Clear Water

There’s a place where the freeway passes over the river just at the point at which it empties into Lake Easton.  It’s on the way to and from Daughter One’s college and I always chuckle a bit as I cross that little bridge.

It’s a beautiful place from the road or from lake level and I can’t wait to get back to this little bit of heaven in the Cascades. The water is crystal clear and cold as the snow that it was but hours before. It moves quickly enough not to serve as a mosquito hatchery and slowly enough for a leisurely paddle. Even the muted sound of the cars and trucks passing by on the freeway overhead somehow seem to add rather than detract from the scenery.

I love this place, but not solely because of the serene, natural beauty.

You see, it was at this spot two years ago that I failed to back paddle in a timely manner and so watched helplessly, frantically trying to set down the water cannon and grab up my paddle in time to avoid catastrophe. It wasn’t to be.

Before I could react effectively, my kayak rode up and over Pat’s starboard quarter, transecting his afterdeck and hooking under his left arm but over his off-side paddle.  This juxtaposition of my prow and his paddle made a quick-slap-and-high-brace recovery entirely out of the question.  His kayak translated clockwise about the longitudinal axis until he was inverted, at which point he pulled the grab loop of his spray skirt, executed a wet exit and bobbed to the surface.

Yes, I blindsided him and knocked his ass out of his sled.

Into the water.

The 45 degree (or thereabouts) snow melt runoff water.

I apologized sincerely and profusely and Pat was magnanimous about the whole thing, even turning the accident into an opportunity to practice a paddle float re-entry. I really felt badly about the fact that he had to spend the ensuing hour sitting in a puddle with a soaked shirt and squooshing paddle booties.

It was not an intentional dunking and I would never seek to repeat the performance. On the other hand, it was me, the chubby brother knocking Pat, the buff athlete brother clean out of his kayak.

It’s a lovely place. And I just can’t help chuckling just a bit every time I pass over it.