Got kayaking out of my system, thank you

For several years now, I'd had my mind set on going kayaking. "Let's go kayaking up in the Boundary Waters!" I'd tell Delta. Or "let's go kayaking up in the Adirondacks!". So when we finally went to visit Rohinton and Jeet in Bermuda a couple weeks ago, I was determined to not let this kayaking opportunity slip through my fingers.

That Saturday in Bermuda dawned on a beautiful day, golden skies stretching generously over bright blue seas. "Let's go kayaking, let's go kayaking!" I insisted, until Rohinton drove us down to a little cove where we could rent kayaks. Once we'd gotten in, Rohinton pointed out to a little distant island on the horizon.

"Let's go out there, there's a small deserted beach on the back that we can lounge at for a while, before we start paddling back." It looked idyllic. The sea was smooth and a bright turquoise, a cool breeze gently caressed at our backs as we started paddling towards the island, barely a dot in the distance. I couldn't think of a more perfect way to spend a day. This was exactly what my kayaking dream had looked like.

The paddling seemed fairly easy going, and before too long, we were half way across the bay already. But then all of a sudden, just when we were about half way across the bay, a freak storm started blowing in. The sky suddenly darkened, blotted out by rolling thunderclouds. The sea suddenly jolted out of it's pristine blue calm, and large, rough waves started battering against our kayaks. The currents picked up, pushing us in the wrong direction: away from home, away from the island.

Rough waves rocked our kayaks dangerously. I cast around for nearby land, but in any direction, it seemed very very far away. I started panicking. All those years I'd been whinging and whining about going kayaking, I'd never really intended to die this way. Delta, seeing us start to panic, shouted loudly over the wind and waves. "Just keep low and keep paddling! Head towards the island, hopefully we'll find shelter there!"

It seemed an impossible task. The rough waves, the gusty wind, the darkening sky and murky ocean all seemed to be closing in on us. My adrenaline was pumping and hearth pounding, as each wave brought with it the renewed possibility of capsize. But we kept our eyes on the little island, kept our mouths closed against the waves crashing on our faces, and just kept paddling doggedly on. Our kayaks swayed and were pushed off course, but eventually, in a roundabout manner like a drunken swagger, we eventually drew close to the island.

"Let's paddle past that outcrop of rocks," Delta shouted, "and we'll be able to shelter from the current there!"

We paddled around the rocks, and huddling in the shelter of the outcrop, and spent a moment gathering ourselves and just marveling in our survival. Now here, clinging to the rocks for safety, we knew we could shelter until the storm blew over. For the first time since the storm started, we knew we'd be safe.

With nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass, we pulled our kayaks onto the rocks, and dove into the ocean for a swim. The waves were still high, but sheltered here in this little cove, it didn't seem dangerous anymore. And so there we stayed, playing in the relatively shallow water of the ocean cove, revelling in our safety and alive-ness, until eventually, about an hour later, the storm finally blew over. Instantly, just as suddenly as they had arrived, the thunderclouds blew swiftly past. The sky cleared up, the waves flattened out, and the ocean returned once again to it's characteristic turquoise shine.

It was almost as though we had imagined the whole thing, as though perhaps nothing had happened all morning. But as we got back into our kayaks to start the journey back home, we felt the strong currents still pushing our kayaks back, and it brought home how real the whole thing had been. Have you ever tried kayaking against a current? Needless to say, there was a lot of treading water without much actual progress. A seemingly endless treadmill of water. And everytime I paused to rest, the current would push my kayak back 15 feet again.

"Keep paddling!" Delta would urge encouragingly. But that's easier said when you don't have toothpicks for arms, mister. Still - there was no choice but to keep persevering, futile though it seemed. And finally - finally - we drew close to home again, and I gazed at the approaching shoreline with a mixture of exhaustion, gratitude and relief.

Needless to say, spectacular though it was, and grateful though I am for the day, I've got kayaking sufficiently out of my system for now, thank you.