A Sound and Casual Paddle

[bob budd]

Dawn broke on the second clear and seasonable day of the weekend. Awoke a bit late and rushing through Sunday AM groceries dropped my cell phone for the last time. Cracked glass and battery ejected, it no longer allowed me to get through the stylus alignment procedure. By now, the keypad had become quite unreliable so no big loss.

Bacon and eggs, fat and protein, toast as a butter delivery vehicle. Then collect gear in those wonderful tubs, hoist tubs and boats onto their positions in the Forester, and strap the boats down. Turned right onto Pine St and what to our wondering eyes should appear but a miniature car full of kayaking gear. "Roger, this way" we pointed and pulled over, sure enough he had seen us (who could miss that Forester sitting so high on the road with two kayaks riding above), and we were soon dragging boats across the snow to the beach.

The harbour, bereft of both moorings and boats, appeared smaller and more inviting. Anticipating the afternoon's southwesterlies we headed around the easterly side of Misery Island and slowly chose to tour Salem Harbour. The wind teased us all the way across Salem Sound. There was precious little to show for the winds, the waves were infrequent and listless. We lunched on the far shore on the southern end of the mouth of Salem Harbour.

Our pace left us insufficient time to explore the harbour, our dinner plans and an Xmas tree for the Pollocks beckoned. The route back took us past the crumbling block tower in the shadow of Misery Island. The meager waves made loud splashing sounds as they passed through and by. When we were once again in the harbour, Roger commenced to test his third dry suit. Whilst sculling he found the water cold and after a second roll he determined that his bath tub at home might be a better place to continue his testing.