The cold salt water immediately rushed into my right boot, which is designed to protect in late spring / early fall temperatures. Ouch! I sacrificed hypothermia in one set of toes, instead of a full body splash into the frigid ocean water. A prudent decision.
My trip today would take me from Cotuit Landing, out past the east cut of the bay, into the unprotected waters of Nantucket Sound. A strong north wind accompanied the clear blue skies, and it made a sail out of my back while I paddled through the ebb tide. I appreciated the wind assist as my shoulder muscles became reacquainted with my Werner paddle. The neoprene dry suit I was wearing underneath my Kokatat dry suit chaffed my skin with each stroke. No doubt my multi-layer protection of neoprene and waterproof nylon was robbing me off efficiency. But should I capsize (something I had NO intention of doing) this bulky clothing would give me my only chance for survival.
Before I make this sound like an episode of Bear Grylls, let me stress that I do not stray far from shore. I have a very safe layer of insulated clothing to to give me options if wind, current, or my own misdirection pushes me where I had not intended to go. These are simply uncertainties that I prepare for. In 99% of my cold water trips, I could probably go out in any warm winter gear and have a safe, comfortable paddle - as long as I stay upright! But the reality of dangerous wilderness travel is that you need to dress for that 1% of time, 100% of the time.
I moved smoothly through the cut and out into the sound. The wind that had pushed me across the bay now followed me as I paralleled the beach shore. While I appreciated the cooperation, I know I would have payback once I shifted the bow into the north at the other end of the island. But why fret? Just enjoy the ride. I expected a solitary trip, but I found myself surrounded by a variety of sea ducks. Common Eiders, Long Tailed ducks and Scoters bobbed on the surface, then dipped beneath the waves to search for some tidbit to eat.
The blue sky and brilliant sun belied the fact that his was indeed a frigid place to be. But the ducks seemed completely nonplussed as they paddled with me on the choppy ocean. I marveled at how well adapted they are for this world. Everything they need to survive goes with them whenever they take flight, and that's just the feathers on their back.
It makes our *need* for a 42" HDTV seem rather obscene.
Just as predicted, as I turned into the west cut and nosed into the channel between Grand Island and Sampson's, the wind hit me full bore. Ouch! (again). The extra thick neoprene paddling gloves I was wearing did the best they could, but water had managed to seep in and wet my fingers. Now with each stroke, I repeatedly raised one hand high into the wind for maximum cooling, while the other dipped into the water. I could start not feeling my fingers. This might impact my ability to type this afternoon (is that a bad thing?).
Paddling into the wind is a meditative experience. I shake off the frustration of having to work that much harder with each stroke, and settle into a steady rhythm. Each dig of the paddle blade elicits a grunt of effort. How slowly I move now, but I do move.
It seemed a metaphor for life: be in the present; feel the rhythm in nature; paddle steadily and thoughtfully.
I will move forward.
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