By most hardcore kayakers' standards, my L.L. Bean boat's a scow. It's made of thick plastic, it weighs a lot, and it would just about take a tidal wave to tip it over. But it's perfect for me. With four hip replacements under my belt, I frankly never thought I'd be able to get in or out of a kayak. But this one's wide enough and stable enough for me to get in and out safely, albeit with GREAT care. The biggest risk for me is slipping and dislocating.
Because the boat's too heavy and bulky for me to pick up and carry, I drag it down from our property, across two sets of railroad tracks, two access roads, and down to our launch spot. Once I'm in the kayak and pushing away from the rocky shore, my boat glides through the looking-glass and becomes part of the 360-degree picture.
You see and hear incredible things from out on the water. Bald eagles, deer, heron, ducks, geese. Once in a while, an otter. Lots of jumping fish. You become part of their world, sitting in a kayak that puts you IN the still water, not just ON it. It's a privileged place to be.
Last August I found myself surrounded by a huge school of fish. They looked to be maybe 10 to 12 inches long and were close to the surface. Everywhere. It's like I couldn't paddle without touching them. There were thousands in a stretch of river about 600 yards long. Although we have Northern Pike, some bass and some trout, I think these were probably just perch.
Don has yet to try the kayak. He's afraid he might like it too much. One thing's pretty safe to say: by the time we start having regular guests at Shorthorse, we'll probably have a second kayak available for you...that is, if Don isn't using it!
