Kayaks "R" Us

I will be teased and taunted about this kayaking trip for the rest of my life. What was supposed to be an easy breezy day on the water turned into a battle against a rip-roaring tide I thought I'd never win.

"We'd like two kayaks for the day, please," said my mom.

"Have you been here before?" asked the attendee. She was annoyed at the eager beavers who were there at 8:57 a.m. waiting for her to open the doors at nine.

"Yup. We've kayaked many times before," said my mom with chipper confidence.

"Ooooooo-kayeeeeeee," the kayaking clerk said with a dubious smirk.

Uh-oh, here it comes. We were in for it.

"Do you know what a wet exit rollout is and how to do it?"

My mom kept a straight face while I stared hard at the packs of gum below the counter calling unsuccessfully on my powers of telekinesis.

"I'll show you an exit rollout," is what my mom should have said.

Instead, "Well, no..."

Ok, lady, you put us in our place, now give us the sign-up sheet and we'll give you our money.

"Well then. Please fill these out, initials here here here and here. Signatures here here here and here."

It started out promising. Mom and I oared our way over to the harbor where several boats were docked and seals, like Sammy below, were swerving in and out of our bright, citrus kayaks.


Otters ate, corkscrewed and floated seamlessly around us. Otis is my mom's favorite sea creature, but by the end of the day my assertion was, while cute (if you were lucky enough to sneak up on them), they were not as flirty and fun as the sea lions.



Pelicans flew in tandem overhead like flocks of geese headed south for the winter. Once in a while you'd get the occasional daredevils who seemed to be showing off as they hovered parallel to the water, just inches from the waves.


Further down the Elkhorn Slough, Mom and I encountered a floating docent, or a "doating flocent," as he called himself, who informed us that seals are nocturnal -- something I never knew. No wonder I always see their battles of the blubber over sleeping space on the docks, or anywhere it's dry and sunny. I thought they were just lazier than me on a Sunday morning.


It took us an hour to get to the spot called the dairy. We barely had to paddle. The current carried us swiftly on our way, allowing us to stop and admire the nature and spectacular scenery around us. One Sammy popped his head up in front of a farm where cows were grazing and snoozing. I'd never seen anything like it. The slough was a spot where the barnyard met the ocean aquatic. I wanted to capture it on camera but his three seconds of sun-soaking and breathing were too quick for my hands.

Shortly after is when it went terribly wrong. As my mom and I turned around to head home we paddled for about ten seconds before realizing we were paddling in place. We were in a flume. No matter how hard we tried we weren't moving. I laughed, thought how absurd, and hoped it was just for those few moments.

But, oh no. I saw the bridge that marked "HOME" and I thought I'd never reach it before dark.

My mom and I kept setting barriers to get across.

"We just have to get past this tree."

"You've been saying that, mom, for the past half an hour!!!"

"OK! We just have to get past this buoy."

"Yes, mom, you've been saying that for the past half an hour!"

I even started treating it like a workout session. We'd go hard for 20 strokes, then easy. Twenty hard, 20 easy, until that tired us both out and we realized we were no closer to home than when we started the intervals.

We couldn't even enjoy the surroundings anymore because a brief glance or break from the paddling would throw you back 25 yards and about 15 minutes of grueling paddling.

My mom thought it was hysterical. Her triathlon/marathon-finishing daughter couldn't paddle her way out of a creek. I was laughing, though more out of lunacy than amusement.

"What happens to people who seriously can't make it back?" I was hoping a tugboat from the harbor would come down. Mom laughed. I wasn't kidding.

"They seriously need to do blood tests before this. What if you have a heart condition?" Mom laughed. Again, I wasn't kidding and considered suggesting that to the girl who checked us in.

"I could swim faster than this!" I shrieked.

"Yup, you're probably right."

After two and a half hours of this torture, we made it home. I wanted to kiss the ground like I was Christopher Columbus discovering land for the first time. As I leaned over my phone fell out of my life vest pocket.

"%&^$%&#$^%&#$%*&%#!"

I heard my mom's "Oh god," behind me.

I looked up and a father and son pair were standing directly over me.

I mumbled "%&^$%&#$^%&#$%*&%#!" to myself and shook the water and sand out of every hole and key of my poor phone.

Like salt on a wound. I even had it in a plastic baggie the entire time. I took several pictures on the water, then in the final moments it jumps out into the water?! God was laughing at me.

Mom cheered me up with tamales and margaritas at The Whole Enchilada on Moss Landing while my Sony-Ericsson camera phone sat air-drying on the dashboard like a seal on the sand.

I hoped we both would come back to life.