I slid the red 16-foot sea kayak down the boat ramp as 8-foot rollers smashed into the break-wall at the edge of the tiny harbor.
A sudden rush of water snatched at the boat but I stomped it before it got away. You’re not going out there without me, buddy. I’d already committed to doing what others (and maybe this writer) might have considered the ultimate confluence of boredom, idiocy and pride.
Maybe the dark walls of water curling over and slamming the rocks in monolithic plumes of spray were nature’s way of saying, “Don’t mess with this.” Ditto the gale warning up on the National Weather Service or the fact that surface temps for Lake Superior’s North Shore in September had already dropped to 48-degrees. There wasn’t much margin for error.
On another milder day, I knew that I could swim to shore with a flipped kayak, or get back in. I’d practiced tipping my boat and getting back inside when there was 3-foot surf and executed Eskimo rolls, mostly successfully in the same conditions.
Looking at the raging lake, I had less confidence that I’d be able to do any of those things. If I flipped, I might have to surrender my boat and swim back through breaking waves as my body started going stupid and useless in the cold water.
My girlfriend had come along (Christ, if there were ever a reason to do something dumb) with my camera around her neck (there’s another one.) If this was about showing off, I deserved to flip, so I hoped I wasn’t.
I’d given her a line to throw and a lifejacket to wear in case I got close to shore, but couldn’t save myself. Not that this built much margin of safety. I thought about how it was selfish to give her this equipment, as it made someone else shoulder the risk I was taking.
The selfishness of going out also included the possibility of screwing up in such a way that an emergency call would send first responders over the dangerous lake to recover my dumb ass.
So now that I had established that I was a stupid, selfish person, it was time to get out there and do what I’d come for.
I eased myself into the boat and popped my spray skirt on as quickly as I could. A couple of scoots down the concrete ramp and I could paddle forward.
The sea kayak, which normally feels bombproof in the waves, felt immediately unreliable, sensitive to the confused currents swirling around the harbor. I wasn’t even past the breakwater yet.
That jagged pile of quarried stones, was absorbing most of the fury from the waves. A concrete pier to my right further insulated me from the melee.
A wave roared up against the barrier and struck with surround-sound percussion as white spray erupted to the sky. The water surged through the rocks and at my boat, diminished but still powerful. I girded myself by thrusting the paddle down in the classic “low-brace” that kayakers use to stop their boats from turning turtle.
I paddled forward as the reflected waves and confused currents tugged at me, bracing myself now and again as more waves came in.
But I felt confident. Fear had made me hyper-vigilant. If I could stay afraid without panic, I had a chance.
As soon as I left the breakwater’s protection, I’d be in the zone where the waves were curling over. If I were going to flip, it would probably happen here.
As soon as I got out, I spun around to face the waves (this is important) before the boat tilted upward on the edge of an enormous breaker. I charged my attacker, and made it three-quarters of the way up, before it curled. The water splashed over my sprayskirt against my belly, but I made it through.
There was thunder in my ears as the wave exploded onto the jagged shoreline a dozen feet behind me. If I’d come through one second later, that would have been the end of the ride.
I sprinted forward a few more yards before the next wave came. This time, the kayak cleared the top before I came down the other side. The further I got from shore the less chaotic the waves were, giving me a better chance of staying upright. Of course, further from shore also meant further from safety.
The breakwater appeared and disappeared in my vision as the waves heaved around it. I realized that my boat was hidden from shore most of the time, concealed in the rolling canyons of agitated water.
As I went up and over another swell, a wind gust conjured a ghost of spray up off its dark back. The cold mist swirled around my cheeks in sinister caress. There was hardly time to look around, but when I did, I saw an endless battlefield. Wave regiments charged stone ramparts under banners of spray. Their explosions marched up and down the shore.
I knew I wanted to head back soon, but was afraid to turn the boat side-on into the waves. I gathered my wits for a minute, paddled further out, then jammed my paddle in and spun the boat quick as I could. One wave came up on me before I completely executed the turn. I lanced it with my paddle and thrust down against the flat of the blade, stabilizing the boat — barely.
I paddled toward the harbor with extreme caution, sometimes back paddling to kill momentum. The swells coming up from behind me gave me the option to try to surf one in. A fun ride, but no thanks. Not with the waves detonating against the rocks.
Another wave pushed me forward and grabbed the back of my boat. I leaned into it and fought back with the paddle to avoid going sideways. Or under. The nose pointed up again and I paddled for the harbor with all I was worth.
The top of the wave curled over my boat and I had to go backwards to avoid being thrust forward into the break zone. I rocked sideways as it exploded onto shore right in front of me. Crap! The lake was pushing me into the bad place
I tried to spin my nose back into the waves, but only got so far before the next one caught me.
The wall of water lifted my boat and then exploded underneath as it curled over. I felt the kayak tilt sideways as the spray flew up. This is it, I’m going under, I thought. But instincts were on my side. I thrashed the water with a desperate high-brace, throwing my paddle out and down to fling myself back upright. This also jerked a spasm of pain through my shoulder blade. Yes, I could see how kayakers got dislocations from playing in the surf.
I barely had time to finish turning the boat into the waves, when the next one yanked my nose up and crashed over me. All I saw was white; the boat went sideways again; again, I saved myself with a high brace.
I came back up and turned myself around. The protected area behind the breakwater was tantalizingly close; only a couple yards away, but I didn’t dare turn my boat parallel to the waves. Instead, I started draw stroking — paddling the boat sideways toward safety. It was slow progress, but it was progress.
The outermost rocks took some of the edge off the next wave, though I still had to brace and the reflected waves within the harbor were nearly as treacherous as their progenitor.
I wrestled with the conflicting currents and spun my boat around amidst more reflecting waves. I saw the concrete ramp and sprinted in, driving the boat up. My hands went to the front strap of the spray skirt and yanked. I swung my legs out of the cockpit, and ran up the ramp, dragging the boat behind before the next wave pulled it back.
My girlfriend and I hugged each other through our lifejackets. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so grateful to be on land. My heart still thudded like a jackhammer and my limbs were tingling.
I noticed a pickup truck parked nearby with the window rolled down and an older guy behind the wheel wearing a strange expression.
Oh great, I thought. Here comes the ‘You are stupid’ speech.
Sure enough, the guy asked me something, but I couldn’t hear against the waves. I walked closer.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Why did you do it?”
Excellent question. I hadn’t exactly made up my mind about that one. It might have been too many slow days on the North Shore, guiding groups out on pancake-flat water. Maybe, I had worried that I still hadn’t earned my stripes as a “serious kayaker.” It also could have been that attractive power of dangerous things.
“I wanted to find my limits,” I answered.
“Well, did you find them?”
I let out a puff of breath.
“Yeah. I found them alright.”
He nodded and I might have seen something like respect in his expression.
“Good. I almost called Search and Rescue. You’re not going back out there are you?”
“No. No way I’m doing that again.”
“Good.” He said, and pulled away, leaving me dripping on the shore, just out of reach from the waves crashing in. They could rule the lake unchallenged.
