Mr. Cameron is my kind of guy.

Later,

Tom (No - not the same Tom)

"FRANKWBELL" wrote in message
...

This column first appeared in 1999, but I was just invited to kayak
this weekend, and it reminded me that this is one of my personal
favorites.

Bruce

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Kayak Lessons
Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron www.wbrucecameron.com
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== Please do NOT remove the copyright from this essay. ==

I don't recall ever having expressed an interest in kayaking. Any
activity that requires the participants to wear a helmet and a life
jacket is plainly something in which I should not be involved. In
fact, I pretty much avoid all sports which cannot be played while
holding a hot dog. Nonetheless, for my birthday this year my children
purchased me kayak lessons at the local recreation center.

Now, for you uninitiated, a kayak is a thin sliver of boat into which
the victim is hermetically sealed by way of a rubber "skirt." Picture
being adhered to a water ski by a suction cup and being handed a
paddle that looks like a helicopter rotor--that's kayaking. A kayak
is about as stable as a guest on the Jerry Springer Show--it feels as
if it will dive for the bottom at the slightest excuse. Kayaks were
invented by Eskimos to be used in their death-wish rituals, and now
can be found every weekend on the local rivers, flitting about like
giant psychotic water bugs.

Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, my lessons were scheduled
to take place in a swimming pool, where I felt it unlikely that I
would encounter any white water. My instructor, a bearded fellow
named Tom, lined up six of us in our wobbly boats in about five feet
of water, and proceeded to tell us that our first lesson would be in
how to tip over.

How to tip over! That's like telling a pilot that his first lesson
in flying will be in how to crash. I held up my hand. "Uh, Tom? I
think my kayak already knows how to tip over."

Tom was amused. No, he explained, I had misunderstood. When out in
the rapids, the strong currents sometimes flipped the kayaks over.
But instead of sinking, the kayak's rubber seal would keep the vessel
buoyant, so all we needed to do was learn how to flip back up.

"Uh, Tom?" My hand was back in the air. "Why would we want to go
out in the rapids when we have this nice pool?"

"Let's get started," Tom suggested. He walked us through the whole
maneuver, and then, probably concerned that I might feel I wasn't
getting my money's worth from these lessons, he said we would start
with me. He reach out and flipped my kayak over.

I was plunged into the wet. Gamely I followed Tom's instructions,
rotating my paddle and thrusting my hips. I did not rise into the
air. Instead, the shallow end of the pool entered my nose and began
washing my brain in chlorinated water.

Tom heaved me back up, and I came out sputtering. "Whoa, Mr.
Cameron! You just missed me with your paddle, there," Tom warned.

"That's because my eyes are so full of water I can't aim properly," I
choked.

"Do you know what you are doing wrong?" Tom asked.

"Drowning?" I suggested.

"You're supposed to hip thrust AFTER you rotate the paddle," Tom
chided. "Let's try it again."

Back into the drink. Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking of my
Grandfather, probably because I could hear his voice telling me to
"move into the light." I tried to remember the advice he used to give
me. "Son," he'd say proudly, "you're a dim-witted lad who will never
amount to anything."

Right, Grandpa! So why am I upside down under a kayak, hydrating my
lungs, when I could be at home on my couch living up to my lack of
potential? I gathered what little strength I had and kicked hard
against the bottom of the kayak, popping out like a champagne cork. I
swam over to the pool ladder and climbed out.

"Mr. Cameron, where are you going?" Tom demanded.

I turned to face him and the rest of the class. I was still wearing
the rubber skirt from the kayak, which stuck out from my hips like a
Tupperware tutu. It may not have been my most manly moment. "Tom," I
said, "if God had meant for me to kayak, he wouldn't have invented the
outboard motor." I went home and watched a bass fishing show on
television.

Now, THAT'S boating.

Write to the author at

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Frank Bell