Kayak Birthday Party
“If anyone’s going in today – it’s going to be Jimmy,” Rosie stated as she pulled away from shore in the front of a double kayak. Three hours later she shook her head and gave a wife’s knowing sigh – “Someone’s in the water – and guess who it is.”
We were a group of seven (three couples and our guide Joe) kayaking the LaHave islands. Rosie’s husband Jimmy was the one swimming – and the water was about 6 degrees.
The strong gusting wind that helped tip him over blew him to the friendly shore. In less than five minutes we were on our way again.
“Hey Jimmy – I see you have the first half of the Eskimo roll perfected,” the comments began.
“Mind if we call you ‘splash’?”
“How about ‘Dunkin’ instead?”
The smile never left his face. Perhaps it was his Coast Guard training, but I can’t imagine anyone taking such an unexpected and chilly dunking doing it with more grace and good humour.
“I just don’t know what happened,” he said shaking his wet head and laughing.
We had started that morning under sunny skies and a light breeze. We chose this area not only for its close proximity to home, but also for its sheltered options for our beginner paddlers. The LaHave’s twenty islands cover about 100 square kilometres. Deserted beaches, open ocean swells, tight channels, expansive bays, wilderness and settlements are available to paddlers.
We started out by following the mainland shore. We wove in and around the rocks and islands of the Camp Islands as the rookies got used to paddling.
It was as Joe had promised. Not only was the water sheltered but much of it was shallow – barely ten foot deep. We gently slid over small shoals and admired the various forms of sea plants wafting under the surface. An osprey circled overhead, clutching a fish in its claws as it decided whether it wanted to land on its nest in front of us.
We briefly returned to habitation. Villages have a different feel when viewed from the water. We saw million-dollar homes and falling down fish shacks and much between the two. Joe informed us of some of the history of the area.
“This cove here is where the old wooden schooners would ride out hurricane season,” he told us as we paddled into the tight but protected space of Sperry Cove. “They could only get in on a high tide,” he added as we looked over the bay and imagined the forest of tall-ship masts in times past.
“See that red building over on Bush Island?” Joe asked pointing. “That is the old post office. Once a week the mailman from there would row round the islands to do their deliveries – no roads in those days. They must have been happy when they got an engine for their boat.”
Joe was keen to share his knowledge with us – history, geology, botany – he always seemed to have a story. He also knew the nice places to pull out of the water.
Lunch was in one of those wonderful spots. It was a small crescent beach that was guarded by an interesting rock outcrop. We sat in the sun and watched a lobster fisherman pull traps. The wind had picked up (about 16 knots) but the waves only reached a foot or two. We had paddled less than a hundred yards after lunch when Jimmy went for his swim. We have since spent hours since discussing why exactly it happened.
“It must have been a Rouge Wave,” was one decision.
“No – I think it was “The Perfect Storm”, came the disagreement.
We were back at the vehicles in less than an hour after the dunking.
“I brought a change of clothes for the weekend,” Jimmy said as he fished around in the back of the truck looking for them. “I just didn’t think I’d need them so soon.”
The weekend was organized for Kim’s 40th birthday. She had confided in us that she wanted to do something different and “a bit of a stretch” to celebrate. Any birthday with a zero in it needs a special plan.
By the time the six of us arrived at our ocean-side cabin, the weather had started to turn nasty – gale force winds in fact – and pouring rain as well.
The beach bonfire was cancelled – or relocated - to the fireplace inside. We sat in the perfect protection of our cabin and watched the rain slash against our windows and the ocean pound into the rocks in front of us. That morning the sea had been like glass, with a vivid red sunrise reflecting on the surface.
“Red sky in the morning – sailors take warning” Jim reminded us as the waves reached about eight feet.
Kim wanted lobster for dinner and her husband Chip obliged with a dozen pound-and-a-halfers. They had been in a tub, napping under a blanket of fresh seaweed for the day.
I went out to the shed to see how the lobster cooking was going. Jimmy and Chip were getting ready to do the first batch. Jimmy insisted I had to learn how to take off the rubber bands around their claws.
“I already know how,” I told him, “I give them to Jim.”
That was how I got to hold a cranky lobster with one hand as I tried to slip off the bands with the other. Taking off the first one was bad enough.
“Watch out now,” Jimmy warned. “That young fella, he’s none too happy and now has a free claw - make sure you stay away from it.”
Eventually my lobster was added to the pot (without his bands).
It was a great meal – in fact a great weekend. Good friends, good food and lots of fun.
And Kim’s verdict?
“It was the best birthday ever.”
posted by Michelle & Jim Wiebe at 8:34 a.m.
