A majestic Saturday paddle started as a fun opportunity to ride some waves but ended with danger and a long swim to shore.
I push away from the boat launch, much like I usually do, hoping for waves and expecting scenic views. The day is gorgeous; a brisk breeze in my face means waves are pounding into shore with a spectacular endless horizon. I'm blissful.
The paddle continues as expected while I hunt around for reasonable waves that my thirteen-foot touring kayak doesn't find too daunting while being big enough to get the blood pumping. There are countless to go around.
I spend about an hour paddling as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. I even manage to recover a granola bar wrapper that attempts to dash for freedom. I'm pretty excited until a smidgen of a disaster strikes. Just as I am leaning into a sharp turn, a wave on my blindspot swamps the boat's deck and pulls me over.
In retrospect, I probably should have gone for the roll but my long legs make it near impossible in this boat as I don't fit under the thigh braces. I reach for the skirt release and eject into the blue. Life isn't that bad; I know how to wet enter this kayak; my confidence is pretty high.
Only one small problem, my GoPro is mounted right where I would swing over the deck to remount. Oh well, I have to adjust and launch myself onto the hull at a slightly different angle.
Well, that was a bad idea made even worse by timing; I forgot to look back for waves before making my move. Just as I mount the boat, another rearward surge of water sweeps onto my deck as the kayak tilts to support my weight.
Ok, NOW we have a problem, there is too much water in the cockpit to consider mounting again. It would probably take me hours to bail it all with my bilge pump even without considering any new water introduced by mother nature.
A casual day of paddling has suddenly become a survival situation. If I leave the boat upright, I will probably sink it as more and more water will continue to swamp over the deck. Not only would that leave me in a much worse situation, but I kind of like my kayak. I'd also note that the seals in both bulkheads failed which made flipping the boat to empty water near impossible. In the future I will run airbags in this boat as a failsafe against bulkhead failure.
(Note: photos/footage ends here as the GoPro ran out of battery)
The first step to survival situations is to slow down and think. Quick action out of panic or fear seldom is the best choice unless say a T-Rex is chasing you. There are some facts I know right now. If I flip the boat belly up, the trapped air will keep it floating. A heavy wind means I won't have much control over pushing the boat, but the wind is gusting shoreward, so I know I will eventually crash into land so long as I can stay on the water's surface. It seems the best course of action is to let the current pull me to shore while I scout for rip currents and try to swim the boat away from them.
Two hours of swimming later, my plan pays off; I reach a sandy shore several kilometers west of the put in. I am at the bottom of tall cliffs, but I know I can portage along the beach until I get back to a trail. Worst case, I can paddle back.
Fully shoring the boat is quite the ordeal; it has lots of water in it. While trying to flip the boat over a rock, dehydration's punishing effect rears its ugly head. My water bottle floated away hours ago, and there was no way I would drink Lake Ontario water. My right calf erupts in one of the most epic cramps I have experienced in years. It is still tender eight hours later as I write this blog post.
At the moment, all I can do is slump into the surf and enter into a battle of will with my leg, desperately trying to stretch the fulminating muscle. While I am raging at my own body, a gentleman walking the beach darts over to pull my boat out of the water. I am at the point where I don't need assistance, but I am grateful for the helping hand.
Safe on shore, I slump down onto the beach to rest until I notice at the face at the top of the cliff quickly revealing a torso with the word "POLICE" written on it. Oh crap, am I trespassing? I'm pretty sure this is still part of the parkland.
Still, out of breath, I drag my exhausted keester up the steep slope to find out how much trouble I am in. The cop is cheerful and caring. I'm not in trouble. I guess someone saw me swimming into shore and called the police on my behalf.
After repeatedly promising that I am fine, just tired, I also have to convince a paramedic of the same; the authorities head off. It is now time to get the boat back to my truck; I'm friggin hungry!
I reach down, casually, to hoist the kayak over my shoulder for the portage back. Nope, so much nope. My calf immediately tells me that there is no way that it is going to tolerate a multi-kilometer kayak carry today.
Ok, plan B, I pop open my hold and pull out my kayak cart. The tires are pretty rugged-looking, I'm sure they can handle a little bit of beach. Kayak cart attached, I toss my valuables into the hold, seal it up, and start towing.
The kayak cart works marvellously, and other than a few obstacles I have to lift over, the little thing rolls like a champ back to the pavement. I get back to the truck and begin to unload.
Where is the dry sack with my wallet? I know I put it in the hold, or did I toss it into the cockpit? I'm too tired to remember. All I know is it doesn't seem to be in the boat—giant sigh.
Ok, well, it has to be just sitting on the beach; no one would take it because almost no one goes down where I was. I probably left it on the deck, and it slid off onto the sand.
The last thing I want to do is walk back there again, but I guess I have no choice. Dealing with a lost wallet is just so much worse. Ok, first, lets load up and tie down the kayak.
Walking back along the path, all I can do is reflect on the day and internally rage about my stupidy for leaving the wallet behind. Two kilometers later, I get to the spot I had beached upon. No wallet as far as the eye can see.
Well, I guess I just wasted my time, better head back. What could have happened to it? Did a particularly gumptious wave drag it into the lake while it sat on the shore? Did someone find it, and I will get a call in 3 days when they figure out how to track me down?
Nothing I can do about it, but I will double-check that boat again when I get back. Maybe it slid under the seat mechanism. A few more ticks on the ole step counter, and I am back at the truck, frustrated and starting to become cantankerous.
I am voracious but have no wallet to buy food nearby. Well, better check that seat...
Nope, nothing but sand and dirt, bummer; I guess while I'm up here, I should check the hold one more time. Nope, empty...
...wait
What is that back there in that ridiculously narrow slot beside the rudder mount? How on earth did it fit in there?
I am happy now.
I'm going to buy the ingredients to make several corned beef sandwiches.
I had four.