Kayak Zen

For the last few weeks, I've wimped out on my Sunday morning paddle... for several reasons. One, it's been rather cold in the morning. It's hard to pull on all the gear in 40 degree weather. But mostly, the tug of spring gardening has tempted me to stay and play in my own backyard. I've loved it, but I realized, especially after today's paddle, that it's not the same as taking those two hours to lose myself on the sea. It truly is my meditation, my re-centering, my zen... as Sebastopolian hippy as that sounds.

Today was no different as the day started at a cool 39 degrees but quickly the temp began to rise and I knew that I needed to get out to the ocean. The sea was nearing the end of its flood and ready to pull out again. The water was ripply, not choppy, and the swells were just right, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping. Out near sea lion rock, the waves came in sets of huge breakers between small splashes. I coasted between it and Bodega Head, enjoying the feel of the moving sea beneath me. Sea foam was everywhere. Sea foam results from kelp being broken up. The "goo" inside makes a soap, which foams up in wave action. I love paddling through it, especially with the sun shining on it. While I was looking out at the great expanse, I suddenly saw two spouts, very distinctive plumes rising much higher than the splashing of waves. "Gray whales", I shouted aloud, though no one was around to hear it. I was so excited! Two whales were cruising around the Head on their journey north to Alaska where they will feed all summer after having bred down in the warm winter waters off the coast of Mexico. I am always grateful to paddle where whales are near.

Finally, I turned to head back in though the jetty to the harbor where I started. Gulls, cormorants, willets, surf birds, oyster catchers, and black turnstones were hanging about, warming in the sun's rays. A sea lion was headed out with the tide, probably to join his buddies at the rock. I love taking people kayaking, but these Sunday mornings are special spent alone. My thoughts have had a chance to follow their path until nothing is left but the pure pleasure of being. How fortunate I am to be able to do this. I'll try not to forget what it means to me the next chilly Sunday morning.