by Jennifer Heppner
In the spring of 2007 I joined a dragon boat team for a fundraising competition. Little did I know that this would be the start of something great – learning to kayak! Reaching the second half of my life was an awakening to try new things before the body wasn’t as able as the mind. The dragon boat race required no skills other than being able to swim –which I could do – so I signed up. Once I was on the water something woke up inside me. Skimming quietly over the top of the water looking at herons and loons was heavenly. The 22 panting people around me in the Dragon Boat – not so much. Not to mention that we placed last in the race. Sheesh!
Soon after the dragon boat race, I purchased a used inexpensive Boreal Ookpik. I provided some entertainment for the charter boat crews at Port Credit Marina as I struggled to load the kayak on the family mini-van. The real challenge, however, was figuring out how to get in and out of the kayak at the shoreline. Despite the logistical problems, I fell in love with paddling up the Credit River to the QEW bridge and back. I learned to avoid getting macraméd by transparent fishing lines or getting run over by testosterone loaded competitive rowers from the local clubs and grew to love paddling over the quiet waters.
The last paddle of the season was at the end of October. Lake Ontario was calm, reflecting a smooth grey sky. I took a deep breath and headed out of the harbour and onto the lake. Friends watched expectantly from the shore with “911” on redial. Suddenly a huge fishing boat zoomed out of nowhere creating massive waves. I managed the waves but was left shaken. While I was recovering, I heard a voice call out “nice to paddle off season isn’t it.” And this is when I met my first GLSKA member, Rob. He paddled up and settled in for a chat. Being a novice, I was puzzled by his kayak, not having seen anything like it before. He explained that it was a tubular framed collapsible kayak – like Lego – with a waterproof sleeping bag. He had boarded the GO Train in Toronto, then in Oakville hiked down to the water, assembled his kayak and was now paddling back to the St Lawrence Market where he lived. I was totally amazed for days and told all my friends about this guy and his funky kayak. But more than that, Rob was my introduction to a friendly inclusive group.
Learning about GLSKA, provided the vision and motivation I needed to get myself ready to do some serious kayaking. My four daughters watched as I set up a station of bungee cords and five pound weights near the kitchen and began developing my messed up shoulder injury into a usable joint. I tried running but could barely make it to the end of my block without turning purple with effort. Gradually my persistence paid off and before putting the turkey in the oven early Christmas morning, I ran a straight 5-kilometre run in the soft silent world of winter snow. Later in the day I gave myself a Christmas present when I registered to become a GLSKA member. I couldn’t help wondering if I was a bit nuts!
It was reading the GLSKA newsletter articles through the winter and spring that really caught my attention. People were talking of swimming, camping, bird watching, stargazing, friendships formed and amazing trips like paddling in Greenland, Newfoundland and British Columbia, paddling with the whales – it all sounded amazing, although I have to confess that the whales sounded a little scary. I borrowed library “how to” videos, purchased a kayak magazine and then for my 50th birthday bought a second kayak. Now I could invite friends and family to join in the fun. A whole new world was opening up to me.
The GLSKA newsletter held an invitation for three winter skill sessions to be held at a local swimming pool. Imagine carrying your kayak like a big briefcase into a swimming pool, dusting off the snow, donning a bathing suit and practising some kayak skills – an awesome opportunity. The first session I chickened out, sure that everyone would be high-level pros. The second session I attended, although with a Tim Horton’s coffee and sitting in the gallery – baby steps, baby steps. Much to my surprise I observed all levels there and yes, halleluiah, there were many women too! So for the third session, I not only attended with my kayak instead of coffee, but I practised wet exits and braces and met many wonderful, kind people.
It was at the third in-pool session that I decided to sign up for “Rendezvous.” Two teens and my best friend had planned to come along, however at the last minute everyone had to cancel. My van was packed for four with two kayaks loaded on top, so I unloaded one and came alone. Not only was I by myself but I hadn’t camped since Girl Guides. Hmm, not quite the weekend I’d pictured.
After four hours of driving and wrestling with my insecurities I arrived on Shawanaga land edging on Georgian Bay. I drove up to a gazebo where a couple of dozen people dressed in spacey bug nets and camp hats were enjoying wine and cheese and was immediately greeted by one of the organizers. Karen assisted me, including getting some help to set up my tent. When I drove down to unload my kayak I was greeted by the beautiful sight of the sun setting over 80 plus kayaks lined up along the shore patiently waiting for the owners to take them out to play.
That night, amidst a background of torrential rain, crazy lightning and thunder, we watched a slide-show taken on previous kayak trips accompanied by well chosen music. When it was over we raced in the rain to the tents to snuggle in for a wet and windy night. Before I fell asleep I realized what a precious moment it was to be warm and dry, amongst a garden of tents under a huge heaven letting loose millions of raindrops and in that moment I felt wealthy.
Saturday morning I woke up soaked. The expert campers around me pointed out that I hadn’t put the “footprint” under my tent correctly. I threw my bedding on top of the van to dry out and these lovely new friends got to witness that I had a twin foam mattress covered in purple and pink monkey sheets. Yup, I’m so cool.
After a gallon of coffee I attended several fantastic workshops. By the end of the day I’d practised wet exits; self and assisted rescues; learned the various kinds, parts and functions of boats; the best way to use your energy in a stroke; how to tie multi-use knots; and how to pack a kayak for a two-week trip including dried food with menus to entice even the fussiest. And those are just the workshops I went to. That evening we had a blast at a potluck dinner and concert. Although my muscles ached, my heart was restored by great conversation, phenomenal music, and how-did-you-make-that-in-a-middle-of-a-field yummy food. Not to mention that it tickled my funny bone to see bug-net-covered couples slow dancing under the stars.
Sunday was a day trip in Georgian Bay. I was taught to use low strokes to save energy, bicycle push off the pedals and “punch the horizon line.” About half way out into the Bay I got worried. There were big waves and the wind was pushing hard against me. Everyone else looked so relaxed, chatting about loving the challenge of windy days. What?? What happened to my peaceful loon and heron hunting? Mine wasn’t a sea kayak so between not having a rudder and my own inexperience I was having difficulty keeping up. It felt like every wave was pushing me back the way I had come – one step forward, two steps back, nice. My hips were going numb, I didn’t know if I still had a bum or legs down there and profanity was getting tempting. Out of the blue a more advanced team came paddling up to where I was. One of these guys, with energy to match his playfulness, would come alongside other kayaks to chat and would then do Eskimo rolls mid-sentence. Then he’d pop back up and continue talking – like a duck looking for fish. I laughed so hard – just what I needed to de-stress and re-energize. Thankfully, we were now island hopping, with shelter from the wind.
Next thing, we stopped for lunch. Don’t picture scenic rocks with a fire for some fresh coffee. Picture a swamp. Yup, snakes and leeches. Bug heaven, and we’re the drive through and “take-out.” Grown men and women squelching through mud and weeds – just for the pleasure of it. Not me. I opened a can of rice and beans and sat there enjoying the security of my kayak. Next thing I know, I’m totally alone. Just the pleasant drone of a kzillion black flies and my swarming thoughts. Okay, so it is possible to actually want to walk through a swamp. I began climbing the higher ground, trying to make enough noise to scare off rattlers, but was thankfully met by everyone coming back, having determined that this was too tough a “lift over” and we should head home. (I added my vote in favour.) I felt like a horse heading home to the barn – nothing else mattered. Which was a good thing as the wind had changed direction and was blowing yet again straight into my face.
As the weekend finished, I’ll never forget looking back at the campsite in the rear-view mirror as I drove off the property. All the memories of the weekend flooded into my mind. I felt proud of myself for all I had accomplished. I had come a long way from the first few kayak trips along the Credit River many months ago. Not only can I now get into a kayak by myself but a whole new world of experiences and adventures await me for the second half of my life.