Kayaking, Lost in the Moment.

Yesterday I went on my second kayaking trip of the year.  I went to what is officially called Twin Bridges on Hoover Reservoir.  It is a wonderful place to launch. It has a dock, and at least three concrete ramps that allow for easy launching. There are two bays are accessed by paddling under the bridges that are filled with a primitive natural beauty. A small island sits just to the south of the ramps. For the more adventurous you can follow the wide, winding water out to the lake, and paddle around there. It is a great little place to toss your boat in and have a quick spin.

Of course, sometimes it is such a nice place it resembles a freeway during rush hour. Boats lined up to get on or off the water, the passages filled with kayaks, canoes and fishing boats. Pontoon boats coming from the lake to take a leisurely spin amongst the small, paddle powered craft. I once saw a small sailboat, but it was sitting on one of the small beaches. The place is so enclosed that there is never much wind. 

Since I was kind of late yesterday there were not too many boats, and I had a lot of the place to myself. At least the parts that were farthest from the launch. Since the reservoir is used to control the water level downstream and we have had a lot of rain lately the water level was fairly high.  

It makes for interesting paddling, when you venture back under the bridges and go the extremes it is a swampy, surreal world of submerged, dying trees. It has a stark beauty, and it made me feel a little like an early explorer, as I paddled farther and deeper into the narrow, tree covered pass. Until I realized the trees were probably filled with spiders, ticks, maybe a few snakes, and I turned and paddled out into the clear open water where nothing lethal or parasitic could drop from above. And I realized early explorers didn’t have it easy, and wondered why they bothered, let somebody else do it, that’s my motto.

But, I do love to kayak. It is refreshing, relaxing, peaceful, there is a serenity on the water, when you are the motor, the rudder, the navigator. On the point where you leave the relatively small world of the Twin Bridges Boat Ramp and hit the open water somebody built a big house, and when I paddled past the dock a man was climbing on a paddle board.

“Gorgeous day to be on the water.” he said.

“My second trip this season.” I told him.

“You couldn’t have chosen better.” He said, paddling off, without a life vest into the sunshine and open water of the big lake. He was an older man, older than me, even. There was something regal in his manner, his indifference, his casual, friendly air. And it made me think I could kayak for several more years. 

It is an amazing mix of ages and types climbing into the shallow plastic boats, or standing on the boards, older, younger, families. And me.

Mothers Day shopping, almost Labor day, I wish

Parts One, Two, Three, four and five are here, please have a look,

Almost unnoticeable in the mists and breeze stood the entrance to the aisle where the lattice work and fence sections were shelved. The floor was definitely starting to roll under our feet now. We had the cart, the orange, unwieldy shopping cart, emblazoned with the Home Depot logo to hang onto.

Unsteadily we made our way down the narrow path. Wooden casks stood, strapped to pallets in the middle of the aisle, and down the right side crates, nailed tight, stood, lonely in the dim light. Men came, men wearing grey clothes, rambling slowly, steadily there movements timed exquisitely with the movement of the floor, and picked up a crate. Turning slowly they carried the crate to the swinging doors in the back of the store.

"Hey, let's ask them where the lattice is." My wife suggested, smiling politely, as if we were bathed in the light and crowds of the mall, looking for a cinnamon roll, or iced tea. Not stuck in the netherlands of Home Depot on a holiday weekend.

"OK." I said, she had made up her mind, the course was set and we had full sail, there was no turning back now. Besides, there might be some light on the dock. This gloomy, misty, damp fog was starting to have a negative effect on me.

Unfortunately, the dock was just as dreary, and crowded. Men, shabby clothes, stringy hair, gaunt, bony, matted beards, rags wrapped around their heads, moved slowly around the area. Moved past us as if we did not exist. One of them had a wooden hammer, rounded and worn.

At the ringing of a great bell, a bell that shook the walls, rattled our bones, he slammed a pin that held a wheel, it spun slowly, gaining speed, pulling a chain through a hole in the floor. It stopped with a crash, and a voice screamed "Raise the main sail."

It echoed around the room, and with a great sigh the room, and several adjoining areas, including the employee break room and the public rest rooms broke free from the building. We were adrift, I could hear a lighthouse bell in the distance. All around us the men moved with a purpose, in and out of the mist, and fog.

I looked at my wife, and said, "I told you we should leave."

"Without the lattice for the cucumber?" Her voice was filled with an outraged shock. Her disbelief was profound.

"Man the starboard cannons. We are sailing to send Lowes to the bottom of the sea." A voice, deep, resonant, steeped with the weight of command, an ancient voice from a forgotten past echoed around the "ship."

Permission to Come Aboard?

Anybody who knows me will tell you I am not overly fond of water. Sure, I love a bottle of water, and a shower can be almost godly, and I can even live with a quick lap around the swimming pool, but rivers are a problem. Lakes are anathema. Great Lakes are the gateway to the afterlife. Any body of water big enough to become a graveyard of shipwrecks is just too big, too worrisome, too dangerous to toy with.

Yet, here we were, kayaking on the lake that "never gives up it's dead." Cruising along as if we were safe.  And we were, the water was so calm, and clear, and perfect. You would just paddle along, look down and think "I could just reach down and pick up that rock." But you can't touch the bottom with the paddle, a two sided kayak paddle. So you look at the shore and it is heck and gone away, so you paddle madly, furiously, with a fight or flee energy that saved your primitive distant ancestors. 

Yesterday I decided to throw caution to the wind and get on a boat, a boat with a glass bottom, and go look at shipwrecks. Taking a boat to look at pieces of boats scattered across the bottom of the lake, madness, I know. There is no explanation. Temporary insanity is my guess. On the plus side I made the reservations online so I could obsess, fret and worry about that not working. There was no time to worry about climbing aboard a floating coffin and cruising through a graveyard..

 

However, we walked down the pier, clambered aboard the boat, and set sail. Good Captain Kate at the wheel. "Please note the location of the life jackets, under the seats on the upper deck, port, and starboard sides." She said over the PA.

I noted the locations and they were both seats, with people sitting on them. A rough calculation proved fruitless. Both seats were occupied by women roughly the same size, either would be equally easy to throw overboard in a mad dash to save myself if things got ugly. It came down to age, the woman on the starboard side (I think) looked older, less inclined to self defense. However the one on the port side, (the other side) was closer, and had a much smaller purse, actually it was more of a handbag, even just a large clutch, so it was safe to assume she was not packing heat. However she was with a man, maybe her husband and the woman across on the Starboard side (the side over there) was with another woman, possibly a sister (a female sibling, not a nun).

At this point it was a toss up. Starboard (one side) or port (the other)? The only way to decide was to ask each woman her age, weight and body mass index which would provide some insight into her general level of fitness. Big mistake. After a brief, but surprisingly venomous, profanity laden tirade from both women, the women next to them and my wife I decided it would be safer to drown.

I am happy to report there was no drowning, after a while people quit glaring at me. The boat ride was a smashing success, the shipwrecks were easy to see and haunting to look at. I only panicked briefly. Soon I was walking the length of the boat, and we even sat on the front seats (bow?) and enjoyed my time on the water. A real salt, me hearty.

Another Study Debunked, maybe

In an effort to save time and money, reduce waste, improve efficiency, and ease public concerns a group of arachnologists led by Dr. Richard Vetter, from the University of California, Riverside have embarked on a study to identify spiders that are often found in imported shipments. It is believed that this work (This Is No Time To Panic) will fill the "knowledge gap."

Citing incidents where lay people have mistakenly assumed these spiders were of "medical importance," and asked for verification before proceeding, the scientists are hoping to provide a means of identifying spiders that may be dangerous.  It is their belief that informed people will make wise decisions, people armed with knowledge will not panic.

They did not say exactly how they plan on dispersing this information.  One can only assume it will be in pamphlet form, or possibly a small booklet, or maybe even a smart phone app.  "Spiders, sometimes they won't kill you."

Workers unloading a boat filled with bananas will come across a behemoth spider, or possibly several, looking to all the world as though they might have been responsible for the extinction of the dinosaur.  Thinking quickly and rationally they will pull out their little study, comparing pictures of spiders with a similar appearance, and they will know right then and there what kind of spider they are dealing with.

And then they will flee in terror, because it is a huge spider, or several, and nobody cares what some crazy scientist (arachnologist) who was silly enough to actually decide to spend his or her life looking at these monstrous, evil, malevolent, sadistic things has to say.  It is a huge spider from the jungles of South America, and there is no way that thing is safe. "Look into me eyes (all six of them) and you will know despair."

If we are lucky they will set the boat on fire, or better still have the Air Force bomb the danged thing, we can still find a use for some of those decommissioned nuclear weapons, no point in letting them go to waste. 

And you know what else is troubling here?  Where in the heck is the border patrol in all of this mess?  And the coast guard, and the INS, shouldn't they be paying attention to the hordes of vicious, marauding, blood thirsty... 

Anyway, we, here at Life Explained, would like to thank the scientists involved in this study, they are a fearless bunch, and the world is a better place for people like that.