He’s the beast upon
your shoulder. He’s the price upon your head. He’s
the lonely fear of dying, and for some, of living too.
He’s your private nightmare pricking. He’d just love
to turn the screw. So stand as one defiant — yes, and
let your voices swell. Stare that beastie in the face
and really give him hell.
– tull

So this photo is from 2003. It’s just moments before my first successful roll in the big water.   The year before and about this time I had bought a beat up blue NDK Explorer and then spent the following summer learning how to roll it.  By the next spring I could roll, (Yeah it took me over year to learn) but my confidence was still not there.  Each change in environment caused hesitation.  Weather, depth of the water, different lakes, even different locations on my home lake would cause me to pause before I dared roll the boat.  My fantasy or possibly a goal, was of course to roll in Lake Superior.

In the Midwest, Lake Superior is the “Big Enchilada” of sea kayaking. Some folks look at Lake Superior is just another big pool to play in.  Others see it as something almost mystical.  I’m more in the later column.  Lake Superior is a lake only in name of course and has all the signatures of any big sea from fickle weather to big waves and sea caves, it’s all there.  Lake Superior also has a reputation for not being all that forgiving of fools and a history of ghosts and spiritualism. Smart paddlers respect this massive inland sea.

In 2003 I finally got up the courage to paddle out and flip over just off Madeline Island.  I was back up so fast I couldn’t really enjoy it.  That first roll was controlled completely by fear.  Over the course of that weekend trip I worked hard to move from a roll to working on a self rescues & re-entry-rolls in that cold deep bay. Honestly, that first time floating up to my chest in open water played with my head in a terrible way.  With a cold chill in my skin and the boat blocking sight of land while nothing but open water reached out behind me made me feel very alone.  It can be frightening, even debilitating if you let it.  It was hard to hold the fear at bay . Because of it  I made a lot of mistakes trying to get back in my boat.  In the end I’d get back in the cockpit, hyperventilate, then after a few moments to work up the nerve, I’d fall back over and do it again.  When at the end of the day my Explorer slide back up onto the sandy shore,  I felt relieved, exhausted and elated. It was a victory. Not of rolling or mastering a skill, but one of overcoming self-doubt and fear. It was exactly like the first time I took a big jump with my bicycle when I was about 8 years old.  After a long pause to get up the nerve, then push down on the peddle, and the madness of trying to get up speed, to hitting the jump it was all the energy of oblivian. You give up guessing what may happen and just “do”.  When I landed upright and came to a stop unhurt & alive, there was no other feeling like it in my short life experience. But of course, those experiences set a tone for growth. Childhood is nothing if not a series of adventures.

Last night I watched an old episode of the Twilight Zone called, “Kick The Can”.  In it the main character thought that maybe if they would just play the same games as when they were children they would become young again.  Of course in the Twilight Zone anything can happen.  Still, for children every day is a new adventure.  There is always something new to experience and something new to learn.  In a sense we are molded from birth for discovery and adventure. To push over that next horizon. That was something that served us well when we had an adult life of migration and mammoth hunting awaiting us.  Today of course is a bit different. Maybe what makes us grow truly old is when we let the adventure of life end.  When we believe we’ve “arrived” and accept where we are as crossing the goal line. Where becoming an adult and “mature” becomes a marker point, and end to youth.   An end to the adventure.  Well, I know going outside and kicking a can around the snow drifts wont make me 8 years old again. And it’s true that you can’t go back. .  but I’m thinking maybe the fountain of true youth is not so much stepping into the past, but stepping into the future.  A future where no day may pass without a new thought, or a new idea, a new experience. Only now unlike when we were children, we have to reach a bit futher for it.  To keep our youth alive, we have to actively seek that next adventure.  One thing I do love about kayaking is that many of the people I meet know this as well. When we find ourselves slipping into the complacency of our adulthood, there is always someone showing up at the door asking if we want to come out to play.  Often, they show up just in the nick of time.

Related Posts:

1. Lumberjack Roll
2. Heavy Horses
3. my hands
4. Fun in the Bedroom
5. remember