connecting with nature

I’d spent many exhilarating hours sailing in the sunny bays of San Diego, but had never had an urge to kayak. Truth be known, I’d always thought kayaking looked slow. (Interpret that as dull!) And I wasn’t altogether too sure that I’d fit my Amazon-like frame into the tiny narrow cockpit of a kayak—let alone keep myself upright. (Interpret that as chicken!)

But then I moved to the emerald waters of the Pacific Northwest, and each weekend, as I explored a different lake or river trail, I felt land-locked as I gazed at the hundreds of brightly colored sails streaming by. At the time, I was a returning student; funds were limited, and the cost of hiring a sailboat prohibitive—maybe a plastic, blow-up dinghy?

Ditching that idea—and with more than a little trepidation—I took a four-hour introductory class to kayaking on Lake Washington and, within the first thirty minutes, became a lifetime kayaker.

Kayaks don’t merely float on the water—they put you in the water, at one with nature, allowing access to areas that other boats can’t get to. Down in the wetlands for example, where you can paddle within a couple of feet of blue herons blending almost invisibly into the tall wispy reeds. Where otters, busily gathering floating sticks and leaves, dodge around your kayak as though it's part of their terrain. And where mama duck, sensing that your quiet gliding action poses no threat, swims right alongside you with her babies.

One of the brightest blessings of kayaking is that you can get far away from the aggravation of noise pollution, forgetting for a few hours the cacophony of screaming sirens, freeway rumbles, boom-box low-riders, and raging leaf-blowers.

Quiet calms the soul as you surrender to the rhythmic heartbeat of a well-timed paddle lapping the water’s surface. Sensory overload releases its toxic grip as birds natter lyrically. And priorities shift, as cool winds wrap around you, gently whispering, nudging you on.

Doesn’t matter whether you kayak at sun-up or sundown, there’s always some new wonder to experience. For me, almost nothing matches the sight of a mighty bald eagle swooping down within feet of your kayak to capture an unsuspecting salmon working his way back to the creek. Or the simultaneous rush of panic and awe as the black and white arc of an Orca whale surfaces, just yards away, dwarfing your kayak.

I’ve gasped in child-like delight as I rounded a cove and Mount Rainier jumped seemingly out of nowhere. Or as a turtle suddenly popped his head at my side. I’ve felt a rush of warm comfort at the simplicity of a setting sun easing its honey-colored fingertips below the ridges of the majestic Cascades. And a midnight island coastal tour by the light of a Harvest moon? Well, let’s just say that puts the ‘ahhh’ back in romantic!