A watery day

One of my happyist youthful memories is of kayaking on Lake Almanor during a visit to a friend’s house. It was a misty wintery November early morning, and I was out on the lake all alone – really alone - in a place utterly serene and crisply defined (despite the mist). One of life’s indelible moments.
From our lanai, we can watch kayakers in the little cove below us, and noting my envy, my cousin Mark suggested that we rent one and paddle about on the ocean. This time, it was not serene, nor was one alone – for which I was grateful. It was actually a little scary with those waves crashing on the rocks quite close by. I thought of the coast of Cornwall and the wreckers waiting in the caves. Although not a serene mystic moment, it was a lot of fun. Mark had his cell phone and when we got near our condo, he called his mom who came out onto the lanai and took our picture. As I was pulling our craft onto shore, a big wave came by, pushing the kayak forward with a sudden whoosh, nearly recreating a scene from the Buster Keaton movie we had watched the evening before, and plopping me suddenly onto my bottom (see picture.) We parked the kayak in a safe place on the beach below, and Mark left to do some business, after which we planned to paddle back to the rental place. An hour later, I looked out the window and the kayak was gone! I looked again, and saw that it had slid down the rocks, was now parallel with the water, with the waves lapping at its prow. I scurried down, scampering as best I could scamper over the slippery rocks to rescue our craft. Just in time, and in the heat of the noonday sun, I tugged it up away from the greedy waves. Later, with Kekoa as coxswain, we paddled about past the treacherous rocks some more and then, tired and dirty, but happy, returned the craft to its owner.