Kayaking

Over the weekend I spent three days kayaking on the Tasman Sea in the Abel Tasman Park, at the top of the South Island. At some point during the three days (okay, many times during the three days), I thought that maybe it was a good thing that my two week Outward Bound sea kayaking trip in Costa Rica was canceled.

The day we headed out was a bit blustery. The eight of us were taken in a water taxi (translation: speed boat with all of our kayaks strapped to the back) about an hour up the coast. I apparently had gotten into the booby seat, for everyone else was sitting under a plastic cover, and I was getting thoroughly sprayed as we crashed over every wave. So before we even got into our kayaks, I was soaked. Nothing I could do but laugh, knowing that they would be just as wet as I soon.

We were all in double kayaks, I paired with a retired gentleman (of course) from Sacramento. I was not sure about the fact that he had control of the rudder, and I could do nothing but paddle (which I did, often attempting to steer us as he had us zig-zagging around the sea). (I became quite worried about my partner at camp that evening when he, sounding surprised, said he had met a New Zealander who did NOT like George W. Bush. Wait, you found only one?? Apparently I was saddled with a conservative. Luckily we were too busy wrestling with the elements to be able to talk much.)

We paddled about in a lagoon at first, getting used to the boats, and then headed out through the breaking waves into the high seas and headwind. I don't know if it was raining or not, because there was so much spray. I asked the guide how high these big swells were that we were in, and she estimated, "Um, one and a half or two." That would be meters. Yes, I was out there in a kayak (sitting about two feet out of the water) in seven foot swells. It actually wasn't scary or bad... until about an hour later when it was slightly less rough but still very wavy, and we were going up and down, up and down, up and down. After about three minutes of deep breathing I decided it wasn't worth it to try to fight it off, and I turned to my partner and said "There's a good chance I'm going to be sick in a minute." And I was.

I've only thrown up twice since I was a kid. Once was the one and only evening when I was drunk (four Bloody Marys and a Jaegermeister and Coke-- followed by 12 hours of being ill and swearing that I would NEVER get drunk again, and I haven't, much to the chagrin of many friends over the years. But they always have a designated driver!), and once on a whale watching trip. Apparently I am prone to sea sickness. But, I am happy to say that after I divested myself of my lunch, I felt much better, and got right back to paddling. (I just wish I had brought some Tic Tacs with me!)

Eventually we made it into camp (I'm sure the guide was way more relieved than we were). After putting on all the dry clothes I had (I got to use that long underwear that didn't get used on the Milford Track), I got about the task of setting up my tent. One of the guys on the trip, a self-professed former Boy Scout from England, offered to help me with my tent ("Because it is so much easier and more fun with two," as my grandmother would always say when asking me to help her make beds). Needless to say, it took twice as long to get my tent set up as if I'd done it on my own, and it looked ridiculous. Stupid Boy Scouts.


On the second day the headwind had died down a bit, it was just cloudy rather than rainy, and the swells were only about two feet. And I took the offered Dramamine. Much better. Plus, I got to be in charge of the rudder. Alas, that meant that I had no one to blame but myself as we zig-zagged across the ocean. (I decided that I would rather have a scape goat than control.) The problem was that every time I put my paddle in, I would push down on that foot. Right paddle, right foot. Left paddle, left foot. I guess I was using it as resistance for the mighty stroke I was taking or something. (Luckily the left paddle pushes you right, so the rudder and the stroke were sort of counteracting each other.) Steering must have been taking a lot of concentration, for I realized at one point that I was sitting there with my tongue sticking out of the side of my mouth, which, alas, is what I do when I think really hard. Maybe when I grow up I'll stop doing that....

The final day of the trip was gorgeous, and what we had all signed up for. (Too bad that only three of the eight of us actually had signed up to do all three days. Bummer for those other five.) It was sunny, almost flat seas, and we even had a tailwind to boot. We got to see a seal having breakfast out in the seas (squid, the guide thought), and a little Blue Penguin just bobbing along, looking an awful lot like a black and white (or blue and white, I guess) football with a beak.

I was a little sore in my shoulders yesterday, but nothing too bad, so I've decided to continue to look into sea kayaking trips in Costa Rica after all.