. "I can only imagine what that look is." he said, smiling. The THOUGHT at that moment- after seeing a few cigarette butts on the ground- was that would be my last wish- one last cigarette before I went. Even condemned criminals got that much consideration. Then I remembered I don't smoke. As starting that habit might delay the kayaking- I considered it.

Dove helped me into the kayak- and handed me my oar. Dove had told me about drip rings and adjustable feathers and stuff- I missed most of it due to the roaring sound in my ears. Then he attached the oar to my wrist- saying something here about up the creek without a paddle- uh-oh. No- this would prevent me from losing my paddle he explained- I figured out if I fell in and had to be dragged out- I could use the paddle to hit Dove repeatedly and avoid hurting my hands while I did so. I didn't tell him. He would have taken it the wrong way.

And then we were floating. Odd sort of feeling to be sitting and floating on my tush. I paddled a bit and after a couple of strokes Dove kindly mentioned if it wasn't my goal to go in circles, I might try using both ends of the oar.



We were paddling for a little island in the middle of the lake. I was left and righting with the oars. The boat was gliding forward and the water going back and if I stayed in the middle the boat didn't tilt. OK. I was handling this. I watched the point of the boat and tried not to make it wriggle back and forth, sort of succeeding. Dove kept up a reassuring patter- I cannot tell you what he said. Hopefully he was not revealing the secrets of life- or explaining Unitarianism because I wasn't listening. I was feeling- the sun on my shoulders, the wind in my hair and like I was moving myself and in control of where I went and when. As I paddled under a huge pine tree I could hear the wind sighing through the branches and how peaceful it was there on the lake. I pulled my camera from my pocket and laid the oar across the boat to take a picture of some dead branches on a tree on the island- which I then crashed into. Dove claims he was looking for red winged blackbirds at the time and missed it. Chivalry is not dead.

For a bit I just stopped paddling and sat, the boat rocking- with my face in the sun. I looked across at a marsh and watched an egret looking for lunch in the reeds just off shore. I began to understand a little why people wear funny black socks and don little plastic boats and risk appearing foolish both entering and leaving the kayak (there is not a graceful way to either mount or dismount the kayak that I could see). Dove bravely just kind of rolled himself into the water so he could help me. I noticed, Dove. It was icky AND cold. I barely missed soaking my own butt in the water, mostly thanks to Dove yanking me out of the kayak much the way I imagine deep sea fishermen land a Marlin.

Here is where I admit it was fun. It was beautiful. And as I write this I just remembered something.

When I graduated from the 6th grade my dad struggled over signing my yearbook. Dad left school at the 2nd grade during the Depression and never read or wrote well. It was important to him that he write this himself and so he spent a long time alone in the kitchen with my book- so long that I had to go to bed and didn't see the book or what he'd written until the next day. My dad died of a heart attack later that year. Funny that those words came back to me tonight. In his shaky penmanship that night he'd written; "Always be good, Always be strong, and paddle your own canoe."

Hey dad. I did it.



:) X