If I do the math I think I’ve spent about a year of my life on the trail. I’ve hiked the 46 high peaks in New York. I’ve been on canoe trips in the lonely lakes of Canada’s Algonquin National Park. I’ve paddled the Allagash, the Kennebec, the Dead, the Sacandaga, and the Hudson. I’ve had pack sores, I’ve had blisters, I’ve had hypothermia, I’ve been lost in the dark, I’ve been dehydrated, I’ve been lost in broad daylight, and I’ve even had an axe wound – all in the middle of nowhere. I’ve always come out ok. Suffice it to say, this is not my first rodeo.
It turns out though, that I’m one stupid cowboy.
This spring, I have been learning to kayak. Did you know these things can actually roll all the way over and then roll back up again? I can’t say enough how satisfying it is roll upside down, end up in the dark world of gooey wet things and then flick your paddle and suddenly arrive back in the fresh air world we know so well. This is not to say that that happens often. Most of the time my experience involves a lot of flailing around under water followed by a farty kind of sound as I release my kayak skirt and wriggle back up to the surface, sans boat.
It’s still pretty cold in this part of the country. It snowed this morning. The last three times I’ve paddled, it’s been about 40 degrees. For kayakers, I guess this is no big deal, but I will say that it’s not what I had thought of as swimmy weather before getting into the kayak thing. But snow-melt means big water, which, if you know how to kayak is awesome. If you are just learning… well on with the story:
