So one warm day Bobsie made good on her promise to take me kayaking on Rollins Lake. Properly attired in wettable clothing I climb in the cab of her vintage green pickup and off we go.
Upon arrival Bobsie decides it would be just as well to carry the kayaks down to the lake ourselves as to drive over to the ramp. I say fine and hop out of the truck. We undo the kayaks from the back. Bungee cords? They were held in place with bungee cords? I have a momentary flashback to an unfortunate event on a family trip when our suitcases were attached to the top of our blue Aerostar with bungee cords as we were cruising down a highway...but I figure she has been using this method for years without incident and get over it.
We haul the kayaks to lake's edge and I stand guard as Bobsie goes to park the truck. When she returns she gives me basic instructions on how to do this. We wade out in the pleasantly cool water, wearing our water shoes. As I am putting on my lifejacket I ask her how to turn the kayak right-side-up, in case I flip it over in the middle of the lake or something.
"Actually, I've never been able to turn it over," she says. "I just tow it to shore."
"Oh, okay," I say.
She looks at me. "You do know how to swim, don't you?
"Well yeah, sure, I can swim. I mean, I'm not going to drown or anything. That's what the life jackets are for, right?"
She looks at me kinda funny like. But I must have passed the test because we get in and begin paddling out in the water.
For the first bit we hang out in the no wake zone so I don't have to deal with bumps quite yet. I find that I like kayaking. I mean, I really, really like it. This is a wonderful thing since I don't consider myself much of a water person. Being prone to motion sickness takes the fun out of pretty much anything that floats on water. And getting vertigo when my inner ears get cold from swimming just kills most underwater events outright.
But here I am, out on Rollins Lake paddling my kayak and feeling good at the same time. It seems like a miracle. I follow Bobsie and try to imitate her strokes. She's not one for giving detailed instructions when learning something new. One fourth of July when we were waiting for fireworks on the porch of a good friend the topic turned to dancing. I confided that neither Ron nor I had actually learned to dance, having grown up in a conservative Dutch culture that considered it verboten. There in the summer twilight on Jeannie's front porch Bobsie stands up and tries to show me how to dance. There was much laughter, and finally she says it doesn't really matter, you just move your feet around while the man pretty much stands still.
So I learn by watching and am having a wonderful time gliding through the cool blue water on this warm summer day. We head back to the shore and enjoy our picnic lunch. I think this has been a great day when she says we're going back out for some more kayaking.
This time we go beyond the no wake zone, hugging the edge where the tall trees meet the lake at the bottom of a steep slope.
"Oh! Look!" I cry, pointing at a group of deer bending forward over their slender legs to drink the cool lake water. I see shallows with downed branches and gain skill in avoiding them. There are more skiers on the lake now and I practice turning the kayak into the wake so I don't end up wallowing in wave after wave. I love this.
My shoulders get tired, but I am loathe to admit it. If Bobsie can do this, surely I can. When we decide to head back to shore, we pull the kayaks up out of the water.
"They're heavy," I pant.
"They're thirty-five pounds," Bobsie says.
"No, that can't be right," I mutter under my breath. I wonder how many pounds of water I let slop into mine. Bobsie's is almost water free.
"I think next time we'll go ahead and use the ramp," she says as we lug them uphill to the truck.
I smile at the words next time.
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