Okay, three people have asked me for my camping checklist since the beginning of the season. So here we go, advice from me, lol! I use an acronym: MATE. Mess kit, Apparel, Toiletries, Equipment. Cheesy, huh? Yeah, but it works! (I think, let me know if I’ve missed anything )
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Dave and I decide to take out the tandem kayak. “The test of a great relationship!” Brenda also teaches me how to use a feathered paddle. Basically, the right hand functions like a motorcycle throttle. I needed to switch up grips, because yesterday’s chop rubbed nasty blisters into both my thumbs. Didn’t realize how bad they were until one started bleeding in the morning. Guess the water numbed the pain? Anyway, easily fixed. Slapped on a band-aid and duck tape and was good as new. The camaraderie at the breakfast table is so much tighter after an evening of s’mores. The laughing is easier and moments of silence fewer. Down at the beach, Kathy, one of our fellow paddlers leads us in a sun salutation. All of us in a circle in the sand, stretching.

Then it’s time to hit it. As I settle into the front of the tandem, I have this comical image in my head that his weight (he’s 6’5″ and pretty muscular) is going back-weight the kayak and I’ll end up paddling air. I’m smirking as he pushes us off, and even though I am not elevated, I’m still amused because try as we might, we are certainly not traveling in a straight line. We meander our way over to Wendy, and Dave asks for rudder instruction. This makes everything much, much easier. After he gets the hang of it, Wendy calls out one last tip, “Be sure to raise it in shallow water!” Two minutes later, we look down and indeed, we are in shallow water. You can reach out and touch the rocks. Rudder up. However, we’re in luck. We are at the mouth of the Mink River, so the current is pretty light and gives us the opportunity to get in synch. Well, gives Dave the opportunity to get in synch with my rhythm, because I can’t really see what he’s doing behind me. For all I know, he may not even be paddling! Once we get it together, we’re booking along leaving the single kayaks behind. The tandem is unwieldy to steer, but on a straight course, this baby is fast! There’s some kind of kayak festival going on, so we pass several other groups on the river and exchange friendly waves. In the middle, we all “raft up” and Brenda pulls out a huge bag of candy and trail mix. The guides demonstrate a series of rescues and maneuvers, and we all chat and take pictures. Really a lovely experience. On the way back, our last stretch of paddling with this group, Mick dumps out of his craft and stradles our tandem. Dave and I are just ripped with laughter. Stellar trip.

Wake up chilly at 6a. The cover hog is apparently at home in the wilderness as it is in the city. No matter. *YOINK* This action seems to provoke the displaced cover hog, and earnest struggles continued for a short while until Brenda’s voice cuts through the morning air. “Guys? Breakfast’s ready!” In two snaps, Dave and I are up and briskly moving toward the tables. There are about 8 other fellow kayak/campers, including a quite tasty looking man who appears to be scrambling eggs in a pot over a propane stove. Now that’s sexy. Furthermore, there is a big plastic thermos of hot coffee. I am in heaven. The tasty looking man is Mick, a crazy UK transplant who is also one of our kayaking guides.

While we chow, Brenda runs down the day’s agenda. Then we hit the beach. A bit of a snafu at first, as the van and trailer head to one landing, while all the rest of us arrive at a different beach. We do eventually come together, grinning at the mishap.

First, we spend about an hour on land getting familiar with the equipment. We’re assigned kayaks based on our heights, and I land a snazzy, teal Shadow. We go over some basic paddling techniques, then each of us performs a wet exit before we take off. The idea of a wet exit has me nervous. What if a contact falls out? What if I panic? What if I choke on water? Brenda runs us through the process. If you tip over, first thing, tap three times on the underside of the kayak, so that fellow paddlers know, 1) you flipped; and, 2) you’re conscious. Makes sense. Brenda jokes that you can gauge the experience level of a kayaker by the tempo of the raps. Oh, I believe it! Three taps, please! I’m sure I’d be banging away, three tap rule be damned. After tapping, the hands go back underwater to grasp the mouth of the boat right by your hips. Hands follow the edge of the mouth forward ending at the “Oh Shit” handle. Yank, pull, twist, surface. Oh, and don’t loose the paddle. All good in theory. So it’s my turn. Paddle out to Brenda. Look at her. Rock a couple times feeling right at the edge of fear. My heart’s going and I’m thinking, “Am I going to be able to do this?” Before I had the chance to completely explore and wallow in my fear, the kayak tips and I’m fully immersed. Unexpectedly, this sense of calmness comes over me. The anticipation of the dunk is gone, and all that’s left is the need to deal. I open my eyes briefly and see the brown of the water made light by the sun. Algae and sediment float gracefully by and the current is gentle, not forceful. I’m not feeling the sense of disorientation and panic I thought I would. I feel like I’m neither up nor down, but just there. Tap three times, yank, twist, surface. Brenda’s smiling. Then she says, “Where’s your paddle? Where’s your boat?” Ah, details.