I keep a trip log in which I record minutiae such as the date, where I paddled, who I paddle with, distances, surf, wind and any miscellaneous details that I would like to remember. When I looked at this year's statistics two things jumped out at me, my number of rolls was less than last year, and I was only 5 miles short of the goal that I had hoped to achieve.
I was able to rationalize the difference in the number of rolls because last year I spent all my time rolling on my right side. This year I spent a lot of my time training my left side to do its share. But the 5 miles was something that wasn't so easy to dismiss. And with all the storms in the forecast this week, it looked like today was going to be my last chance to meet my goal.
As I loaded my boat onto my truck, two trains of thought collided in my one-track mind. You're foolish to count miles; it's really not how far you paddle so much as how much you enjoy paddling that matters. Well that's true, I told myself, but would you rather be cleaning the garage or paddling your kayak? What's the matter, afraid of a little cold weather?
I decided that if counting miles was what it took to motivate me to get my boat onto the water, the end justified the means. After all, don't weight watchers benefit by looking at a scale every now and then? Speaking of scales, dare I check my weight after all the Christmas cookies, candy, cake and stuffing that I've been enjoying? Getting out for some exercise was definitely in my best interest. I enjoy arguing with myself; more often than not I let myself win.
So off I went, my pickup rumbling down the road on my way to Lake Casitas.
Paddling a lake? What kind of adventure can you have on a lake? There's no surf, no swell, no dolphins, no whales, no challenge. Lakes are flat. Not only that, but this is a drinking water lake that doesn't allow body contact, you can't practice rolling unless you want to break the rules.
Ok, so maybe the macho adrenalin factor is kind of low, but this lake has something that the ocean doesn't. Because there are no water skiers or jet skis allowed, Lake Casitas has a nice variety of bird life to offer. My ambition was to see some blue herons and hopefully an osprey or two. And then there is this particular hillside view where three trees arch over a blanket of colored leaves as if an artist had arranged everything. Two years ago I discovered this view while paddling in the rain. The bark on the trees seemed to turn white and was highlighted over a background of green, amber and red leaves. I paddled back three times in the rain trying to capture that picture on film, but I was never able to get the camera to see the colors the way that I could see it. But at least I still had the memories. And maybe today I would get to see it again.
When I got to the lake I was pleased to see that conditions were calm. Not only was the wind not blowing, but there were not any fishing boats in sight!
The lake would be quiet, and it was mine, all mine!
As I unloaded my boat at the launch ramp, three old fishermen greeted me with the usual banter. "Aren't you afraid of tipping over in that skinny, little boat? You'd never get me in one of those things, too much work. You ever take that thing out in the ocean? Why you wearing a life vest? You need all this stuff to paddle on a lake; what's thing? You telling me you got this boat and all this crap and you don't fish; are you crazy?" I like fishermen, most of them are ok if you don't mind the smell. They seem to share my appreciation of a little serenity. And trying to think like a fish gives them a pretty good sense of sarcasm.
Sounds on a lake are different that on the ocean. As my boat glided across the water I noticed that the sound of my paddle dipping into the water seemed louder. In calm water you can hear sounds that are lost in the turbulence of the ocean. Or maybe it was because I was paddling solo and could hear things because I was not talking. Going solo allows a person to hear and see more; the world seems to come alive with richer textures.
Fifteen minutes into my paddle, on the other side of the arm of the lake from where I had left the fishermen, I found my first wonders. Five white pelicans stood on the shore along with a dozen coots. At the sight of me, the coots tried to make a run for it. But being too fat, they couldn't quite get airborne, so they ran across the top of the water flapping their wings in a panicky sort of way. Thirty or forty yards later, when they were out of gas, they decided they were safe and settled onto the water to resume bickering with each other. Meanwhile the pelicans just stood on the beach and seemed to smile at the crazy coots. Pelicans are cool, especially white pelicans. This was the first time that I had seen white pelicans on this lake. Although I would have loved to have seen them fly, I stayed far enough away so that I didn't disturb them. I wanted them to feel comfortable here.
Next I found the hillside with the three tree arches and colors just like I remembered it. The lake was working it's magic on me. Though there was supposed to be a storm on the way tonight, I couldn't believe how calm the water was this afternoon. Around the next bend I heard a bird chirping, looked up and saw an osprey 30 feet above me. Ospreys are the most amazing raptors that I've ever had the pleasure to watch. They can soar on the faintest of breezes, tuck their wings, spiral dive to the water, plunge below the surface to grab a fish, wrestle the fish to the surface, and then race like a jet fighter over the water with their flapping prey clamped in their talons. They are white with black racing stripes and a black mask around the most vivid golden eyes that I have ever seen. Yet for all of this, they have this funny little chirping call like a chick fresh out of the egg. How did such powerful, spectacular birds get stuck with such a little bird call?
The osprey landed on a branch not far from me, which made me regret that I had not brought my binoculars. The bird sat there while I approached its tree. I got a thrill when the beautiful bird looked down at me, and for a long moment made eye contact. The gold in its eyes seemed to sparkle. Then it looked up as if saying "Gotta go, see you later." It wasn't until the bird had disappeared around the bend that I got my breath back.
I decided to continue paddling the circumference of the lake. In a cove around the next bend I startled a great blue heron. The bird blended in with the shore so well that I didn't even notice it until it took off with a honking squawk. When you crowd a heron it lets you know in no uncertain terms that you have been rude. The heron flew to the end of the cove and resumed its frozen hunting pose.
Having insulted the bird once, I decided to turn back and let the heron have some solitude. So I paddled across the cove and headed back toward the main body of the lake. A fallen tree lay on the bank and a silhouette in the branches caught my eye. The shape looked like the torso of a big man with broad shoulders and a small head. As I approached I thought it was possibly the largest turkey vulture that I had ever seen. But its color was a dark brown rather than the black of a vulture. I was about 30 feet away from it when it turned its head and looked at me. It was the largest golden eagle that I have ever seen! I quit paddling, and for what seemed like a minute the big bird and I stared at each other.
I think I enjoyed looking at him more than he enjoyed looking at me. When the bird turned away I could hear the whoosh of its wings as it lifted off. The eagle's wing span was as long as my paddle, which is about a foot longer than I can reach! I didn't realize that golden eagles could get to be that big.
From then on, every plant and shadow that I saw seemed like it could turn into a bird or an animal. After about six false alarms, I was actually surprised with something that looked like a pair of deer grazing actually turned out to be a pair of grazing deer. As I sat there laughing about the irony of being right for a change, a white pelican came flying over me from behind. The pelican flew by about 10 feet above the water which afforded me a great view of the black feathers on the tips of its wings. What a majestic bird! So today I met my distance goal. And for what it brought me, I'm thinking that I will set my goal higher next year. Here's hoping that your paddles bring you great satisfaction in the new year.
Patrick Martin
Moorpark, CA
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