When did it start? Probably back in the eighties, when I was persuaded to go whitewater rafting in Colorado. The raft trip itself through rocks and cascades was terrifying enough, but the sight of a kayak turning upside down in the rapids, and the man in it desperately trying to right himself with an eskimo roll, panicked me.
A couple of years ago my partner cajoled me into getting an
inflatable two-person kayak that we could take with us in the RV. It travels
under the dinette table quite well, almost leaving room for our feet. In theory
it is the perfect boat for RVers, being light and portable. In practice it is
my bête noire. I have always found an excuse to stay out of it, encouraging
Thane to paddle about alone. (He has greatly enjoyed it.)
This couldn’t last forever. Recently we were staying at a
lovely streamside campground in Maine, with a small boat dock right next to our
camp site. The weather was fine, we had nothing else to do, and I could think
of no excuse. So, we inflated the kayak and climbed in. Or, I should say Thane
climbed in, and I started to. The kayak put out to sea while I clung to a post
on the dock until my grip loosened and I fell into the water. Luckily, the
water was shallow, but it was muddy and cold. Never again!
