My first Kayak Lesson!
I had my first kayaking experience yesterday evening and before I go any further, let me just say this: we laughed until we peed our pants.
Some of it’s my fault. You have to straddle the kayak and make sure you’re properly lined up so that when you do the “outhouse squat” (sit down and stand up without using your hands) your bottom ends up in the teensy kayak hole where it should.
This reminded me of the toilets in South Korea – the straddle part. In Korea your butt doesn’t actually touch anything. At least it shouldn’t. I had trouble there too. So I’m poised over the kayak, breasts and arms-holding-oars counterbalancing butt, and try to gracefully sink into the kayak. Hah. At a certain point I ran out of leg and so, with a plop, my butt dropped into the kayak and simultaneously my feet left the lakebed floor.
“Don’t move! Leave your legs out and dangling! Get your balance!” Lynda said. The kayak rocked violently beneath me. When it stabilized a bit, I was told to insert my legs, slowly and one at a time, into the narrow opening in front of me.
I don’t know if you’ve ever looked into a kayak opening. It’s shaped a little like the figure 8 and the solid indents in the middle make it impossible to insert both legs at once. In fact, they nearly made it impossible for me to insert even one fat leg but I did get it wedged in and securely tucked under the indent of the “8”. This again set the kayak off on its sideways rolling motion. Once more I waited and then carefully used both arms to pull my second leg up to my chest so I could squeeze it in beside its twin. I made it, but I don’t know how long I can continue to clamp the oars in my teeth while all this maneuvering is going on. After all, you can’t afford to let your oars drift away.
Once inside, I found there was lots of leg room. A little snug on the hips though! I was securely wedged in. I’m thinking of liposuction.
The hard part over, I paddled a bit and loved it! Lynda is a terrific teacher, full of encouragement and compliments even as she was laughing her head off! We didn’t bother with the foot pedals that engage the rudder so turning was a matter of making a series of tight little backwards strokes countered with a few wide-sweeping forward strokes. It worked just fine and I headed back to give someone else a turn.
Well. Turns out that getting into the kayak was a piece of cake.
To assist in levering out, you place the oars behind you and across the kayak. Pressing down on the oars, you should be able to reverse the above procedure: lift out leg #1 but keep it centered on top of the kayak while you carefully extract leg #2. If you forget and let your leg dangle off, in you go. If you lift either leg #1 or #2 too quickly, in you go. If you get both legs out and then drape them over the sides, but not simultaneously, in you go. If the kayak makes a popping sound when it releases your butt, like a cow pulling its foot out of the mud, in you go.
I only went in once and oddly, not the first time I extricated myself from the kayak.
When you’re out, you’re left straddling the kayak and then you swing one leg over. This requires good balance and you can’t stick your oar into the sand and brace yourself. For one thing, they’re expensive and for another, you may be standing on rocks and not sand. So I remained straddled and just slid the kayak forward till I was clear.
Lynda says we paddle 4-5 hours per day with frequent breaks but I think I’ll stay in the kayak and just paddle around.
Some of it’s my fault. You have to straddle the kayak and make sure you’re properly lined up so that when you do the “outhouse squat” (sit down and stand up without using your hands) your bottom ends up in the teensy kayak hole where it should.
This reminded me of the toilets in South Korea – the straddle part. In Korea your butt doesn’t actually touch anything. At least it shouldn’t. I had trouble there too. So I’m poised over the kayak, breasts and arms-holding-oars counterbalancing butt, and try to gracefully sink into the kayak. Hah. At a certain point I ran out of leg and so, with a plop, my butt dropped into the kayak and simultaneously my feet left the lakebed floor.
“Don’t move! Leave your legs out and dangling! Get your balance!” Lynda said. The kayak rocked violently beneath me. When it stabilized a bit, I was told to insert my legs, slowly and one at a time, into the narrow opening in front of me.
I don’t know if you’ve ever looked into a kayak opening. It’s shaped a little like the figure 8 and the solid indents in the middle make it impossible to insert both legs at once. In fact, they nearly made it impossible for me to insert even one fat leg but I did get it wedged in and securely tucked under the indent of the “8”. This again set the kayak off on its sideways rolling motion. Once more I waited and then carefully used both arms to pull my second leg up to my chest so I could squeeze it in beside its twin. I made it, but I don’t know how long I can continue to clamp the oars in my teeth while all this maneuvering is going on. After all, you can’t afford to let your oars drift away.
Once inside, I found there was lots of leg room. A little snug on the hips though! I was securely wedged in. I’m thinking of liposuction.
The hard part over, I paddled a bit and loved it! Lynda is a terrific teacher, full of encouragement and compliments even as she was laughing her head off! We didn’t bother with the foot pedals that engage the rudder so turning was a matter of making a series of tight little backwards strokes countered with a few wide-sweeping forward strokes. It worked just fine and I headed back to give someone else a turn.
Well. Turns out that getting into the kayak was a piece of cake.
To assist in levering out, you place the oars behind you and across the kayak. Pressing down on the oars, you should be able to reverse the above procedure: lift out leg #1 but keep it centered on top of the kayak while you carefully extract leg #2. If you forget and let your leg dangle off, in you go. If you lift either leg #1 or #2 too quickly, in you go. If you get both legs out and then drape them over the sides, but not simultaneously, in you go. If the kayak makes a popping sound when it releases your butt, like a cow pulling its foot out of the mud, in you go.
I only went in once and oddly, not the first time I extricated myself from the kayak.
When you’re out, you’re left straddling the kayak and then you swing one leg over. This requires good balance and you can’t stick your oar into the sand and brace yourself. For one thing, they’re expensive and for another, you may be standing on rocks and not sand. So I remained straddled and just slid the kayak forward till I was clear.
Lynda says we paddle 4-5 hours per day with frequent breaks but I think I’ll stay in the kayak and just paddle around.
Comments
Your account is hilarious, Lo!! I could easily visualize both the entry and extrication procedures.
Now, however, that the laughter has died down I must confess to some serious trepidation...OK. Let's call it outright fear!!
Before my major concern was being able to paddle the kayak. It's becoming obvious that I may never experience the actual paddling if I can't even get in to the kayak!!
Is it feasible to sleep in the kayak on the lucky chance we are able to get in? Possibly the guide could bring us food from time to time. We'd just do the entry on Monday and attempt the extrication Friday. And should this latter procedure prove to be too daunting maybe we could enlist the help of
the aforementioned crane that will have unloaded our wine!!
Inspite of the challenges I am, like you Gail, really looking forward to the July adventure.
Teddy
"blow-by-blow" with the rest of the family. Obviously, Lo, Alethea comes by her writing craft via a genetic link! Thanks for the lift on a dreary Saturday full
of housecleaning and reckoning with a week's backlog of chores.
A July adventure with good friends, copious quantities of wine and hilarity - what a ray of sunshine!!
Cheers, Gail