Man, those boats didn’t even slow down for you. I woulda been mighty pissed.
I laugh. Oh it’s fine. They all just have someplace they want to be. And this thing is impressively steady what with the outriggers and all, I respond pushing the boat away from the dock. Crawling into place.
He shakes his head, looks at the trimaran skeptically. Be safe out there.
Pedal paddling back down the narrow boat channel, I look up as we pass a couple enjoying the setting sun on the pontoon deck.
Pretty neat boat you have there, the man calls out. Looks like your dog is mighty happy about it.
Baylor sits proudly on the trampoline platform, instantly comfortable with his boat-sidecar position.
You camping out there tonight?
Yep. We’re gonna go find an island to call ours for the holiday.
Just the two of you?
Yeah, just us. I look at Baylor, grin. We’re used to it.
Well, good for you. Not many people doing that. You’ve got the right idea.
***
Having tried hammock camping for the first time, I sway gently. Snuggling further into the suspended cocoon, I hear an unexpected fluttering. Open my eyes without moving and see a group of Comorants have joined our private island camp. Large black birds enjoy the early morning rays. Hop across the beach. Flap excitedly to perch in the tree. Leap frog each other from spot to spot. Complete their morning ritual and fly off ready to start the day.
Stretching, I pat the tent next to me. Good morning, Bay. Giggle as he pokes his head out, looks around excitedly, leaps out of the tent. Merry Christmas baby. Let’s get you some breakfast.
Pulling on sneakers, I set out across the island. Through the trees, onto the sliver of southern beach. Standing on the shoreline, I look left. Then right.
We can see land in either direction. Paddling in Southern Florida intracoastal waters is far from a remote experience. Yet in the early morning quiet, it feels a world a part. Feet in the water I sit back in the sand. Enjoy a feeling of connected solitude lounging on a deserted island, looking at the communities from afar.
Back at camp, I go about securing everything in preparation for a paddle exploration. Stepping past the hammock, I reach for the straps. Jump back Aah! Ow! Meow! I look down. See my left foot covered in a swarm of angry fire ants defending the home I’ve just stomped on. Jumping into the water I try to get them off, release my rapidly chewed on foot from the shoe and shake it wildly.
My goodness, those things are vicious, I say breathlessly, walking back on shore. Looking up, I roll my eyes, grin at Baylor. He sits comfortably on shore, far from the ant hill. Laughing at my early morning shenanigans. Yeah, yeah, I’m crazy and if you could write these stories we’d really have something worth reading.
Pedaling north, we stop frequently at each tiny spoil island. Pull the boat ashore. Wander from edge to edge. Push off and do it all over again. Sun warm on my back, I adjust the hat, reapply sunscreen. Stop to look at the map, check the time. Better head back to camp just in case. Circling the island, we head south on the other side of the channel. Wave as family filled power boats whizz past. Slowly, steadily make our return.
Sliding into the water, I wade to the front of the boat. Pull the nose onto the shore. Baylor leaps off as I tug it further and further onto land. That seems fine, don’t you think Bay? He stares at me, turns, wanders off to sniff. I look at the water line. Have a vision of awaking to a missing boat. Lean down and tug it a few more feet up just in case.
Baylor fed, we settle in the sand. I pull out our special Christmas provisions. Three festive cookies for Baylor and juicy mango for me. Sticky and happy, we run into the water, swim slowly back and forth.
Back on shore, I sprawl out on the sand. Baylor stands right next to me, shakes, covers me in a shower of sand and dog water. Lies down contentedly along side me. I giggle, turn and squeeze his neck. Merry Christmas, Bay. I love you.
***
Morning bird watching complete. I feed Baylor, check the cooler. Having had a wild craving for fresh juice, I’d excitedly made ounces upon ounces of tangy green juice and lightly sweet beat juice. Packed them happily into bottles, thrown in a few slices of salami, olives and cheese to accompany it and called it good. Shaking the empty bottles I confirm what I already knew, the provisions are long gone. Closing the empty cooler I turn to Baylor, It’s a good thing we’re heading back today. He smacks his lips happily. Looks around unworried noting the overly full bag of dog food and big bag of treats.
Camp packed, I drag the trimaran into the water. Dig around for the pump, and drain it before departing shore. Skies turning dark, the wind increases steadily.
Picking a marker in the distance, I pedal, pedal, pedal. Look up. Stare in shock. We’ve hardly made any progress. Putting my head down, I pedal harder, try to increase my power and efficiency. Getting slightly off course I fight the wind as it works to blow us sideways.
Pulling into the mangrove shelter of a small island, I look at my phone. Note it’s quickly fading battery power and check the map. Message Kyle: Not making any progress against wind, let’s switch pick up, sending you pin drop.
Wind gust pushing unexpectedly, I cringe at the sound of plastic on rock. Look back and see the rudder hanging limply in the water. Oh come on, I whine. Seeing the sheared off plastic my stomach sinks, I think perhaps John was right, there may be no recourse except to burst into tears and wait for death. Taking a deep breath, I pull it together. Surely that pin was designed to break and will be easily replaced so I don’t need to worry about being the worst borrowing-and-breaking friend ever. And with a kayak paddle at our disposal, we’ll just switch it up a bit. Removing the pedals, I lay out the PFD. Tuck Baylor into the center, fold up the trampoline, secure all the loose parts and prepare to paddle.
Pushing into the water, I head towards the new take out location. Find the waters have shifted. Suddenly, we can’t go north, only south. Letting out a growl of frustration, I pull the phone out of the dry bag. Fight the inability to text with wet hands. Finally get out a message: So much about tides I don’t understand. Scratch last message. Back to original take out.
Paddling slowly, my annoyance level climbs proportionally to my decreasing blood sugar level. After participating in short adventure races and hearing tales from my friends, I’ve often wondered how I would do in a long expedition race. Well, I don’t have to wonder any longer. I’d most likely be an overly irate, hangry teammate.
Baylor snuggles happily into his life jacket nest, rests his head in his paws and snoozes lightly. I glumly paddle. Try to stay straight as we rock across boat wakes and wind storms. Jaw clenched, I paddle with annoyed determination. Ugh, just let this be over, I think.
Looking up, a dolphin arches mere feet from the boat. Followed by another. Baylor’s head shoots up. He looks back at me for confirmation of splashy water commotion. I laugh. That was so cool!
Grinning, I shake my head at the universe.
Give thanks for the reminder that it’s not about the circumstances, rather the way we approach them. Nothing goes as planned, but with the right attitude it’s all an adventure anyways.
A fun paddle, a challenging paddle, a marine reality check and time with my furry bestie. It’s the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for.
Perspective in place, I paddle on happily.
197 days down. Many to come.
