I've been fighting this summer cold for weeks now, but that's not gonna stop me from kayaking to the island. And neither is a strong south wind and white cap waves insisting on carrying me North. I've been stirring and I need an adventure.
I push off around 3 just thinking I'm going to float on the waves a while, but before I know I'm vigorously paddling against the waves, grinning ear to ear as I bounce from trough to peak, the sun sparkling on the water from above the pine laced peaks to my right. Soon, I've decided to go for the island, that one I've seen my whole life but didn't have the courage to explore until I was 23 years old.
I make it to the island, and, having achieved something I hadn't even set out to achieve, I naturally decide I must circumnavigate the island yet again, for the umpteenth time. A month ago I did it in a canoe, and then on calm waters under the stars with my friends, but now the waves are rough. In fact, some of them break on the bow and go into my seat. I'm glad I switched from jeans to basketball shorts. It's really windy though, so I'm happy I've got a long sleeve button down where I can roll up the sleeves for when the sun gets really hot.
Once I've committed to the extra journey, the waves get their wildest yet. Eventually, instead of flowing against me, they pound my kayak sideways to push me to shore. After 15 minutes of that a few of them really crash down on me and I take on a lot of water. And then I have an epiphany: as hard as this is, and as large as these waves are, it still isn't as tough as the first time I came, when I'd camped and paddled back in a wobbly canoe against unrelenting forces of nature, where one second's rest would undo 5 paddles worth of work. In fact, I realize, on this ten year anniversary of my first solo experience on this lake, that none of my journeys that I was anticipating at the time have been as challenging as that first one. Which I am thankful for, as amazing as they've been.
So I make a rational decision based on my limitations, which I suppose is the mature choice. That and I haven't brought any water because I didn't expect to go this far and work this hard. And that magic green "herbal vitamin" pill my friend gave me and I took two hours before is really taking effect, making Mansfield and Camel's Hump mountains all the more exquisite viewing. I "portage" the kayak on the shore for about ten minutes, which is almost harder than paddling because of the uneven rocks, and I have to be careful not to scuff up the plastic kayak beyond it's limitations as I pull it behind me.
Eventually I put in again, although the waves are still fierce white caps, large rolling crests that want to slam me back into the rocks from which I came. After some rigorous maneuvering I manage not to get spun around by the waves and start riding them back home. I wave to some beer drinkers on the shore who came by motorboat, and try my best not to capsize in the process. Sometimes it's even harder to ride the waves back than it is to fight them. Then again, once you figure out some tricks, it becomes not only pleasurable, but a huge rush, a surge of love in your soul making you, for the moment, spiritually whole. In a day I'll be back in the city, but for now, life is adventures of awe.
Once I make it around that little peninsula where I first camped and the Cambridge crew almost got into a fight with a large party of local wrestlers and hockey players, it appears to be easy street. And it pretty much is. I feel like after all that hard work I deserve to let the waves take me where they will, which is a very beautiful and comfortable place, with plenty of food, a comfy couch, and some nice books. I think I'll write some more of them.
My neighbor comments upon my return that "we were worried about ya! We couldn't believe you were going to the island in those waves with that little kayak!"
I laugh and say it was definitely quite the adventure. I await those of the future
