I paddled again today.
Out in open water, uncertainty. Confused water, moving in many directions. Realizing that there would be no rhythm, I just would have to move with it. Easier to feel it, at first, with eyes closed, but needed to stay off the seawall. It was strange. I got used to it.
A mile and a half around the seawall and into the harbor. Rainbow's End, my old love, immense and firmly graceful as I paddle up to her. I remember her well. Racing; moving, five people as one, dancing in unison through the starting sequence, the rhythm of upwind legs, flying the spinnaker, performing the perfect jibe, the intensity and laziness of distance racing, sleeping in pipe berths in some strange harbor. My heart aches.
Back out into the lake, and I discover a beach a mile north from my launch point. Today was cloudy, it's well into dusk, sunset still leaving the sky, pinkish, huge backlit clouds deep bluish purple. Heading into the beach, reflections of the city's sodium sparkle in big pools amid others of deepest blue silk.
I look around. To the south, the skyline, crystal clear. To the north, sky reflected on water; shards of turquoise amid deepness. It grows dark, but is too early to head back directly. I turn away from the city, using the three mile crib for navigation, intending to ride back with the swells.
The water is velvet; smooth, indistinct. Can't make out the horizon. Dark shapes, the facing side of swells, it seems, move toward and around me; they might be any size, at any distance. Absolutely no depth perception, I can't interpret what I am seeing. It doesn't mean anything; without a frame of reference, terror begins to rise. There is nothing to understand, only to watch, to be with. My boat appears crisp, resistance against paddle, solid; beyond it is nothing. But the water, is as if it doesn't exist except as it touches my boat; out there, somewhere, beyond. Ever moving, ever changing, yet immutable in nature. Accept, embrace, absorb. Nightfall. Untouchable velvet, uncertain shadows, seamlessness of sky and water.
Far from tired, but it's time to return. Stop, sit, sense, be; velvet, silk, glass, sodium. Direction is easy; distance, unknowable in darkness. I miss my launching spot on the beach by a quarter mile, carry over packed sand, but do not return to earth.
Afterword
As it turns out, I was out for two and a half hours, and paddled more than six miles. Based on bearings and fixed points, I estimate that the penultimate leg was well past a mile in length, and the return to the beach was more than a mile and a half over open water, in the city's dark.
But... there's more to say, that cannot be said: beyond logic, beyond words, beyond thoughts. How amazing it was to be out there. And how silent, within. How surreal, surrounded by nothing, but how right, and how wonderful to be alone among it.
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9 comments:
The sky/water-scape sounds almost like a sense-perception equivalent of the non-dualistic consciousness found in meditiation -
Thanks, Julie, for these wonderful pointing-out instructions. (They approach that at points, anyway.)
When I read your description, I want to take up paddling!
Sounds like good experiencing and experience too!
I used to have an Indian canoe made of fiverglass. But I'm not good swimmer; so I just forgot about it.
I prefer to do long distance ice-skating. Unfortunately I've never tried the "elfstedentocht", or eleven-cities-marathon, which happens once in a number of years when the weather is just right.
"there's more to say, that cannot be said"
Then it was a true and beautiful experience. Thanks for sharing (what you could...), Julie.
:)
Darius; yes... but only meditation?
Andrew; could you say that again with different words? I don't understand. Come to Chicago and I'll take you paddling!
Imemine; the ice skating sounds fun. I like going for long skates.
Trev; you're welcome... Kena Upanishad comes to mind:
"It is not understood by those who understand it;
it is understood by those who do not understand it."
... and so it is...
Nice description, Julie. Thanks!
Julie, I hope you are carrying flares, and a whistle? Should be standard for off-shore paddling. I assume you're on Lake Michigan - well, you know how fast the wind can whip up a storm there, you don't need me to mention it.
There is a lovely pocket-sized beach on Treasure Island, half way across the San Francisco Bay. Leaving from Jack London Square it's not a long paddle, but does cross open bay with the wind directly in from the gate, and a shipping lane. You pass a seal haul-out, then noise from the traffic crossing the Bay Bridge becomes a roar as you approach - but something magical happens with the acoustics - as you slip under the bridge and past, it becomes utterly silent. You emerge to a tiny, sand beach in a tree-lined cove - utterly remote and beautifully empty, right in the middle of busy San Francisco Bay.
Sounds good.
Darius... The stuff that I experienced in the conventional way matched the rest of the experience. That helps.
Dan; thank you for enjoying it. :)
Hayden; no flares (yet) but lights and whistle, of course. Two years racing taught me a lot, but your caring is appreciated!
Rob; is good.
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