Lora paddling in Narragansett Bay, RI with the Lehigh Valley Kayak & Canoe Club. Photo by Rick Wiebush, Cross Currents Sea Kayaking.
I learned to kayak as a kid spending summer vacations on the Maine coast. My grandparents had a yellow tandem kayak we called the “sea slug” and a couple rec boats that we’d take out in the harbor on calm days. When I was 18, I started working at Maine Sport Outfitters in their boat department. I sold kayaks, canoes, paddlesport accessories, and car top carriers. It was a fun job that I kept for summers between college. I learned hull design, paddlesport nomenclature, and how to help customers find a boat to meet their needs.
That first summer of working in the boat department I attended some store-run kayak trainings, taught myself how to roll, went surf kayaking at Popham Beach, and paddled long stretches of coastline between harbors. In kayaking I found a sport that I’d continue to come back to for the next 17 years. Whether in a river, lake, or ocean, kayaking connects me with the water and water connects with everything.
This past weekend I gained a new appreciation for kayaking and the rocky New England shoreline. I spent three days paddling with a group along the Rhode Island coast and the funny thing was we didn’t really go anywhere. Instead we stayed within a couple miles of our launch site and near the rock outcroppings and ledges exposed by the tide--places I’d normally have stayed well away from out of fear that I’d get sucked in and flip my boat.
We watched waves go in and out of the rock formations creating temporary channels that our 17’ sea kayaks could slip through when timed well. Waves built up behind ledges and pushed our boats up and over the craggy surfaces with each release. I found a new application for many of the strokes I’d learned in previous kayak trainings, like the side slip, the bow draw, and cross bow rudder. It was important to turn quickly. Our guides taught us the Colorado Hook, and I used it to seamlessly turn around a large rock and into the next wave break.
The timing didn’t always work and I’d get stuck on the seaweed and barnacle covered ledges (both soft and sharp) as the water sucked away building into the next wave. The uncomfortable feeling of being trapped and not knowing how to get out became an opportunity to practice patience and trust my ability to anticipate and react to change. There’s comfort in viewing the rocks and waves and me in my boat as one. Not something to fight or fear, but to embrace. A new wave would gush in and lift me in my boat, over 200lbs of weight, up and onto the other side of the rock formation into calmer water. I’d take a moment to adjust my equipment, let out a nervous giggle, and circle back for another run.
My former thinking of paddling as a form of transportation--a way to get from point A to point B, harbor to harbor, downriver, to the island--has forever been changed. While I’ll still paddle distances, I’ll include more excursions built on exploring a specific area, experiencing it with wonder and curiosity.