Posts filed under ‘Kayaking’


Steroidal assistance?

Kayaking can be generous to both body and soul.  However, there is a dark side to this nautical pastime and it is this I would share with you.

I bought a kayak when alarmed at my rapidly disintegrating body.  What had been a proud and powerful coalition of;  biceps, triceps and quadriceps, had turned into flab and flap, as a consequence of age and sloth.  Kayaking to recovery was lengthy and strenuous, but my body did eventually respond, as is reflected in the image above.  (A couple of ancient mates suggested steroidal assistance – not true).

There is also the therapeutic in kayaking.  Being on the water can be a time for meditation and reflection – of peace and harmony, when one feels one’s soul intimately intertwined with the Universe.  I was recently occupied thus, stationary and with eyes closed, a million mental miles from anywhere, when my reverie was shattered.

Opening my eyes I saw a rowing foursome, backs to me, bearing down on “KY Milla”.  Despite my yelp, their boat ploughed into the kayak, tipping it over, with me underneath – gurgling and sucking in sea water, crustaceans and a plastic bag.  My right eye was dealt a solid blow, from what I know not.

There was a muffled “You right mate?”, as the rowers continued sweeping towards the horizon, leaving me alone to tend to my survival.

Slowly swimming the 100 metres to the nearest marina, I dragged the upturned “KY Milla” behind me.  A small crowd had gathered by this time, entertained by my misfortune.  Two kindly matelots helped in dragging the “Milla” onto the pier and emptying it of water, before lowering a ladder from their yacht and assisting me aboard.  Prostrate on the deck and without ceremony, I regurgitated the aforementioned crustaceans, other marine material and of course, the plastic bag.

When I had finished apologising for and had cleaned up the mess, my rescuers helped me into the kayak and I slowly paddled home, reflecting on what had been.  With my damaged eye now a pulsating beacon, I dragged my bruised body onto our marina and took it home to show my long-suffering wife, to whom I would recount the day’s undoings.

Is there a moral to this tale?  Nothing comes to mind – but you may think of one.


May 10, 2010 at 12:12 PM 6 comments

"KY Milla"

May 10, 2010 at 9:38 AM 5 comments


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