I Hauled The Kayak Up Here, And I’m Gonna Use It, Dammit!
Since I left my kayaking camera (that fits in a waterproof case) back at our lodgings, the only picture I have from my kayak expedition on Howe Sound is this one from shore, taken after I hauled out. The cove here looks deeptively placid, but my paddle out along the shore exposed me to a pretty good breeze, and an inbound current from the flood tide. As someone told me, “There’s a reason people flock here to windsurf.”
Click to enlarge
It was a strenuous, but enjoyable day. Part of the route took me past a golf hole at Furry Creek that jutted out into the water. Guide literature half-jokingly warned me to watch for errant golf balls headed into the water, and I’ve played enough bad golf to know just how voracious is the affinity of golf balls for water. It’s like H20 is one of those unrequited unstable molecules whose mission in nature is to combine sluttishly with these oddly dimpled Titleist particles emanating from some Calloway Big Bang, careening out of the primordial clay of the black tees. Foolish humans try to coax them onto a minuscule patch of hothouse grass, when 3/4 of the earth’s surface beckons them inexorably home. The firecracker snapping of the flag on this hole only increased my anxiety about the possible trajectories launched from positions which were hidden from me. I cut a wide berth around this outcropping of grass and rock.
As I was loading my boat back onto the car, I noticed this sentiment on the grille of a neighboring pickup:
