July 28, 1999

Sanity Paddle

Last night we discovered the 16-year-old next door had penetrated the drywall separator between his apartment's attic and his neighbor's in a botched attempt to pilfer goodies. We figured we were next. Some intense negotiating resolved this to our satisfaction, but generated a lot of tension.

Time for a little paddle relief.

Murky here, but driving east to the putin brought out the sun. At launch, it was downright hot -- for Oregon, anyway. No wet suit today, with water temps in the high 60's.

The launch site is the source of a conflict between the County and the landowners, with the County wanting to place a fancy ramp, 200-foot-long float, and big parking lot. The landowners are against that, mainly for the traffic and hassles it will bring. None of the paddlers want any of that stuff, either. All we need is a sandy beach and a portapotty. Right now it's a standoff, with the old funky float pulled, so power boaters have a difficult time launching. The landowners are willing to fund replacing the old floats, and most boaters would be happy if the County maintained a portapotty. Contemplating the funky floats and thinking about the conflict makes me work a little faster to get in the water.

My little wooden yak is my day boat, 'cause it is light and quick. Gliding across the current, several dozen geese Herluck! their way overhead and plop down in the adjacent channel, soon to be displaced as I slide into their view. Off they go, like slow bombers. Only a few are of this year's hatch.

Muscles are likin' this -- feels good to pull hard and move fast. No rudder, just solid footpegs. The hull feels like an extension of my lower body.

As it gets shallow, heading across to the shipping channel, I steer around the obvious shoals and hope I guess right. Tide's rising, so eventually I'd get off, anyway. Here comes a small freighter down the channel -- maybe I'll get to wakesurf! Nope -- all the energy is dissipated on the sandbar a couple hundred yards ahead, where the terns and gulls are hanging out. The waves really piss 'em off, and they rise squawking!

I edge right, to Fitzpatrick Island. Fitzpatrick is a dredge spoil creation, and is getting smaller each year. This winter, the north shore steepened and slid away, narrowing the island by several yards. Couple more winters like the last, and there won't be any "land" left, just several herky nav marker emplacements. Ashore and pop out of the yak, sweaty and wet. Hook a seat on a log and munch on goodies, enjoying the terns and their goofy fishing plops. You'd think they'd get a headache!

Motion at the flotsam line catches my eye. Many little birdheads thirty yards away bring out the binocs. Man, there are **fifty** sandpipers over there! I sneak around behind them in the bushes and close the distance to ten yards. As I lift my head and spy through the glasses, their beady eyes balefully meet mine. They are suspicious, but content if I stay here. Some cease working the insect population over and watch me. Others ferret out their lunch. I lower myself and slink back to the lunch log. Now, what was it that drove me out here? Can't remember.

Launch and power upstream around the upper end of the island, bouncing across the freshening breeze-riffled waters. Another mile, and I'm back in the side channel, bearing down on the launch ramp, with a lone boater winching his Alumacraft onto the trailer. On the beach, a new mountain bike track graces the sand. I unpack everything, wondering why I carry all this stuff on a sunny, beautiful day. Slide the yak on top of the pickup, and slowly wend my way back along the dike road, finger-waving at the locals as I munch my lunch. I take the long way home and hit the Logger Cafe for marionberry pie and coffee, gruffly dispersed by an ample logger's wife.

Sanity paddle. Two hours on the water. Twenty points down on the blood pressure scale.
---
Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR

Copyright 1999 by Dave Kruger.
May not be reproduced or redistributed without author's permission.
Originally posted on Paddlewise mailing list on 7/28/1999.
Republished here with permission.