I finished getting a piece of paper that says I can paddle and maybe even teach. It is no road map, though I wish it were.
I am sitting in the open boat bay of Coach's garage in Southport, NC. Basking in the sun and birdsong like a warmth starved lizard, I am somewhere between just-right and over-baked. I am wishing I had a Corona. But with the tablet in my lap, an Alt-J album on my headphones, and the breezy sunlight baking me, I am pretty much pinned down. Yeah.
I came down after the IDW/ICE to find some challenge in the water and work on my rough roll. I have biked every morning, down the grid of streets to Port City Java for coffee and crumb cake. I feel like it is vacation, but I know it is not. It is just the pause before I throw myself into a storm of activity.
For want of a direction I would probably already be enmeshed in that storm. I am not that good at pausing. I came into town on Monday, and we headed out on our first paddle the next morning. We used the "new launch." It consists of a trail through long grass, a little hop and splash over soggy land bridged by rotted wood nailed together in a haphazard fashion, letting on to a narrow break-heavy "beach."
"So," I said,"Southport does have a beach."
"Yeah, you could call it that," says Coach.
We both know what is lurking just steps off that steep slice of sand and rock. The ocean's tide, two river currents, and wind combine there in a constantly flowing rip. The tide changes direction regularly, and the wind of course does what ever it wants. The opposing Cape Fear and Elizabeth rivers throw in just enough power to make it one heck of a place to launch and land. When I remark on this Coach says,"but we know it can be still." Maybe, at slack tide, with no wind, for a few minutes...
There is an island just a stone's throw off the water front, Battery Island. Coach tells me it is the seasonal home of an enormous ibis rookery. He said something like 70% of ibis in NC, and 10% of the world's entire population, nest there. This little island, set aside just for the birds.
Our plan was to launch and paddle around the island viewing the birds for a comfortable (for them) distance. As it was low low tide, we were kept at a distance that really prevented us from seeing more than white dots in the shrubbery. Okay, then, coffee on Bald Head Island?
Oh, that low tide. We ended up dragging our boats for a bit over the sandy shoals that lurk between the islands. These sandy banks are everywhere in this bay. They appear and disappear with rise and fall of the tide. The Intercoastal Waterway passes through here as well and the tankers and such must keep to a narrow channel that requires constant dredging to keep open.
Beach combers, sunbathers, and fisher-folk watched us pass while we, too, indulged in people-watching. Coach told me to sharpen up my form, like I was on parade. I saw a fisherman land a large fish, 3 feet or more and I instantly knew it was a shark. I put on a burst of speed, wanting to see how this fellow was going to get this inconvenient fish off his line. With some care he cut the line off as near as he dared. Then, still carefully, he pulled the little shark by its tail back into the water. One thrash and it was gone. I hollered "yay!" and gave him a thumbs up. He did not look too happy. Who knows, maybe he had caught this same shark all day...?
Eventually we managed to get back to the launch. The trip had taken some hours but only covered 11 or so miles. The conditions combined to make it a hard go in both directions, going and coming. That's okay though, because that is what I came for. This rough water is what makes Coach think he has found a pretty good thing.
But all this play does not answer my question. No one is going to pay me to sit in my boat all day. So sadly, I must pick a direction, one that will likely not get me into my boat. I guess that is the direction I needed to be pointed, whether I want to go there or not.
Or, maybe not...
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