I'm afraid of deep water and this is absolutely no secret. Anyone who knows me has probably laughed at some point at how scared I am to even walk on a beach, although eventually I'll get close enough to the waves to tread on wet sand. I can swim just fine – pretty well, actually – but my fear lies in the idea of the water, a huge an uncontrollable force ruled by astronomical forces that can smoosh you and drown you in the blink of an eye. Not to mention all of the things that lie in wait under the water: creatures, dead bodies, debris, refuse.
When I joined the Canton Kayak Club last spring, I'm not sure what I was thinking. Getting into a flimsy plastic shell and paddling defenselessly into the Inner Harbor… that is the exact opposite of anything I would voluntarily do. Maybe I was trying to throw off the scent of an identity thief, or I had tricep envy? Either way, I paid my club dues, did 2 hours of introductory training and was given a pat on the back and a membership card.
Fast forward to July. I haven't been on the water ever since training day in April. We'd been talking about making plans with a couple of other friends and acquaintances who also have memberships, but nothing ever gelled. Sunday, though, that was our day. I was just along for the ride, not really thinking it would happen. Famous last words!
It was around 98 degrees that afternoon and as humid as a sponge. We drove down to one of the docks south of the city and hauled out three kayaks, two blue and one orange. Naturally, I got the orange one. I am known for having balance issues on flat, steady ground, so getting in and out of a kayak bobbing in the harbor was what I thought would be my biggest challenge. Let's just say that I'm grateful Matt bends bolts for fun.
Now we start paddling. I'm trying to get the hang of it again, and I'm trying not to run into pylons that are sticking out of the water in plain view. After 15 minutes I'm already tired, but we haven't even gotten out of the little cove where the marina sits so there's no option but to push on. Also, Matt is pretty much out of sight already, he paddles so fast. Gotta catch up...
I'll cut the details because our trip out the harbor/river/bay was mostly me grumping and whining and being a pain the arse to the poor DH behind me. My hands were starting to get blistered. My sunglasses were doing no good. Every stroke found my hands bonking painfully against the lip of the kayak. I was getting dripped on. The water stank. We were really far from shore and the swells were making me extremely nervous (No, I never had the nerve to see A Perfect Storm). I kept listing to the left. Worst of all, it didn't even feel like we were moving.
I think it took us the better part of an hour (or two) to get out and around to our theoretical destination. Honestly, I know that the abandoned Ghost Ship was the whole point that Matt (and probably Trav) had joined the kayak club but I never really thought we'd be going all the way out there. It's really far! And I'm really wimpy! I have no idea how I made it there because my arms were already falling out of my shoulder sockets and I couldn't feel my triceps. But somehow…. We rounded one last dangerous rock pile by a peninsula and there she was.
How does one get aboard a half-sunken ship from a kayak? Apparently it's easy. You paddle REALLY fast and aim for the mostly-submerged barge that it's tethered to, and then seal-crawl up the rest of the way in your kayak. I had it easy; by virtue of my gender I had two people pull me up, instead. Actually it was very fortunate that the barge was there because (I think) it is tipped underwater and the hinged doors are what made up our landing ramps.
Then you strap all of your camera equipment to your body in a makeshift manner, inch along the rim of the barge and JUMP! through a broken window in the ship. And hope that any people on passing boats don't have a mean streak and steal your kayaks while you're out of sight. Because… dude, there is no other way out of there.
About the Ghost Ship itself: I have never been in anything like it before, that's for sure, but there isn't much left in it. Back in the day it was one of those entertainment ferries, the kind like the Bay Lady that you can hire for a set number of hours with your party and dance, drink, have dinner, whatever. Now she's tethered to (technically) a portable marsh, bottom levels completely filled with water.
The steep tilt did make things more difficult than I would have expected. Getting my horizons straight was bad enough, but it was simple things like climbing stairs, not having your tripod fall over when you're looking through it, walking into rails, etc. I am such a land lubber. And what rhymes with "lubber?" That's right, "rubber." My arms felt like two very boneless pieces of rubber so I spend my first round leaving the camera on the ground and walking, just scouting. There are lots of abstract textures in the paint there, and interesting patterns of dancing light from the water. The holes in the floor seemed to have been circled with hot pink spray paint… years ago. Now they're faded into a misty carnation, making me wonder who did such work here and why.
Also, there were tons of barn swallows and red-winged blackbirds. While they were very cute, eventually their whirring/chinking/cheeping started to grate on my brain. To contrast the lightness of this, every few minutes I could hear a deep creaking groan of industrial metal. I only assume it was the ship settling under our weight or bumping against the barge on the other side. The noise sent shivers down my spine, not because I thought we were in any real danger but because it was so true to every bad movie I'd seen that involved a compromised ship.
Although it seemed kind of cheap to me, I don't think we stayed in the ship anywhere near as long as it took us to get there. We packed up, jumped out the window, stored our equipment back in the dry bags. Well, at least I did – the guys wanted exterior shots from the water, which was fine for them. I know my paddling skills better than that.
Good thing! Because on the way out I capsized my boat. Splash, for real. Here is the order of thoughts that went through my head:
1. Crap, these boots will NEVER dry out
2. The water tastes like runny mucus
3. My camera!!!!!
4. I hope I don't get trapped under the barge
5. What STD will I catch from this?
6. *censored*
I'm a little bit sad that concern for my camera only rated at #3, but I plead shock for shifting my priorities around.
And the guys had the flaming audacity to be jealous of me. Jealous! because theoretically I wasn't hot anymore. I'll take being hot/thirsty over being wet with three inches of water inside my waterproof boots, TYVM. I offered to shove them into the water next. They declined.
The trip back was uneventful, otherwise. We cut across the major boat route in an effort to make the trip shorter but the only thing I really noticed was that we had to paddle like crazy to get out of their way (all other boats have right of way over kayaks) and were left riding giant swells. I was NOT AMUSED. There is something to be said about having to make a wet exit, however: you care a lot less about getting splashed, but I was still unclear as to what to do if you capsize a mile from shore.
All in all it was a great trip. If I had bothered to check the map before we left I may not have gone because it was significantly farther than I think I could have handled (approx 6 miles). But I made it through there with only slight damage to my dignity and some decent photos – and maybe not knowing your physical limit is a good thing because I sure as heck wasn't going to spend the night sleeping on the water! Best of all, we all have a new story to tell.
My gallery is finally up here.
With this trip, I think that I am living my life to the fullest. Can't complain about that, even though it makes for very, very long blog entries afterwards.
1 comments:
I am just amazed.
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