October 25, 2000

Changes

Late September - mid October 2000

I've needed to do this for 10 years - I've just never had the courage. And even now I wonder where I will find the inner strength to get me through it.

I'm torn about writing this piece.

Over the last 2 years, kayaking has been my escape from my personal life. It allowed me to cope - no avoid - for a short period, what I have been running from. But it is all caught up with me now. There is no more running as I now must stand and face what I've been running from.

An insignificant question in my mind - "Will I kayak again?"

A Saturday trip with my paddling partner to Friendship Landing. I arrived early as usual and was ready to go before anyone else arrived. As the group of 4 and myself launched I couldn't help but feel alone with myself. Joan mentioned several times how beautiful everything was. I couldn't see it. The essence of the earth I carry with me is missing today. My mind was elsewhere trying to form the words for what I would say later when I returned home.

"If you and I were to split up, would you let me keep the kids?"

Another argument ensues like so many before it.

"You're not listening to what I'm saying. It's over." The words echo off the walls as I finally see in her eyes she understands.

A Thursday night in Georgetown trying to take my mind off the present. But tonight it isn't working. As everyone is putting on the water I'm packing to go back to the house I call home. I tell everyone I'm not feeling well - a truth.

I was counting on my friend the kayak to carry me through this time. Eighteen years of marriage don't go away quietly. My friend the kayak has abandoned me. Or could it be I no longer need the crutch I so tightly held over the last 2 years? For now I can't bring myself to go out again.

Maybe it is time to move on. To place 'kayaking' in the box that held my old life. Or maybe I should wait - wait for my friend to come back.

Another weekend comes and goes. The kayak on my truck will not get wet as I contemplate putting the boat away for a while. I can't shake the queasiness in my gut that causes me to push away from my friends and this diversion that has carried me for so long. The boat is unloaded and put away. Maybe forever?

Another week drags by. Time to tell the kids. Only those who have been through it can understand this pain - and those who haven't should do whatever it takes to never find out. I offer to take them camping the next day to help take their minds off of things and let them know the world hasn't ended. My son declines, but my daughter - the one I've most devastated with the news - accepts.

We start out early the next morning for Assateague. We'll paddle the bay so she can see the ponies. We chat on the drive and I know she'll be ok. She's already starting to accept this is for the better.

We get to the campground and find it almost full. Large bicycle race today. Not many spots to choose from, and out of habit I pick one close to the beach from the camp site. After Katie spent some time watching a pony wandering through the campsites, we decide to head for the bay to paddle. Her enthusiasm has me wanting to paddle again. But before we go she drags me down to the beach.

When we crossed the dune I can't believe what I see. The forecast was for 2 ft seas, but there isn't a swell - nary a ripple. The water is flat and smooth and even on shore the 'surf' is only about 4 inches high. I didn't know the water could get this calm. Coincidence - or conscience happenstance?

We rush to dress in our wetsuits and I carry the 2 boats to the water while Katie carries all the gear. We launch without any more effort than launching on a windless lake. It is incredible this feeling. Being with my daughter on her first ocean paddle, something I thought would be years before I would see, if at all. We paddled south a ways off shore. There are a few places near the sand bar where 'soup' would foam up every now and then, but beyond the sand bar the water was as calm as any water I've ever seen. A slight breeze kept us cool. We paddled for almost an hour south, and feeling the wind starting to stiffen a little I made Katie turn around.

We took our time heading back, letting the little wind do most of the work. We talked back and forth about the sea, the people on shore, and nature. We talked about things that only young girls can dream up.

We had to choose our landing spot carefully. The tide had gone out a bit and there was 'soup' more regularly across the sand bar. As we crossed the sand bar a small wave sent us scurrying forward. Katie capsized more from panic than being pushed over by the water. Hero dad with a quick rescue and she was back in the Guillemot in less than a minute. She paddled hard the rest of the way to shore and I had to really paddle to get in first to help her out. She landed as I watched - she wanted to do it on her own, and once her bow touched sand I pulled her boat the rest of the way out of the water.

That night after dinner, we sat and talked as she wrote stories of her day and we watched the moon rise over the sand dunes:

"I'm kayaking. The sun's blazing, seagulls crying, waves crashing against the shoreline. The waves are two feet high. People are shouting on shore. I'm on the lookout for people of the sea. What do I see?

A beautiful object. The colors of the sky and the earth. With the grace and beauty of a ballerina. Long stinging and deadly tentacles swaying with the ocean current. Slicing through the water like a knife through butter, The waves slowly die out."

"I'm sitting down right now watching the moon go up and the stars come out. The waves are crashing a lullaby against the Assateague shore. The moon floats behind the clouds. The seagulls cries are no more heard. The smell of outdoors is taking over our campsite. The moon is losing its rich orange color. It's become white now. I can hear the waves...and now I can't."

In the morning we watched the sun rise over the water before packing. On the ride home I started thinking about my friend the kayak coming back to me again. How silly it was of me to think of this inanimate object as my friend. It was nothing more than a vessel carrying me on my journeys. It wasn't my kayak that had abandoned me - it was myself. The skills and injuries, the sights and sounds, the thrills and adventures - or the lack of - were all me. The kayak merely encased my body... it is my mind that allows me to go beyond it. I am who I am with or without my kayak. It was me that had for a short time gone missing. And it was the thoughts and prayers of my friends who knew what I was going through this weekend, and my children, which brought me back.

So this isn't an end, but a new beginning for me. Not in kayaking, but in life itself. I strike out not knowing what tomorrow holds, but with hope that it is better than my past. Kayaking will probably always be part of what I do as long as I'm able. But even if it isn't I'm still who I am - and I'm comfortable with that.