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Originally posted by Wes Boyd in rec.boats.paddle
It was close to a flat calm on the lake. A few ripples gave testimony
to a dying breath of a breeze, but on this clear, still summer evening
it would soon be gone.
How many times this season had I slid my long, slender kayak into the
water near the boat launch for my after-work, after-dinner workout?
Thirty? Forty? Fifty? I'd lost count long before.
A couple stretches, a little squirming to get comfortable, a few strokes
of the paddle and I was off, heading directly into the path of the
sinking sun, letting the hull of the boat and the brim of my battered
old baseball cap soak up the dazzle of the brightness. After only a
minute or two, I could see that I was past the point, and could turn
enough to put the sunlight at my side.
Even the lake was quiet tonight. It's usually pretty quiet, anyway,
since it's located in a state park and has a no-wake restriction, so
there are no jet skis or ski boats -- just the putter of small
outboards as fishermen patiently troll for the lake's large but
elusive muskies.
I wasn't trying to set any records tonight, just get in a nice, steady
four miles. That would be a challenge all in itself, since I was not
feeling my best, and when I feel lousy, I often paddle lousy.
The air lay still and heavy as I paddled around the point, past the
decaying old duck blind from last fall. Half a mile ahead of me, I
could see the beach, also very quiet for a warm summer night. I had
guessed it was quiet when I put my kayak in the water, for on busy
nights you can hear the screams and cries of the beach from the
parking lot, and now my guess was proven correct. There were only a
couple of knots of swimmers, probably not more than ten in all,
apparently families with small children.
As I paddled toward the beach, I got close to a part of the huge
goose flock that clusters in the evening. When I'd gotten close to
them a few days before, some of the goslings I'd been watching from
the nesting stage months before had tried to fly away, but couldn't
quite make it into the air. Tonight, some did, although they didn't
get very high, or make it very far.
I try not to disturb the geese any more than necessary, even though
some times it can't be avoided, so I swung closer to the beach, just
outside the swim bouys, to give them some space. Glancing over at
the beach, my surmise proved correct: a couple families with young
children, playing in the water's edge.
And then, I saw her. With that bright red one-piece swimsuit on,
redder than my kayak, if such a thing were possible, I don't know
how I could have missed her, but I must have been looking at the
geese. She sat on top of a picnic table, legs drawn up, resting
her chin on her knee, staring off in the general direction of the
dazzle of the sun on the water, intently staring -- not at me,
though I must have passed through her field of vision. "Not bad,"
I thought from my glance.
I paddled on past, keeping my pace up. Past the beach, I glanced
back at her; she hadn't moved, still staring at the water, or the
geese, or the sun, or whatever. I continued on down to the end of
the lake, made my normal turn around the log stuck in the bottom,
and turned toward the north shore, trying to look away from the
still-lower sun.
When the sun is low, the trees along the north shore are a friend.
I snuggled into the shore as close as I could to keep in their shadow,
and keep the sun out of my eyes. Well into the shadow now, I stopped
for a moment to shift my legs around a little, then take my cap off
to cool off a touch. I looked back across the lake, half a mile or
more, toward the beach; I could see the red of her swimsuit as she
sat there on the picnic table, apparently without moving a muscle.
I paddled on down the familiar shoreline, taking my time. A dragonfly
landed on the foredeck, and took off again. A couple of times, carp
swirled the water near my boat as I came past. Off in the distance,
a fish jumped. Once or twice I had to put my head down to keep the
dazzle of the sun out of my eyes as I crossed the mouth of a little
cove. Finally, I could turn to the south, along the west shore, and
put the sun behind me.
Turn made, I glanced back across the lake. Now nearly a mile and a
half away, I couldn't make out individual figures at the beach,
although there was one little dot of sunlit bright red, still atop
the picnic table. Soon I had to turn back to the east, to head back to
the boat launch. Behind me, the ripples from my slender craft spread
clear across the still waters of the little bay. I reflected that
after a ragged start, I was paddling pretty good tonight. Paddling
good when I'm feeling lousy makes me feel better, and I was in a much
better mood than I'd been in an hour before.
Just before I turned around the point to the boat launch, I glanced up
at the beach again. Now closer, I could see that the girl in the red
swimsuit was still sitting on top of the picnic table, still apparently immoble.
I wondered what the deal was with her. I hadn't been watching her
continually, but she hadn't moved from her perch atop the picnic table
in close to an hour, as far as I could tell. Was she enjoying the
evening, just watching the sights? Pensive, perhaps? Depressed, and
trying to figure it all out? Spaced out?
As I slipped around the point on the way to the familiar landing, I
got one last glimpse of her, and knew that I'd never know.
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