Reflections on the Eleventh Week of Spring – Together Whatever

    How could we make our forty-eighth wedding anniversary different after spending so many anniversaries at Presque Isle? We took our own tandem, sit-on-the-top kayak.

    Searching for a new launch area, Spence pulled the truck onto a dirt road to the West Pier Boat Ramp. Half way down the road, a secluded pull off led to the water's edge. Perfect. Maybe.

    “What do you think?” Spence said.

    Geese bobbed up and down half foot water swells. “I'm not sure,” I said. “It might be too choppy.”

    Back on the main road Spence drove further east, crossed the lagoon bridge, then parked on the berm.

    I slathered myself with suntan lotion, sprayed my clothes with insect repellent, and tucked my cell phone into a plastic grocery bag which I put in my shorts pocket.

    We wrestled the kayak out of the truck bed and carried it to the water on the side of the bridge we'd never explored. After attaching the canvas seats that come with a sit-on-the-top kayak, I settled in the bow. Spence pushed my half into the water then sat in the stern. Our combined weight sunk us into the sand, but paddling and pushing got us off the bank. We floated with the current of the twenty foot wide stream.

    The smooth channel quickly emptied into the choppy little bay we had rejected earlier. Rocking, but still afloat, we forged ahead to explore something new. We paddled past two bobbing kayaks hovering by the shore and a row boat filled with fishermen tending lines. Two or three hundred yards later, we reached the geese. I laid my paddle on my lap and unwrapped the phone. Spence steered us toward the geese. They squawked and rolled with the waves. I took multiple pictures then tucked the phone into the bag and into my pocket so I could help Spence paddle back.

    Wind pushed against us. The bow slap, slap, slammed against waves. Spray soaked me from my waist to my toes.    The ride was smoother in the stern, but the cloth straps on Spence's canvas seat loosened. He either had to sit up straight without back support or try to paddle from a reclined position. Neither was efficient.

    Wind increased and blew Spence's dirty tractor cap into the water. We circled around it. When I deftly lifted the hat with my paddle, Spence said, “Don't do that. You'll sink it.”

    I passed the soggy cap over my shoulder to Spence.

    He chuckled. “Water's running down my nose.”

    Dripping, we returned to the landing by the truck. Spence adjusted his seat straps, and we headed for the low bridge crossing the lagoon. Would it be too low? No, but I reached up and touched the bottom of the bridge.

    The Big Pond side of the bridge had more visible life. Red-winged Blackbirds clung to reeds. Brown birds feed on yellow water lily flowers. Gulls soared, crows called, and frogs croaked in thick reed patches. We passed colorful kayaks with laughing folks wearing cowboy hats, sun glasses, neon salmon shirts, and cameras.

    Paddling in the lagoon was easy for me but caused Spence some issues. Because he sat in the back, he had to match my strokes. His natural pace was faster than mine. He'd get in sync, I'd take a break to photograph or rest, then he'd have to get in sync again. He managed.

    The second paddling issue came from the wind. Wind blew spray off my paddles and into his face. He didn't mind until the wind lifted what he called “Lakeweed” and splatted it onto his bare legs.

    After following channels and paddling through masses of dark green glossy lily pads, we headed back to shore. We disembarked with fresh air expanding our chests, wet clothes clinging to our butts, and another adventure to remember.

    Together whatever.