Is leisure-kayaking a waste of time? A mere displacement activity? After three goes at paddling aimlessly around the creek, I was inclined to think so. Then, one calm and tranquil evening, in the pinkish grey of dusk, I watched from the balcony as a young man stood effortlessly on a paddleboard, motionless on the glassy surface of the water. He was looking at his phone – tuning in to a mindfulness podcast or some soothing ambient music, as I imagined. Nothing around him was moving. There was no sound except birdsong. That’s the way to go, I thought. I should approach kayaking as a medium for meditation.
The next day dawned perfectly warm and sunny. Climate crisis? On days such as this, it is all too easy to forget the facts. I set out for a walk, litter-picker in hand, light of heart and ready to forgive the bin-deniers. But the first thing I encountered was a euphemistically styled “poo-bag”, bright blue, fully loaded (must have been a big dog) and placed conspicuously atop a low wall. A metaphorical cloud obscured the sun, but it passed when I reasoned that the perpetrator might have left it there, not on purpose but absent-mindedly, while dealing with the aftermath of the event. Call me a soft liberal, easy prey to Far Right predators. Certainly, I remember being identified as such a couple of years ago at a street party in New Orleans, where I got talking to a middle-aged guy with long hair, a floppy hat and a generally liberal mien. But he was a redneck in disguise, tricking me into revealing my social-democrat tendencies before mocking me with his contempt for any view less than the full Trump. The sneaky bastard!
I continued my walk, unfazed by the bright blue monstrosity. I often get nods and smiles of approval from people I encounter while cleaning up. Sometimes they instigate brief conversations or, occasionally, rants about litter, but they usually have one thing in common: they are not young. I was surprised, therefore, when a twenty-something crusty wearing expensive-looking headphones made a point of stopping to engage with me. As he peeled his headphones away from his dreadlocks, I anticipated a right-on conversation about ecocide. It began promisingly. “See all those vapour trails from planes up there”, he said, pointing at the clear blue sky. I looked up and saw just one. “And we’re not allowed to fly anywhere!” he continued, outraged. He went on to rant incoherently about lockdown and covid and it became obvious that this was not about the environment, nor was it even a conversation. I excused myself with a “whatever” and turned away. But he was not finished with me yet and continued to rave, now on the themes of face-coverings and vaccination. At last, I took the bait and suggested he might consider some of the scientific evidence put forward by, you know, people who study immunology. But he had no intention to argue or discuss. He was there to proselytise. I tried once more to introduce another point of view, but in vain and, after presenting me with some imagined “facts” as evidence for his case, he pointed his finger at me, said “Think about it!”, stuck his headphones back on and marched off, oblivious to the hollowness of his victory.
The encounter left me feeling angry and frustrated, so I decided to give the Zen-kayaking a go. It was a sunny afternoon and the water looked inviting. Perhaps that was why it didn’t work: there was too much action around me and I spent some time considering things like whether I dared to paddle cheekily under a huge, moored-up catamaran. Perhaps dusk is best for a meditative atmosphere, but that would mean disrupting my routine of aperitif, dinner, Channel 4 News and gazing vicariously from the balcony. I’ll think on it.
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