Two blades later I was done and I had a paddle shaped oak monstrosity, one inch thick and as tall as a mountain. My gray matter struggled with what to do with it next and no solution formed so to make myself feel better I kicked the six hundred hour canoe and went inside to eat.

Belching my way down the stairs I thought about what I would use to shape my new paddle.
    "Traditional, yes, traditional methods!" I thought to myself.  Making my way into the workshop I found my plane and began my attack on the wood.  At first all went well but then the tide turned and chunks began to fly and the blade dug in.
 

    The snickering from the half-finished six hour canoe sent me over the edge and I broke out the heavy boy from my arsenal.  The heavy duty grinding wheel whined through the summer air highly agitating my neighbor, the state policeman.  Minutes became hours and then the days took over but I finally reached the point where my caliper showed what I wanted to see, a nice thin edge all around rounding in the middle up to the handle.
    "The grain is beautiful!" I thought to myself.
    Dark lines of the wood arched downward to the bottom of the beavertail.  The handle had a squarish property but felt good in my hands almost as if defying the age old tradition of the round.  Grinning from ear to ear I broke out the sandpaper and began to smooth out the wood by hand.  As with the grinding I noticed the distinctive smell of oak, a unique scent, pleasant but yet not.  As the grade of sandpaper changed so did the feel of the paddle.  'Smooth as a babies butt' was the feel I was going for.  Just when I thought I had gotten to that point I found a rough section and started all over again and then again and then again.
    Finally, I reached the ending of my creation.  Running my hands all up and down the blade and handle, much like caressing a woman. I knew I was done.  Wiping the three inches of sawdust from my glass I applied five coats of spar varnish, a task which took the better part of six days, carefully sanding lightly between each coat with the finest of steel wool until it shone in the sun like a mirror.
    Down on the bank of the river I pushed off.  The water got deeper and I put my new blade to the test.  Digging deep with the long handle I propelled my boat upstream at an amazing pace.  The bow split the water and I could feel the boat rising with each stroke.  I finally had the paddle that I could get some real power out of.  An hour later I put the oak paddle on the gunwales and with a grin drifted back home.