[Paddlewise] How's the Weather

In the paper again. Was a front page story -- just a small one. It's was
about the weather. No, I wasn't kayaking. A small snow storm had hit
southern Vancouver Island Friday morning. The reporter was running
around the mall, interviewing shoppers about the snow...and how it may
have inconvenienced them that day. I was buying a new rain jacket, but
hey, gee, can't say that the snow had inconvenienced me. Told the guy my
homeschooled daughters measured the snow that morning as part of an
experiment. 5 inches only, er, 13 cm I corrected myself. But hey, I'm
from Quebec, "this ain't snow" I told him. Next day, I'm quoted
partially in the paper. Must be a slow news day.

Saturday afternoon I leave work a bit early when the power goes out,
heading down to Oak Bay to see the waves. As they come into view,
emotions flooded my mind, rushing deep down to my toes. It's a sensation
that's not all too unfamiliar to me. It's been part of my life for
decades. Lookie-loos had lined the roadway, observing the storm.
Normally I would have had my kayak on the roof-racks. My toes would have
been tingling, and my heart pounding. It's a feeling of co-mingled
excitement and dread. Dread that any mariner in a small boat would head
out into those rough seas. A feeling that the intended little adventure
was wrong in any one's book -- not something sane to do -- yet then
being inexorably drawn into the strom in one's kayak.

But I can't kayak these days. So, I just looked at the seas like the
rest of the boring slobs. I parked the van and trespassed across the
golf course to the water. I didn't need to worry about golf balls flying
on that day. My OR winter cap with double-cinch straps barely stayed on.
The wind was howling -- and very cold. Waves crashed into the reefs. I
think about Steve, who was supposed to do a crossing of Juan de Fuca
that weekend. I hoped he didn't go. I then think of Gareth and his
buddy. They were supposed to leave that weekend too, for their Victoria
to Alaska paddle. I doubted they had left. I performed an experiment,
standing firmly against the gusts, trying to gauge the intensity of the
wind as part of an article I'm writing where a lady was blown over on
the beach in a wind storm off Baffin Island.

Then I just stood still and looked. My link to the sea is indissoluble,
but that day at the shore this past weekend I could only observe. The
winter storms are winding down. Spring is near. I've never missed
paddling in a at least one winter storm. There's always a first time.
But wild seas never fail to stupefy me. Daylight had started to run out.
I had then gotten cold. My leg had started to hurt. I went on to engage
the more cognitive machinations of mind, elucidating the environmental
reality that was playing out before my eyes -- thinking how privileged I
was to still be alive enough to view the spectacle that was washing in.
Life is terminal, and we all die one day to be redissolved into the
material component substances of earth and sea. I finally made the
spiritual connection I was seeking. I then visualized myself blasting
over the shore break, headed for adventure, breathing hard, pushing on
the paddle to the max.. At the point where the demarcation between the
inner and outer mind dissipated, I headed back to the van. In a sense, I
had made it out in my kayak. I was satisfied and happy again. I got home
late for dinner, then talked to my wife about the weather  -- and other
usual stuff. But she wonders why I was late home.

Doug Lloyd

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