If learning something new makes the brain happy, mine must be thrilled.
Seduced by serene water scenes posted on Facebook by friends last summer, I opted to join the kayak crowd.
In my youth, I spent many happy hours in and on the water, making sport of rolling kayaks.
But that was more than 40 years ago. My centre of gravity has since shifted and the litheness of youth is long gone.
True to my astrological sign, Pisces, I am a water baby, so I bought a kayak and signed up for a lesson with the Shuswap Association of Rowing and Paddling (SARP).
On arrival at the Canoe Beach boat launch two weeks ago, thoughts of serene paddling evaporated, replaced by butterflies dancing Gangnam Style in my belly.
The wind was up and so was the chop.
Using gear supplied by SARP, I approached my designated kayak with some trepidation.
With able instructor Neil Trouton holding my kayak steady, I plopped in, which prompted my life-jacket to move “earward.”
Like a turtle in a nylon shell, I paddled out to where Trouton stood waist deep to perform my first roll in almost half a century, it being important to know what it’s like to exit – and, in deeper water, to learn how to get back in.
I had volunteered to go first, based on my belief that waiting at the end of the line only gives fear room to grow.
Once dunked, I began to feel much more comfortable – well, sort of.
Rolls accomplished, Trouton demonstrated fundamental paddle strokes while my classmates and I drifted rapidly east toward the Canoe Mill.
“Let’s paddle back,” said Trouton many times over.
Although not required, out in the deep I accepted the invitation to exit my kayak for the sole purpose of getting back in.
Using a nylon stirrup made entry easy – once I got my foot in the sling. I am extremely buoyant and had a hard time getting my foot up without the rest of me bobbing up as well.
By this time, I was feeling much more comfortable, if not confident.
At 7:30 p.m., 30 minutes after the class was meant to end, I and three other women paddled to shore, with Trouton inviting us to paddle for another half-hour, at least.
A generous offer, but one which none of us had the energy to accept. We arrived on shore rubber-legged and with heavy, drooping arms.
The class and camaraderie were excellent, as was the support offered by two SARP members, who were on hand to dole out the equipment and encouragement.
My own kayak was christened on Saturday, with three happy hours of family paddling at the eastern end of a very placid White Lake.
For a few zen-like moments, my arms were in synch and I sailed effortlessly along – until I realized what I was doing and broke the spell.
As I said to my grandson, who was frustrated with his first efforts to row his dingy, “We’re in the same boat here; we both have to practise in order to get better.”
And we will, but only on calm days. At least to begin with.
