Kayaking: A Short Story

Standing back from my car, I wiped my brow. As I was taking out my ear buds, I surveyed my brand new acquisition. Strapped to the top of my car was a brilliant lime green kayak. She was seven feet long, all curves and straight lines. Her surface was unmarred and factory fresh. Emotion 7 was emblazed on her side. I spared no expense: a rod holder, new tie down cargo nets and paddle lanyard. Though the February air was warm it would be a few months till I got out on the water. I couldn’t wait.

This kayak was a long time coming. When I was a boy, my grandparents had taught me to love the water. Nothing excited me more than kayaking. My ten-year-old body shook with anticipation whenever I was told we were going out for some new nautical adventure.

This time I was going out to the Delaware River with friends. I happily loaded the car with the essentials: water, my life jacket, and dry bag. Being back on the water was intoxicating. I was one of six kayakers on the water. Most had little experience kayaking, I taught a few of my grandmother’s tips and tricks. A few were holding there paddles at bad angles and using only their arms to paddle. I explained it was much easier to use both arms and body. With a little help and a proper grip, we soon were heading down the river at a decent clip. Chatting merrily we almost didn’t notice we had come across a busier section of the river. I took the inside track, keeping myself between the rest of the group and the shoreline. This ended up being a terrible idea. Boats started thundering by with their wake agitating the water. Soon two foot swells bounced the group. The barrage was

My kayak had drain holes so the water splashing into the hull would slowly drain out, though I would lose some stability. For people with sit-inside kayaks on the other hand, there was no such drainage. Two started to slowly sink. I kept twisting my bow toward the incoming wake to minimize the chance of rolling over. Panicking, one of my buddies cut right and slammed into the side of my kayak. Already unbalanced, she flipped. I was disoriented for a second. My kayak was completely flipped; I swam over and latched on to a grab handle. Grunting with the effort, I used a bit of leverage to right the kayak and climbed back on. Minutes later, the waterlogged kayakers and I crawled on to the nearby beach. “Son of a bitch” my buddy’s girlfriend shrieked as she shook her waterlogged phone. “Where the hell is my cooler?” Shouted another person in the group. For a few minutes, chaos reigned over the rocky beach. People ran around pulling up half sunken kayaks or checking dead phones. Somewhat demoralized, we launched back into the now calmer river. It wasn’t till later that day we remember about thirty dollars worth of Corona and a floating cooler was gone, never to be found again. As for my kayak, it escaped with only a shallow cut to its