Alessandro and the Greenhorn Kayaker

Alessandro and the Greenhorn Kayaker

Our timing couldn’t have been worse! The large water-taxi launch was bearing down full speed straight towards us as my date, Sandro, and I, struggled to get ahead of its path. “Paddle for your life!” he hollered above the roar of the approaching motorboat.

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Both in our late sixties, I met Alessandro in our Seniors’ Center carpet bowling club. I had been a widow for over 30 years and my friends relentlessly nagged me to start dating seriously. “If you don’t get out of your house you’ll never meet Mr. Right!” they warned. I had dated randomly but never felt “the spark” necessary to continue a relationship.

I knew what they said was true so with an open mind I put myself out there by joining the Seniors’ Center. I told myself I was ready to try something new and fun to do—and I didn’t silence the quiet yearning in my heart to find someone exciting to share my life with again.

“May I assist you in retrieving your bowls, Signora?”

And there he was. Tall, slender, handsome, slightly greying hair at his temples, startlingly blue eyes and looking very dapper in a freshly pressed white shirt open at the neck. Under his slim, dark slacks his shoes were stylish slip-ons with tassels and I supposed they were made from fine Italian leather. I caught my breath, smiled shyly and nodded.

He extended his hand in greeting. It was delicate with long, slender fingers. I wondered if he was a musician or perhaps an artist. I offered my hand and he bowed his head politely and said softly, “I am Alessandro but please call me Sandro.” Ah, there it was again, a definite faint and refined Italian accent.

After sharing a few delightful lunch dates with Sandro followed by long, gentle walks in our town’s park, I felt I knew him well enough to accept his invitation to go kayaking. He told me he was an expert kayaker with many years experience. That was reassuring as I had never been in a kayak. Sitting below the water line was not something I relished thinking about.

I did not want to embarrass myself by confessing that I couldn’t swim but only keep myself afloat by dog paddling. I persuaded myself I would be safe in a hard shell kayak with two seats. If I wasn’t strong enough to paddle, Sandro could manage without my puny efforts. And we would both be wearing life jackets. After all, what could go wrong paddling around inside a sheltered cove?

We agreed to meet at the beach in Deep Cove on Saturday morning. It was a perfect summer day for going out. The water was calm and sparkled emerald green under the sun. Sandro pulled up in his little compact Fiat but there was no kayak on top of his car. When he climbed out, I asked him, “Where’s your kayak?”

He opened the trunk and pointed to two lumps of neatly folded, shiny purple and green vinyl. “Here are the little beauties. They’re inflatables. Easy to inflate and lightweight to carry. They’re just ten feet long and perfect for navigating in shallow water.”

As Sandro set about inflating the little kayaks with a foot pump a tight knot of fear rose from my gut and lodged in my throat. This was not what I expected! Could I apologize and back out? And what would be my excuse? This gentle man whom I had come to know had made me happier than I had been in a very long time. He made me feel special. I definitely did not want to admit my acute fear of drowning and disappoint him.

Wearing water shoes, Sandro lifted his kayak into the shallow water and stowed his paddle with our packed lunch inside. Then he retrieved the kayak that was to be mine and placed it next to his. Smiling broadly, he offered me his arms to help me into the flimsiest watercraft I had ever seen outside of a kiddy pool.

I stood on the gently sloping, pebbled beach, hesitating, awash in my inner turmoil. With every fiber of my being resisting, I watched helplessly as I saw myself resolutely step into the water, lower myself into the play kayak and take up the proffered paddle. Sandro helped me with the clasps on my life jacket and we pushed off.

As we slowly paddled away from shore, Sandro told me he had studied a map of the waterways around Deep Cove. His plan was simple. We’d paddle out of the cove and around the point, cross the small narrow strait and make our way into a second sheltered cove, Bedwell Bay.

Forcing the lump of fear down, I calmed myself by thinking, “It will be easy as long as we stay in calm, sheltered waters. After all, isn’t this why I joined the Seniors’ Center—to open myself up to having new kinds of fun? This may be normal for Sandro but it’s an adventure for me!”

It took about ten minutes to paddle out of the cove, gliding gracefully past paddle boarders and sailboats gently bobbing at their moorings. I gazed up at the steep forested mountains that formed the sides of the cove. Everything looked so beautiful and idyllic. It was enchanting to be moving through such a peaceful, unpolluted, natural setting.

Outside the mouth of the cove we encountered cormorants standing in groups on tiny islets. We passed within ten feet of their rocky perches but they were unfazed by our presence. I had never been that close to wildlife before. It was exhilarating and filled me with awe.

Rounding the point, we got our first glimpse of the channel on the other side of Deep Cove. I was surprised, and taken aback, to see how wide it was. However, it was a calm waterway so we started out.

While still in the cove, the crystal clear, emerald-colored water had allowed us to see right down to the ocean floor. However, once we were in the channel and away from the security of the shore, the water deepened quickly and we could no longer see the bottom—only shimmering rays of sunlight piercing their way into the green depths.

A great sense of expansive freedom washed over me as I scanned the powder blue sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of a soaring eagle. But at the same time, in the vast, unsheltered expanse of the channel, I became aware of how vulnerable we were in our fragile craft. I had seen videos of Orca killer whales breaching among kayakers off the west coast and I did not wish my first whale sighting to be made at eye level.

It took us about half an hour to reach the other side of the channel and by then, with me not being in the best physical shape, I was ready to rest. As there was no beach, just rocky cliffs, we hitched ourselves to a floating wharf and tore into our lunches.

After we felt refreshed, we started paddling north along the coastline so we could find the second cove. Perhaps it was just my imagination but it seemed harder to paddle now. I told myself I was just tired. We continued for about ten minutes and really put our backs into it—paddling hard to make some headway.

I wondered why we weren’t much closer to Bedwell Bay when I noticed, with a sinking heart, that we had just passed the same wharf twice. “Sandro!” I called ahead. “The tide has changed and we’re trying to paddle against the incoming tide!”

At that point, we jettisoned the idea of exploring the second cove and turned homeward but this time, it was quite difficult to make any speed paddling against the current. We made progress, but it was slow. Halfway across I heard the roar of a large motor boat barreling down the strait.

In the distance, I saw it heading toward us at great speed. Judging by how fast it was traveling, and how slow we were moving, I estimated that we would end up directly in its path. With a shock, I suddenly realized that our kayaks were sea green on the top, the same color as the water. We were in real danger of being in a head-on collision. “Sandro! We are practically invisible to that water taxi! We must get ahead of its path!”

It is amazing how much extra strength one can suddenly muster when one’s life is threatened. I paddled harder and deeper and faster than I thought was possible. The roar of the boat’s motor reverberated in the air around us. The boat was almost upon us.

We managed to get about fifteen feet past its path before it roared by. The driver must not have seen us as he didn’t slow down or even swerve to miss us. We were lucky to avoid a direct collision but had no time to relax as multiple waves of the wake about six feet high rolled towards us.

Unexpectedly, something I had been taught as a kid in summer camp on Okanagan lake suddenly rose to the surface of my mind. If a motor boat ever comes too close to my canoe, I must act quickly. I yelled to Sandro, “Stop paddling! We need to turn our kayaks perpendicular to the waves so we won’t be swamped!”

We both fought to get our kayaks turned to face the advancing waves. Whoosh! Up we soared over the first wave then glided down the other side. Then another wave and another until the ocean returned to gentle swells once more.

Sandro and I were silent as we made our way back across the sound, past the cormorants and into Deep Cove. My legs were trembling as I climbed out of my kayak and pulled it up on the gravel beach. The flood of relief I felt is indescribable. We were both safe, unhurt and if my intuition was correct about Sandro, we had the rest of our lives to continue enjoying each other’s company, exploring, celebrating and making happy memories together.

I learned a lot from that kayak adventure. There is nothing like a life-endangering incident to open one’s eyes to what is important—to make one deeply cherish our lives, the people we love and most importantly, to be grateful right down to our toes. To my utter surprise I also discovered that I have a lot of untapped power inside me. Power and determination to do anything I choose to do or become.

Oh yes. One more lesson learned. Check the tide charts before you put out to sea.