When I first saw Clear Lake from atop a hill, I thought what a beautiful body of water. How fun it would be to kayak on it.
That was over six years ago and I finally kayaked for the first time this week. Not on the lake itself, but on Cache Creek (only outlet of Clear Lake). Launching in at Clear Lake Campground.
For the week before the launch, I was so excited that it was hard to sleep. Would I be able to do it without flipping the kayak? Would my notorious bad back give me problems? Were my arm muscles too wimpy to make it five minutes from the launch?
Flipping the channel from KF%$# Radio to KLuv, I thought of all the bird and wildlife I’d see. How calming the water would be, what great exercise it would be.
I just had to convince my friend Mabel to go. She dug her feet in when I first brought it up. She’d much rather stay home and make banana bread. If I was to get her on the water, I’d have to convince her husband (I call him Bart) to go. That was no problem, he had his own kayak. Each time I talked to her, I blasted her with my enthusiasm for getting out on the water. It wasn’t so much the kayaking that bothered her, it was getting up at o’dark hundred to drive to the campground launch for an early start that was graciously OK’d by campground owner/operator Lisa Wilson.
Driving to Clearlake, I thought about all the great times I had rowing at Long Beach Rowing Association (LBRA) a couple of decades ago, and of the times that I flipped my shell (AKA a single sculling outrigger).
There was a group of Czechoslovakian master rowers who were in their 70s, who had competed in the Olympics (I believe in 1956) and defected to Canada. Some of the crew landed in California and rowed out of LBRA. Boris was one of them. He didn’t have an ounce of fat of him and was tall and impressive. He and the other “old guys” competed around the world, racing in the Masters class and won gold medals galore.
One morning as I attempted to get into my single shell, I flipped it and landed in the cold water dockside. At breakneck speed, Boris ran down the dock, grabbed me, lifted me from the water and almost, almost, tossed me into the water on the other side of the dock. Holy smokes! What strength.
I did not want to fall into Cache Creek. My experience at rowing helped me with the paddling but Mabel’s oddball paddling technique made me laugh so hard I almost lost my balance. But I did get a video!
The thing was, reluctant kayaker Mabel was constantly ahead of me, because of me getting my iPhone out of the double bag protecting it. Always my story; I’ve been last on everything because of taking photos. But it’s not the destination for me, it’s the journey.
Bart was in the lead. He was the first to spot three otters and the first to see one of them catch a giant fish (over 12 inches!). We saw deer drinking from the creek. Mabel spotted a Bald Eagle. We watched tons of swallows and kingfishers swoop over the water and a jumping fish that left a huge splash. There was lots of vegetation and amazingly, very little trash; I scooped out a soda can and a vodka bottle; a vodka, no ice, with Dr. Pepper?
The early morning colors, the quiet, was magical. We paddled a bit and then we’d glide. Talking was challenging. When necessary, Bart would say something, then Mabel would turn her head and repeat it to me; like the old game of telephone tag.
We never did reach the lake but it didn’t matter as the sun was starting to broil us, so we turned back. The otters had gone to wherever their shady home was. The birds were pretty much in hiding as well. Each of us blurted out, “Are we there yet?” “Can we get a tow?” By the time we pulled into the launch, three hours later, I was so tired that I could barely get off the kayak without Bart’s helping hand.
Homemaker Mabel had made a yummy veggie quiche the night before and handed out generous portions that we inhaled while resting under a shady Clear Lake Campground tree, wondering if we’d be sore the next day. (FYI: we weren’t!)
What’s a girl to do?…look for a used kayak to buy!
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a freelance journalist for the Record-Bee. You can email her at lucywgtd@gmail.com
