Icebreaker

Dad and I went kayaking yesterday. The first place we tried to put in, we found ice. It had frozen then broken, and was pushed by constant waves (is that an oxymoron?) toward the landing. Adventuresome as it may have been to journey out in that, we drove to the other side and entered in calmer waters.

It was a new section of water for both of us, and we heard a strange sound as we explored. It was like a helicopter taking off...but not going anywhere. There were birds to our west, and we watched them gather themselves in the air, swoop, and re-land. So many in the gatherings...were they barn swallows or something of that sort? Dad thought they were ducks, but naah--couldn't be. Dozens of them, together?

Closing in on the southwestern shore, we paused our paddles when the birds took flight again. Studying their silhouetted forms, we realized they were truly ducks--and that noise, again... Their wings--echoing off the hills surrounding us... So odd, so awesome.

Having bullied the ducks away from their stomping ground, we tried to follow a tributary we'd seen from the road. We'd both noticed its lack of wave action, so we eased our way around the corner and past mini ice bergs. (Exactly how far does an iceberg protrude beneath the visible surface? I've seen Titanic, and I was floating along in a piece of plastic.) We both ran gently into the frozen sheet, and I chopped at it with my paddle. (I have much more respect for people who pilot those large, arctic ice-breaking ships, now.)

I don't get it. Sitting in that plastic banana and tapping forcefully at frozen H2O, I was a happy clam. I was a kid with a few favorite toys in my bubble bath. And this is happiness? Hmm. Good to know.