Bellingham or Bust Episode Four: The First Two Days of Paddling

The fourth episode recounting a summer skin-on-frame kayak build and solo 130 mile kayak journey. 
From the start - read the first, second, and third episode.

wraiths ghosted in the mist

then burst forth into the light

shattered, laden with moisture

heavy and bright

the horizons widen

and the sun begins to glow

off in the distance,

some rain falling,

falling into the ocean below

the land is here

and time is here

and all is well

24 - 25 of June 2014 | Bainbridge Island -to- Meadowdale State Park, Washington

Set out upon the water early the morning of June 24, vessel loaded-to-capacity. Eight miles north, changed route to due west, and skidded up on the shore of Eagle Harbor. Boat tied fore and aft to a pier to prevent its meandering about as the tide rose, then a squishy-footed trot into town after slipping the drysuit skin to stow inside the boat. Picked up my passport at the post office, general delivery, had a snack and called a friend, then sloshed back to re-enter the boat and continue north.

Earlier, at the mouth of Eagle Harbor, under the mistaken belief that the family folks were on the Seattle to Bainbridge Island ferry just then bearing down, I executed a roll for their benefit. Or, tried to. Miserable failure. Could not submerge to begin with, due to the cart wheels affixed to the stern and a drysuit not fully burped of air. Then, finally submerging, air was soon depleted as the heavily-laden boat refused to roll back up. A few flailing attempts at resurrection later, the chute was popped and I bubbled to the surface. The ferry, thinking me in its way, blew a series of angry blasts as I began pumping the boat dry. Over-confidence prior to the roll resulted in a shoddy job of securing hat and shades, which slipped out of reach into the deep. Climbing in, I realized my misfortune at losing hat and sunglasses on the first day of the trip!

Departed Eagle Harbor. Meandered along the shallows north until in the distance a tall man could be seen walking along the shore. As he hove into view, I knew the man - my father, awaiting my arrival! After telling the tale of failed-roll, Dad gave me his "Live Simply" hat, and Mom provided her "grandma" shades. Kindness! Retro! Set! Go!

Enjoyed a delicious mother-made dinner, talked over campfire to family about their roadtrip from NC out west, up to Timothy's Canadian academy graduation, then south to meet up heree. Ethan gleefully dealt with a strange boy yodeling on the nearby playground by sneaking over and filling his shoes with gravel while he was occupied on the swingset. We were glad he chose this instead of his stated objective - string him up in restraints! Timothy, just graduated from high school, socially connected through his phone and especially so to his high-school sweetheart, was seemingly even more soft-spoken than in the past. Taller than me already and growing still.

We all slept beneath the same roof, albeit a temporary nylon one, then rose and shared a family meal. Eleven am rolled up with the tide, and we all pushed the fully-loaded boat into the shallows, waving farewells and surfing sadness at departing loved ones in sync with the small rolling surf waffling back and forth between us. An unexpected second start to the trip, it was a delight to spend a few hours with them.

Three planned crossings today. First, 2 miles from Faye Bainbridge State Park to President's Point. Cruised across the passage as a sailboat criss-crossed to port, gaining speed until it blew behind me out into the main waterway. Second, a 5 mile paddle across that same main waterway north of Seattle towards the mainland at Edmund. Two hours of effort against waves and wind, weaving amongst massive ships, the largest that ply waters anywhere, enormous container vessels, throwing up significant small waves in their wake, peeling off the surface in seeming perpetuity. Sang songs about being small and wishing not to be sunk or flattened.

Winds kicked up near the opposite side, and made me wish for dry land. Bounced along the waves, careening towards a long sloping cove nestled against a railway along this water-made curve. After what seemed like forever fighting these conditions, boat and boy skidded onto sand, the sun shining down gloriously. I savored terra firma.

Soon identified my sandy salvation as either a nudist beach, hookup spot, or both. Two men in their 30's or 40's, clothed solely in god's nature with one silk blanket draped across their shoulders the only stitching between the two of them, approached to ask me, was this my intended destination, or had I been forced in by the breaking waves? The latter, I explained. So, they continued, I didn't need any help? No, thank you, I told them, just hanging out waiting for the conditions to settle. They reassured me several times that I should ask them if I needed anything, annnnnything at all.

Sat breathing in the peace of the unmoving firmament, staring out across the tumult of the waves. Made a sandwich, hydrated, then walked into the water, testing the tipping point, feeling the readiness of the water to snatch at my first mistake and take me wherever it wished.

Another man comes into view, early 50's, mustachioed, clothed, but with shirt suggestively open to the last button, chest free to the breeze and any admiring eyes. He asked, "how stable is your boat?" not so much to get at an answer but as an entry point to continue into "because I've been thinking of getting a stand-up paddleboard, maybe two of them, have you ever tried one?" No, I tell him, but I figure they are stable, seeing as they may be stood upon. "Yes," he says, "made for casting a fly-rod from." "Have fun with that kayak," he says. I tell him, Thank you, I will.

Soon the incoming tide deepened the waterway, and northward paddling recommenced. Some hours later, the kayak camping spot called Meadowdale State Park said to be near a railroad trestle through which a creek empties, was still eluding me. Pulled up on a sandy spit with a few folks milling about to ask if they knew where this Meadowdale was. Here, those folks said, here at the spot where you are in this moment!

Hauled boat up then walked past those folks, beneath the railroad, up the long grassy hill, past a picnic area, on to the Ranger's residence. He was out, but his wife and early-teen daughter were in. Wife told of their delight at living in this stunning landscape, handed a guestbook, said ranger husband would be down after while to collect it and camping fee. Meandered down to the sea, set all to readiness, prepared dinner, had a seat and devoured the fetching sky.

From this seat at the picnic table on this spit of sand in the Puget Sound, set out here in front of the pitched tent, between the rumbling railway and changing saltwater, a couple sits amidst this glowing end to the day, speaking intently with each other, as they have been since I arrived, illuminated in deepening shades of blush. Their conversation feels momentous, intense and instant. No laughter punctuates their talk. They stand and embrace warmly. They seem to be speaking of love, but are not actually lovers, talking to each other of the travels of their separate hearts. The depth of their compassion emanates outward and a smile crests the lone traveler's face inverse to the setting sun.