[Paddlewise] Birthday Bash or Bust

>From my log:

February 28, 2005

February was a record-breaker, with almost a full month of sunny days, 
frosty nights and no rain; but, just as I pulled out the driveway, it 
started to finally rain. I hadn't paddled for six months, and was bound and 
determined to get my boat wet on this, my 47th Birthday. It'd been a hard 
weekend and early-starting day of overtime, then Yvonne unexpectedly needed 
the van all afternoon. The nearest I could figure heading down to the sea 
was that I'd get an hour on the water -- which was good enough.

At 5:10 precisely, my old Nordkapp slid down the wet gravel and effortlessly 
vested itself of any terrestrial stern-hold, climbing over the small surf. A 
Southeaster was slowly kicking up, so a nice swell was staring to dominate 
the seascape along the bay to Albert Head, with just enough rock-garden 
white-water to get some hull-bashing time in before dark.

I threw a few braces, hung myself up a few times, and did a couple of 
seal-landings and wash-overs. I could feel the rock-hardness of the 
pinnacle-reefs pressing against the hull, rubbing under my thighs -- great 
to have a tough-skinned hull. I headed out to a favourite reef, 10-meters 
square, a foot below the sea-surface. Waves were angling around, forming a 
nice clapotis directly in the center, right where I placed the kayak. A shot 
of cold sea-water blew across my grinning face, droplets of briny-composed 
molecules dripping from my nose and ears. It had been far too long.

I followed alongside the dark rocks rising to form the outline of Southern 
Vancouver Island, between reefs, where feelings of gratitude rebounded 
against the silhouetted ramparts. I was so grateful to simply be there, 
paddling freely, back on the sea where all life flows from, my heart happily 
in sinus rhythm, my extreme, paddling-limiting dizziness hopefully a thing 
of the past. I never thought I'd make it to 47, dad having died at 46. But 
there I was, after a year of hospitals and ER rooms, flooded-over with a 
simple joy, muscles moving, reflexes sensing the undulation in the water, 
wave-energy pulsations imputed upon the sea's mystical surface -- with good 
days ahead, new trips to plan, new winds to blow on my face, new waves to 
paddle over -- endless and infinite.

I tried a power paddle, five minutes, to test my mettle. My PVC's were still 
an extremely annoying artefacts consequentially after all the ablations it 
seams, but I'll learn to ignore them, even the day-long salvoes of missed 
beats every four seconds. No, it's not fun, but so much better than the 
other arrhythmias. Yes, I was now a different person since in my boat last, 
skinnier, less muscled, and less fat, but the big kid in me was still there. 
I headed back over to the clapotis, darkness moving in. Storms due the 
coming weekend.

My bow kissed the shore at 6:10. Darkness had fallen. Breath. Move. Pull. 
Drag. Lift. Tie. Change. Drive away. Thank you ocean. Thank you sea. Then. 
Home to a loving family. For Birthday cake. Sometimes you can have your cake 
and eat it too. So goes the life of a seakayaker.

Doug Lloyd
Victoria BC
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