[Paddlewise] A Winter's Day (long post)

Snow


I stand at the edge of last night's high tide, the boundary unmistakable. A
foot of snow lays cleanly cut by the touch of the sea. My boat lays nestled in
the snow, it's pointed bow transcending the boundary between snow and sea. I
have taken advantage of the sled-like properties of a kayak and tobogganed my
boat this far. Now however, I must carry the boat the last little bit over the
barnacled tidal flat. Patches of ice lay here and there. Boat balanced on my
shoulder, I weave the gauntlet of ice looking like a drunken sailor.

As I set my boat down at the cold water's edge the first new snow begins to
fall. Tiny flakes land here and there on the dark mud. A few flakes fall on my
dark blue polypro gloves, giving me a quick glimpse of their crystal
structures before melting away. Is it really true that no two snow flakes are
alike? Now as more snow begins to fall, the wonder of all these countless
flakes being different seems both utterly preposterous yet wildly conceivable
at the same time. To ponder, to wonder, what better reason to be upon the
water.

Carefully I launch. Though protected by a dry suit, the mere idea of rolling
over literally chills me. I have forgotten my wet suit gloves and have only
two pair of thin polypro gloves to protect my hands. I must keep them dry. I
weigh the risks. Only a short paddle and the winds lay silent. I paddle on
with a foolish faith that I will be able to feel my fingers at the end of the
day.

The Wrangel Narrows are just that, a narrow ribbon of water separating Mitkof
and Kupreanof Islands. Driven by the tides, these narrow waters can run fast,
but today's tidal exchanges are small; the current will have little effect on
my sleek craft. I paddle north towards the mouth of Falls Creek.

The snow flakes grow magically in size, swirling and twisting as they tumble
out of the sky. Like ghosts they disappear as they hit the water. These snow
flakes live short lives. They form somewhere up there in the sky, fall slowly
to earth then dissolve into the sea. Yet not 20 miles away falling snowflakes
live a much more drawn out life. There they land upon the ice fields of the
interior which in time give birth to magnificent glaciers. On either side of
my sea kayak the snow flakes that land in the narrows live for fleeting
seconds, but yonder on the birth place of the LeConte Glacier they live for
millennia, slowly making their way to the sea before dying as calved icebergs
drifting amid the wind and rolling tide.

More and more flakes tumble down. Snow on snow on snow. The yellow deck of my
boat slowly turns white. The light blue fabric of my dry suit too begins to
turn frosted. Soon I playfully imagine my boat and I resemble a white Orca
traveling upon the sea.

The snowfall quickens and an eerie silence falls upon the water. The snow
seems to swallow all sound, leaving the world still and quiet. I listen. My
everyday world is filled with the jarring sounds of the ringing of the phone,
the shrieks of children in the preschool and the rumbling of passing traffic.
I cherish this blessing of silence; within it I can at last hear my own
thoughts. I close my eyes and, if you will, listen to the sounds of silence.
The peace of the moment abides beyond what words can express. Only those who
have dwelt in such a moment can understand.


Slowly the fall of the snow slants with the first winds of the day. In the
midst of the falling snow I see patterns of twisting wind throwing snowflakes
into spirals and swirls. A few flakes find their way under the brim of my hat
and splat upon my glasses, for a second blurring the world.

Dark foreboding tidal flats lie at the mouth of the creek. Three hours before
high tide the shallow mud flats still rise above the sea. I approach slowly,
looking for the channel the creek carves out to the sea. I carefully watch the
bottom for trapping mud or scraping barnacles. At last I see the channel
cutting through the world of mud. A small shallow mud bar divides me from its
deep water. I carefully step out of my boat and survey this land of ooze and
goo. I slowly pull my boat across the mud bar, being ever careful not to lose
my boot to the greedy mud.

Finally, at the edge of the channel, I climb back in my boat and begin to push
against the current. I see that I am not the only explorer. Ahead a blue heron
stands silently at the edge of the water. She eyes me with great caution. Am I
friend or foe, peaceful passerby or feared predator? Caution remains her
watchword and, as I approach, she spreads her wings and takes flight. Fifty,
maybe seventy-five, yards later she lands once again at the edge of the creek.
On stilty legs she turns to eye me again to see if I will follow. How can I
tell her I mean her no harm?

While watching her I run aground! An undulation of mud and sea weed has
captured my bow. I wiggle and squirm till I am able to slide back off. Once
freed I look up to see the heron once again in flight, escaping further from
this strange, snow-shrouded creature of the sea.

The bottom now requires my attention. Though at this point the creek lays
fairly straight, the deep channel twists and turns like a wily serpent. On
either side of the two-foot deep channel the water shallows to only a few
inches deep. I paddle slowly edging the boat and sweeping gently with my
paddle, working my way up toward the falls. I glance ahead from time to time.
The creek turns gradually to the left. A steep bank and a row of spruce and
hemlock hide the falls ahead. I look down to see the bottom slowly rising up
to a small group of ragged rocks lying just below the water. I find the
deepest channel and slide through, careful to bang neither my paddle or boat
upon the rocks. The water once again deepens and I am free to look up. The
Falls! Like a ghost emerging out of a fog, suddenly they are before me.

I notice a seaweed covered rock in front of me. I carefully nudge the nose of
my boat onto it and it gently holds me there while the fast current rushes by.
Now I can stare in wonder at the falls.

I am reminded of an angry polar bear challenging it's enemy. Deep snow covers
the rocks, framing the face of the great bear. Long icicles hang down the face
of the falls--like lethal teeth. Tannin colored water explodes down the face
of the falls like the roaring of the bear. Years ago, on the shores of the
Hudson Bay, I faced such teeth and anger from a real bear. Nineteen years
later I can close my eyes and see the charging bear in every frightening
detail. Today it is but my runaway imagination that I must deal with and
thankfully not real tooth and claw.

Despite the violence of the image, as the water cascades down the icy falls it
becomes a scene that brings peace to the soul. My mind is seduced from the
thoughts of the everyday and lured into the realm of wonder and mystery.
Beauty and majesty comfort the eyes and speaks softly to the soul. In this
land of cold and ice, God whispers and sacred prayers flow from the heart.

Time passes and I sit mesmerized by the sights and sounds. Ever so slowly I
begin to notice the cold creeping into my body. Reluctantly I wiggle my boat
off the rock and drift back down the creek. The rising tide now covers the
rocks that I had earlier paddled between.

As I turn my boat around I see the heron standing on the bank. She has lost
her fear of me and watches as I drift by. I am caught up in one of those
moments in paddling, and in life, when I feel at peace with the world. My
presence does not threaten this wonderful bird. She has accepted me as a part
of her world. In return I behold the beauty of her plumage and elegance of her
stance. Though she stands upon frail looking legs I am reminded that this
creature survives day and night in this hostile wilderness with its fierce
winds and constant rain and or snow. She survives in this land of snow and ice
that would take my life but in a night if I were to get stranded out here. Her
gracefulness hides her toughness and strength.

The wind grows colder and more persuasive, reminding me I need to head home. I
paddle home knowing that in the midst of cold and ice I have found peace and
harmony with nature and within myself.
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