I somehow miraculously made it to my destination: the campground. It was a lonely three hours but thanks to my beats, namely Jeremih’s up-tempo version of “Birthday Sex,” and thanks to the final directions given to me by the creepy gas-station lady, the drive was but a blur. Thank God for Google-Map Step-By-Step Directions. And for Jeremih. I have recently developed a long-term plan to marry him. On my Birthday ;)
The following morning, as I woke up to my own pool of drool on my sleeping bag, I mentally prepared myself for what was to come: kayaking. I didn’t know too much about the activity other than it involved paddling and that with too much movement, it could easily tip. I thought that due to my muscular yet feminine biceps, the paddling I could perform with an ease but I’m not one for remaining still. I knew one thing was for sure. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime. Perhaps kayaking is my hidden talent and that I am, in fact, the Lance Armstrong of kayaking. Dream big.
Once we arrived at the departure site, we were all ordered to strap on our lifejackets and to attach red little rape-whistles on them, in case the kayak should sink. Or, if the kayaker we get paired up with happens to be a major creep and you require back up. There were a total of 16 kayakers and two guides who graciously educated us throughout the tour on how all the rock formations formed. Mind-blowing.
My younger sister Yvonne insisted that we share a kayak together because her other partner option was, Diana. Enough said.
According to our guide, the kayaker who sits in the front is usually the power-paddler and the kayaker who sits in the back holds the most responsibility. The kayaker in the back must be the one with intellect and carry natural instincts for they are in control of the most crucial element to kayaking, steering. So, naturally, I sat in the back and Yvonne sat in the front. We were soon to discover though that we lacked both power and brains.
Yvonne would paddle hard and I would try my best to steer but it would only slow us down. I admit it. I had no idea what the hell I was doing and we eventually hit every rock in sight. I am still amazed till this moment how we did not sink that freaking kayak. It was obvious to our fellow kayakers that we were struggling because we were behind the group by 50 freaking feet. My arms were killing me and the humiliation was starting to settle in. Shit.
I knew we were in for a treat when our guide had to paddle back to us and suggested that she “tow” us for a while so we could actually finish the tour. She literally pulled out a freakin’ rope, tied it on her kayak, and then tied it to ours. And away we went. She tried to teach me how to steer but it was to no avail. I had zero coordination in the back of that kayak and was especially loving life when we made it to the rest of the group. Some old woman said upon our return, “Haha. They’re being towed. Can we all point and laugh?”
My dignity had then sunk to the bottom of that lake and I decided that kayaking sucked. Things got really bad when we started to somehow pull our instructor towards the rocks as well. She was not a happy camper, decided we were a lost cause, and let us loose. We were on our own and had to travel back against 14mph winds. I was about to pee my pants but I then realized I’d have to sit in it. And Yvonne. Haha. I’m not that cruel.
But eventually, we got the hang of it. I just had to paddle the exact same time as Yvonne did in order to avoid hitting her paddle. It worked like a charm and we then transformed into a well-oil kayaking machine. It was glorious. But my arms are still recovering and I’m pretty sure I won’t ever be kayaking again. Unless I am being towed.
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