I wouldn't have lasted five minutes as an Eskimo.
The tribal elders would have wished me the best and banished me to an ice floe right off the bat.
For one thing, I hate sinew. Never cared for it. In the fourth grade, my social studies curriculum was all about Baffin Island, somewhere up there in the Arctic. We learned all about the Eskimos diligently chewing seal and walrus sinew. The purpose for all this masticating has long since been forgotten, but I'm quite sure I wouldn't be one of the chewy volunteers.
But in this type of society, everyone has to pull his/her weight so I guess that would leave kayaking. Prior to last Saturday, I would have thought that pulling kayak duty was a pretty good deal. After all, a person could do a lot worse than skillfully skimming past the icebergs in search of the odd polar bear, porpoise, or puffin. I had had one brief, disastrous fling with the sport of kayaking about 35 years ago at Camp Androscoggin in Maine. At that time I was the tennis director of this grand old boys' camp. One of the kayak instructors was eager to trade some tennis lessons for some kayaking lessons. I enthusiastically agreed and, after a few successful tennis lessons, Nigel (he was British) had me out on the lake squeezing my more than ample bottom into an impossibly small opening in the middle of a sleek, fiberglass kayak. He informed me that the first lesson was how to escape from the kayak in the event that I was turned upside down underwater.
"Why would I want to be upside down underwater?" I asked.
"You wouldn't want to be, but that sometimes happens," Nigel replied.
"Dumb sport," I replied.
At which point Nigel told me in great detail the technique I should use to plop myself out of the impossibly tiny opening so as not to drown during my first lesson. After several panic-stricken lake-swallowing attempts, I was able to master the escape technique and we moved on to paddling. I remember going out for a few kayak paddles but quickly deciding that it was a lot of work and that I much preferred the idea of a dinner cruise on a larger vessel.
Despite that checkered history, motivated by some kind of primal urge to get closer to nature, last Saturday I asked Kate if she would like to go out for a little kayak exploration here at Sandestin. Because we have rented our place from the "official" Sandestin realty company, we are entitled to a few amenities, including the free use of kayaks that are available at the marina which is located on Choctahwatchee Bay, a beautiful body of water teeming with all kinds of bird and marine life, as well as people from Alabama. Kate thought that sounded like a good idea so on a gorgeous spring afternoon with temperatures in the mid-70's, surrounded by gentle breezes, we headed down to the marina.
We were saddened to discover that all of the kayaks were already out in the Bay.
"Just wait here, folks," said the marina guy. "Most people don't last 15 minutes."
Kate and I looked at each other a bit puzzled. After all, why wouldn't a person or a couple want to stay out on the Bay for an entire afternoon, freely paddling into all the little nooks, crannies, and marshy areas, getting up close and personal with nature and experiencing the kind of exhilaration that those wonderful Baffin Islanders must have experienced back when I was in the fourth grade?
Sure enough, after about ten minutes a couple of hardy kayakists pulled up to the shore. They didn't have to "plop" out of the kayak because these babies were more "resorty" and less authentic. One's lower body was out in the open, not cocooned inside a fiberglass enclosure, making one's escape from the kayak quite easy. The couple leaving the kayak did not look happy and I couldn't help but notice that rather than being exhilarated by their brush with nature, they looked, well, devastated.
Kate noticed it too, and she flashed me a look that said, "Sometimes that which seems like a good idea in theory becomes a complete disaster in reality."
The attendant moved our kayak into position and instructed us on how to enter and exit the kayak. Basically, all one had to do was sit one's bottom on the designated area and roll one's legs up into the leg area. Couldn't be simpler. We managed to do this seamlessly with barely any water splashing into our craft. I started to get that feeling I get whenever I take on a new activity: "Wow, I get this. I can see all the nuances and intricacies of this sport. I just may be a brilliant kayaker. Hey Kate, after we conquer Choctahwatchee Bay, let's kayak across the Pacific to the South Seas. Let's kayak to Bali, Kate, waddaya say?"
One last word of advice from the attendant and we were on our way: "Remember to sit upright. Don't lean back. Have fun. See you in about 15 minutes."
And we were off, paddling in perfect synchronicity, gliding into the Bay, off on our kayak adventure. About 45 seconds into our adventure I couldn't help but notice a searing pain shooting across my lower back, abdomen, and hips. Kate, experiencing the same agony, had abandoned her official upright kayak position and was lying back in the damn boat looking up at the sky.
"Kate," I chided, "how are you going to paddle like that?"
"Get me back to shore, Nanook, and pronto. This is worse than surgery"
Thus ended our little kayak expedition on the shores of Choctahwatchee Bay in the Sandestin Resort.
We smiled knowingly at the couple who were eagerly awaiting our return and happily waddled over to the marina bar where we would attempt to limber up.
Ain't life grand?
J
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