[Paddlewise] Season opener

It was such a nice day that I decided to go paddling when I got off work.
During the winter, it's impossible to get out after work and paddle in the
daylight, even if conditions are favorable, but once Daylight Savings Time
comes, it becomes a lot simpler. DST doesn't start for a couple days yet,
but I was able to sneak out of work a little early, go get the boat, and
head down to the familiar waters of Lake Hudson. The willows are wearing
tiny leaflets, and there are a few buds on other trees, but things are
still rather barren around the familiar shores. From the boat launch I can
see several nesting geese, so I guess we've gotten to that time of the year.

The boat launch silted up a lot last summer, and last fall they came in
with a backhoe to try to clean it out, and they did a lousy job, leaving
not much of a place to launch. The lake level coming up some and a little
wind will go a long way toward turning it back into a nice sandy launch,
but for now, I'll have to be a little careful.

I've been out on odd occasions all through the winter, but not enough to
really stay in practice. I did a five miler last Sunday and ended with a
sore bicep, but I know that it's just plain winter rust; getting out a
couple times a week for the next month or two will go a long way toward
fixing that. Still, I want to push it a little today; besides, I've got a
new paddle that I'm not terribly comfortable with, and I want to get used
to it a little.

Even though it's not a routine after work paddle yet, it  already feels
familiar. But, it's good to get out on the water and make a hard paddle
into the wind and the sinking sun, just to get some of the kinks out. It
feels good to be out on the water on a nice day. In a couple minutes, I'm
sneaking along the shore on the far side of the channel, seeing what
changes have taken place since I was last here, last fall. But now, it's
spring, and there's hope, instead of just endless months of winter to look
forward to.

I turn out of the sun, to paddle along the north shore eastward, the wind
at my back. Not having to fight the dazzle of the brilliant spring sun does
make the going easier, and it makes it easier to see what's to be seen.

There are a lot of geese out on the water. The nonmigratory birds are
fairly used to being around people, and sometimes I can get quite close to
them, and it's good to hear the goose music on the quiet of the lake.
Curiously, other than several pairs nesting quite close to the boat launch,
I don't see any nesters elsewhere. There are a number of flocks of coots on
the lake, one quite large, and several smaller groups of what apparently
are buffleheads. I sneak along the shoreline, trying to avoid stirring up
the birds, and sometimes I succeed.

The water has an amazing amount of dead algae floating in it. It was bad
last fall when the lake was extremely low, and I hope that now that it's a
little higher and once the water warms up, it'll clear up some, or else
this is going to be a gungy summer.

At the far end of the lake, the inflow channel lies waiting, with probably
a half a mile that could be paddled until it gets too shallow, but I don't
really have the time tonight, and the sun is getting low. I leave that for
another day, and turn to run down the east shore.

Far away across the lake, perhaps a quarter of a mile, a huge flock of
coots takes alarm at something -- I don't think it was me, and it may have
been one of the lake's lunker muskies. Whatever it was, the whole flock
takes off as one, wings fluttering frantically, the ruffle of their feet
running  across the water to try and get up enough airspeed for liftoff
making a churning sound that's fun to listen to. 

Back into the sun, for the final run back to the boat launch. It really
doesn't feel like I'm going that fast, and this paddle just doesn't seem to
have the bite of the old one. However, how much is real and how much is
perception remains to be seen. I do see that if I work harder at keeping my
stroke close to the boat, things go smoother, so it's clear it's a
technique adaptation as much as anything.

Coming around the last point before the takeout, I wave to a couple of
shore fishermen, who complain that they haven't caught anything -- but
they're out enjoying the warm spring day as much as I am. Just around the
point, I come upon a goose that lets me get within a few feet before it
honks and springs out of the water, the air through its flight feathers
making a fluffing, squeaking sound. He doesn't go far, just back to the
edge of his comfort zone. 

Near the landing, a bass jumps well clear of the water, the first fish jump
of many that I will probably see over the next few months. The landing on
the backhoe-scarred shore is a little precarious, but dry, so that's all
that matters. I check my time -- just under an hour, not a real great time
for this trip, but acceptable given the season. On an exercise run, I'll
shave ten or fifteen minutes off in a month or two, but this will do just
fine for a season opener.

-- Wes


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