On Paddling and Pedaling

           It’s been a lovely morning, the kind that invites you outdoors. I went down to the small beach alongside the slipway, where I picked up discarded plastic waste – a once incidental activity that has since become compulsive – but it was the warm sunshine and still water that kept me there. Calmed and entranced, I lingered to absorb the vibe. Is this the stuff of meditation, I thought? If so, I could become a convert. A pair of swans that hang out on these waters came floating in, like a lord and lady taking a tour of their manor. Stranded jellyfish lay on the beach, collapsed but still glistening with life, while their more fortunate fellows gently pumped their way through the shallows beyond. The boatyard and marina both were quiet, not yet at work, but a few people began to arrive with canoes and inflatable boards, busily setting themselves up for waterborne adventures. They probably thought the conditions were ideal, but I am not fooled. Fair weather is a trap set by Nature, a way of lulling humans into complacency before it reveals its sinister face.

          Last Saturday, we ventured out across the estuary in our kayaks, accompanied by friends on their small yacht (we are not yet confident of the crossing, it being a deep and fast-flowing tidal current). The conditions were clement and the going easy. We beached on the other side, hopped into their yacht and pottered around under sail for a while. Thus far, it could be described as a jolly outing. The return journey was a little more eventful, however. As we crossed the channel, I heard the clap of a starting gun and saw that the fleet of racing yachts that had previously been wandering aimlessly in circles was now bearing down on us fast, all spinnakers billowing. It was an alarming sight, but we paddled hard and cleared their path in time. I should have left it at that and not looked over my shoulder at them, for in doing so I lost my balance and capsized. Now, for a seasoned seadog, capsizing may be nothing to worry about but, for a novice, the experience is alarming. One minute you’re merrily bobbing along, admiring the view and feeling smug about your maritime proficiency, the next you are under water, wearing an upturned kayak on your head – and with terra firma a remote prospect.

          Last winter, I had a similar experience when cycling. Having just recently taken to a bike for the first time in about 55 years and conscious of the saying that one never forgets how to ride, I suppose I was insouciant, or at least nonchalant, to the point of carelessness. The front wheel skidded on the wet surface and I ended up in the middle of the road with the bike on top of me. This and the kayaking upset have several shared consequences, one being shock, another the feeling of embarrassment and yet another the element of luck at having come off lightly.

          But bikes are a lot easier to get back onto. I emerged from under my capsized craft and grasped a handle. So far, so afloat. The tasks then facing me were first, to flip it over and, second, to remount it – both of which I accomplished, egged on by a degree of panic and the soothing presence of my friends who had, by then, drawn up alongside and thrown me a rope. Now, there is a technique to recovering oneself from this situation in deep water, but I have only learnt it subsequently. At the time, it was trial and error and, though I did succeed, I have no recollection of quite how.

          Nevertheless, having watched a few YouTube videos, I feel qualified to offer some advice to other beginners: practise recovery before you set off on your first trip. Also, consider carefully whether you would rather paddle or pedal your way to potential oblivion.