Kayak a day ...

I had intended to ponder my new techno-toy for a week or so before crafting the next post. Even in paradise, stuff happens unexpectedly. Allow me to quickly set the stage. A few months ago, my best friend, Fernando, and I acquired several kayaks and began the largest, best equipped kayak rental operation here in Yelapa. Having “yaked” several times while living on the Central Coast of California, I embraced this opportunity to return not only to an activity I thoroughly enjoyed in my younger days but to re-acquire the svelte, taut body that went with it. Film at eleven on that part.

Indulge me further, the stage is almost set, fast forward to Tuesday; October 16, 2012.The alarm pierces my peacefulness at 7:30 a.m. Nikki has her breakfast while I enjoy half of a pan dulce expertly pared with two mugs of rich Mexican coffee. Ok, pay attention now here’s the real beginning of this post. Yesterday’s clouds, occasioned by the passing of Hurricane Paul, are succeeded by crystal morning skies. A heightened energy level resides.  I dash down stairs and head for my “yaks.”  Within a hand full of minutes I’ve launched my favorite yellow Frenzy and head out on my typical loop around Yelapa Bay.  Dolphin dorsal fins appear then disappear as a pod of adolescents search for breakfast on the run. The interior waters are calm this morning unlike the swells of yesterday which crashed against house-sized boulders and spewed sea mist to the tree line. I approach the Lagunita Pier which identifies the final corner on my loop (Do loops have corners?) and paddle back toward La Playita—home base. The tide has risen above its norm causing the River Tuito to expand bank-to-bank before surging into the bay. Their merger creates a visual display which humbles. Incoming bay swells smash their way up river while exiting river current rears wave-like and passes through an apparent foe to re-emerge out the back side.

The visual and auditory display memorialize the forces of nature. It is not an event which beckons to the intermediate “yakker.”  Proceeding into the turmoil demands an appreciation of the merging rhythms of two opposing wave sets: surfing the crest of the incoming bay wave so that my kayak (and I) can then be handed off to surf the backside of the approaching river wave. I must then paddle feverishly to break free and pass into the calm flow of the river. It’s a heart pounder.

The Tuito, perhaps a hundred feet across, passes laden with silt. The flow originates from tropical summer storms in transit over Cabo Corrientes, our county . It is a task performed for countless centuries. My kayak and I become a grain of history.  Rounding the river’s first corner, I am surrounded by a vista which mirrors the great Amazon. The shoreline grants refuge to countless avian waders, tree sitters, high fliers and insect chasers. Most ignore my presence, others gaze skeptically. Trios and quartets of dark ducks scatter in advance of my arrival. A soft yet subtle scratching noise breaks the spell; an unforeseen sandbar halts further progress. Dislodging is effortless as the bow pivots to retrace earlier aquatic steps. My vessel and I slip down river and re-unite with the bay. Once again I realize that I live in The Nature Channel.

It was a great day to be a Yelapan!