A season’s first paddle elicits mixed emotions. I am excited
about getting back out on the water as I look forward to breathing in fresh
air, feeling spray against my face, seeing various water birds, and hearing
waves lap against the hull. I am also apprehensive. I wonder if I will be able
to find all my gear after it being stored for the winter. If I find it, will it
be in good condition? How many cobwebs, spiders, and rodent nests will I need
to clean out from inside my kayak when I take it down from storage? Will my
forward stroke be as strong as it was last fall?
The first paddle of the season also means trying out new
gear obtained over the winter. Last fall I purchased a NRS cVest PFD to replace
my old original PFD but did not wear it before I put my boat and gear away for
the season. I also recently acquired a new NRS H2Core Silkweight long-sleeve shirt that I was looking forward to reviewing after wearing it for a few
paddles.
Fortunately, there were no live animals or nests inside my
Dagger Zydeco 9.0 when I took it down,
just some old dried leaves, a couple dead stink bugs, and a little water, sand
and gravel indicating that I had not done a very good job cleaning out my boat
when I last hung it up. I easily loaded it on top the car, strapped it down,
and headed to one of my nearest go to paddling locations.
258 acre Cross Creek Lake offers three put in locations, the
nearest less than eleven miles from home. Under a partly sunny sky and a
temperature around fifty, I pulled into the unloading area near the docks and
ramp, but the docks were not yet in the water. The low level docks that usually
float near the ramp had not yet been installed after being taken out for the
winter. They were still sitting along the edge of the parking area.
As I started to take my boat off its racks, I was also
surprised how windy it was. I had not noticed any wind back home when I loaded
my boat on top of the car. Now it was
blowing hard enough that I had to make sure it did not catch my kayak as I
lowered it down. As I carried my boat toward the lake, I saw that the wind was whipping
up some large ripples, large enough, I later learned, to splash across my deck even
though they were not cresting.
I managed to remain dry when entering the cockpit by
slipping down into it from a concrete dock abutment that reached out into the
lake. With the wind at my back, I paddled the most direct course I could toward
another dock area at the eastern end of the lake. Along the way I passed at
least a dozen small boats, each with one or two anglers fishing.
Thirty minutes later, as I neared the eastern end of the
lake, I saw what I expected. The low-level kayaking dock had not yet been put
into the water. Rather than getting out of my boat to stretch, I stayed in the
cockpit, resting for a few minutes and drinking a few swigs from my water
bottle, before heading back across the lake.
As soon as I turned around, I felt the wind blowing almost
directly onto my face. Rather than paddling a beeline through the middle of the
lake and directly into the headwind, I paddled toward shore in search of a wind
break, but found none. Not wanting to be pushed backward, I kept paddling at a
steady pace, focusing more than usual on making sure each stroke was efficient and
hopping my return to the car was not too taxing.
Forty-five minutes after turning around, I was back to where
I started. My hands and feet were a little cold but my core was warm. I quickly
took my kayak out of the water, carried it up to the car, placed it on its
cradles, and strapped it down. Then I
stowed my gear and was headed back home.
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