October 1, 1996

Becky's Birthday Paddle

Willapa Bay, Southwest Washington

Well, we didn't exactly go to Aldrich Point to paddle. My friend Becky's birthday coincided with Sunday, so she got to pick the paddle. And she chose the east side of Long Island in Willapa Bay. When we arrived at the Refuge headquarters ramp, the sun was just beginning to warm the air to a humane temperature, even though it had been up for hours. So we laid our yaks next to the rising water and slowly filled them -- so slowly the yaks were floating when we were ready to launch. Lunch, water, clothes, radio, chart, ego, scattered thoughts. No ripples on this water.

Off to the north, moving against the current past wiggling oyster poles of PVC, grebe after grebe -- some little guys, but mostly the big Western variety. Mallards off to the left, wanking in the mud at the edge of the tide, and a line of geese silhouetted against the green of the island. Scum line, scum line, then the loons! Lots of Pacifics, shy and scattered, and two big Commons, slowly eyeing us as we worked our way past, moving away in leisurely loon time. At only three yak lengths away, they filled the objective of the binoculars as we parted.

Paddle, paddle -- what ARE those two guys in the skiff up to? Anchored near the Peninsula to the east, running north, then south. They're gone now and it's quiet again. To lunch near an elk-stomping and -pooping ground on the island -- french bread, butter, Havarti dill, apple, Hershey's dark and water. Listen, listen, here comes a canoe chock-full of guys returning from Sawlog Slough, two paddlers and one center sitter, jabbering away down the channel with gear piled high. They never saw us. Launch again in ripple-free water.

North again to the Naselle River and Stanley Point, rounding grassy duck hunting blinds and to the top of the tide to a fallen-down ruin at the edge of the forest. A walk up the hill to an old cattle chute and corral, weird vegetation under a high canopy of elderberry, one new three-foot stump alone in the center of untouched moss -- why did they take this one tree, and how did it leave without marking the ground or leaving branches? Space aliens acquire a spruce?

Time to go. Fighting the tide AGAIN! Why don't they move that damn Refuge ramp up tide so we can get a ride? Sore shoulder, toes and arches asleep, chasing loons back. Lots of new "get outa here" signs on the bank for the hunters and 'shroom gatherers. We stole looks at the land anyway, but did not touch it. Now calmer, relaxed, worn in the back and butt.

Happy Birthday, Becky!
---
Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR

Copyright 1996 by Dave Kruger.
May not be reproduced or redistributed without author's permission.
Originally posted on WaveLength mailing list in Oct. 1996.
Republished here with permission.