Re: [Paddlewise] An Urban Adventure, or....

Thanks for sharing your beautiful journey with us.  I enjoyed being there
with you as I read it.

On Wed, 29 Sep 1999 11:17:07 -0700 "Karen Hancock" <magpi_at_transport.com>
writes:
> Paddling Through the Opera
> A trip report, 9/28/99
> 
> I can't resist looking. From the windows I see my new kayak gleaming 
> in the
> sun. Ready to go, set in the saddles on top the car. Sunny out, yet 
> cool;
> perfect weather for paddling.
> 
> I'm out the door, heading for the river.
> 
> I leave my kayak in the water at the Cook Park launch while I park 
> my car. A
> young girl proudly tends it till I return. I thank her for her help 
> and give
> her a big smile. Her eyes sparkle. I hope I've planted a seed that 
> bears the
> fruit of her own Adventures.
> 
> The Tualatin isn't much of a river now. I call it placid. I'm told 
> sometimes
> it rages - once the rain starts. But today the water's surface is 
> like
> glass, glossy as the shiny yellow deck of the Merlin. I dip the 
> paddle in
> and glide upstream. Merlin's bow slices the water, leaves and dust 
> part.
> Every movement is effortless.
> 
> I'm heading into the sun. Its glare off the water blinds me. Damn!
> Sunglasses are in the car. I squint and paddle in the shade. A 
> kingfisher
> ahead! Before I can raise the binoculars it flies off chattering it's
> warning call.
> 
>  I'm enjoying the movement of the boat, the soft thunk of the paddle 
> blade
> dipping into water. In the distance I hear music, a voice. I glide 
> closer.
> The voice grows louder, its passion rising. Soon the voice  engulfs 
> me. Sun
> warms my bare arms but blinds me with its glare. I'm drowning in the 
> music.
> I recognize the voice. There is no mistaking that rich tenor. I wish 
> I knew
> my operas better, but who cares? Who cares! With that voice 
> Pavarotti could
> be singing from a Chinese menu and I would still be moved to 
> tears....
> 
> Up the bank in the trees I see a deck and someone waving from a 
> lounge
> chair. I wave back. Wonderful music! Thank you. I slow my strokes to 
> make
> the moment last as long as possible. I'm approaching snags. A Great 
> Blue
> Heron perches on one in the sunlight, preening. It has found the 
> best seat
> at this opera. I dip my paddle silently into the water and quietly 
> glide to
> the opposite side of the river.
> 
> The opera fades. I watch the water wrinkle at Merlin's bow then turn 
> to
> ripples as I pass. Under a bridge, cars roar overhead. I'm down here 
> and no
> one sees me. I'm invisible. But now I can see in the structure's 
> shade.
> 
> I paddle past the spot last trip I saw a green backed heron. Not 
> this time
> though. Not today. Someone on the bank ahead wears a white tee 
> shirt. Three
> boys are fishing. No poles, just hooks on line. They think maybe 
> they're
> fishing for trout. I caught trout that way in the Sierras many years 
> ago.
> You have to be patient. No, I can't give rides in this kayak, it 
> holds only
> one.
> 
> Around the bend, a soft high pitch call captures my attention. It's
> familiar, but I can't place it. I see only leaves above. Wait! 
> There's an
> odd bump at the top of a tree. Where are the binoculars? A waxwing! 
> Pale
> yellow belly makes it a Cedar Waxwing. No wonder its call was 
> familiar, yet
> not. only Bohemians are found in my old home territory, so I have a 
> new bird
> to claim today.
> 
> I've been an hour on the water. If I turn back now I can rinse 
> Merlin, feed
> the animals, pick up the kayak cart at the store and still have time 
> to walk
> Sam before dark. Back I go, past the fishing kids. No luck yet? 
> Don't give
> up. Fish are starting to jump now.
> 
> Under the bridge, powerful strokes to move me fast, away from the 
> roaring
> cars, back to the opera. There is the voice. I slow again. No heron 
> on the
> snag. I scan the banks. There! Standing in the water, hard to see in 
> the
> shade of the overhanging trees. Up go the binoculars. I'm looking 
> into its
> eyes. It's looking at me. Last trip a curious heron circled twice 
> above me,
> just beyond my reach. Maybe this one?
> 
> Paddle on, through the opera. No need to look up this time. No need 
> to wave.
> The voice is everything. I am suspended in sound. I smile.
> 
> It happens then. One of those fleeting moments of perfection when I 
> lose
> track of Me and am aware of being All, then soon as I am aware of 
> this
> awareness I am back to Me, but that fleeting moment is sublime.
> 
> I paddle on, sun at my back. No squinting now. The river becomes a 
> dark
> mirror reflecting sky and greenery. Merlin's bow soars above the 
> trees. Am I
> paddling or flying? Maybe both.
> 
> I'm back before I know it, loading kayak onto car, getting on with 
> other
> things.
> 
> 
> Karen Hancock
> Tigard, OR
> magpi_at_transport.com
> 
>
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