The first time I saw someone paddleboarding, I was glancing out my window at Tomales Bay and I thought it was someone standing up in a kayak. My reaction was, “Sit down, you fool! What are you, George Washington? You’re in a boat! Sit down!” Then I saw that no, it wasn’t a boat: it was just a little board, which made it seem even more stupid. After that, I continued to make fun of paddleboarders whenever I saw them, until one calm morning a group of young women went paddling by, talking and laughing and looking like they were having a lot of fun. Then curiosity got the best of me, and I decided maybe I should try it myself. I never did get around to it, maybe because it’s mostly an early-morning activity on our bay, where the winds tend to kick up in the afternoon. And anyone who knows me knows that “early morning” and “activity” don’t go together in my world.
But here I am on vacation in Alaska, and I saw that Kay’s neighbor had a couple of paddleboards strapped to the roof of his car, so I asked about it. Kay said, “Yup, those are Jerry’s, and I’m sure he’d love to take you out for a paddle.” We ran into Jerry later that day and as soon as he heard I was interested he said, “You want to go tomorrow?” and I said “Okay.” Then I thought, “Oh no, what have I done? He’s probably going to want to go first thing in the morning,” and sure enough, before I was even out of bed the next day, he had already texted Kay, “Call as soon as you’re up.” An hour later, when we still hadn’t called him (Kay is even less of a morning person than I am), he came and banged on the door. “You up in there? Come on over, I’m cooking breakfast!”
Breakfast was eggs cooked to order with homemade toast and passion fruit jam (Jerry spends his winters in Hawaii, as many Alaskans do, hence the passion fruit jam, which was really, really good—spoon-licking good!). I do love it when men cook for me. Okay, I love it when anyone cooks for me.
After breakfast, Jerry insisted I change into more appropriate attire. “What’s wrong with jeans and a sweatshirt?” I wanted to know. “Those are cotton! You need something fast-drying!” he said with exasperation. “Only if I fall in the water, which I won’t, but whatever…” So I donned the dog-hair covered clothing he provided, and 20 minutes later we pulled up to the boat ramp at Chilkoot Lake.
Chilkoot Lake is one beautiful place. Steep, jagged, snow-capped mountains all around, with numerous waterfalls plunging thousands of feet down into the water. Salmon jumping, bald eagles soaring: this is Alaska, this is the home of my heart. It has been ever since I spent five years living here, long ago, in my 20s. Why I ever left I don’t know. Oh yes, I do, it was family ties, and possibly the dark winters had something to do with it, too. But now it’s August, the days are long, and I just love it here.
The thing is, it’s beautiful like this all over the whole state. Not just in certain parts and parks and hidden spots like in the Lower 48, but everywhere. Alaska is still mostly breathtakingly beautiful wilderness—the way I think the whole world should be, and used to be, and still would be, if not for the insane overpopulation of the human race and its nature-obliterating lifestyle.
But I digress. We were talking about paddleboarding. I’m given a brief lesson: First kneel on the board, stay in the center, paddle close to the board and take short strokes, then stand up, don’t stare at the board, look at the scenery, push with this hand, don’t pull with that hand, okay, enough instructions, off we go. We hug the shoreline, standing for a while, then kneeling to paddle against the wind when we round the corner, then stopping at a little beach to stretch and relax before heading back to the boat ramp. The weather remains fairly calm and it’s a beautiful day. Not sunny, but still beautiful.
So what do I think about paddleboarding, now that I’ve experienced it? I can answer that in four words: I’ll try anything once. Here are the reasons why I probably won’t do it again:
1) You have to stand a certain way, sort of stiffly, and concentrate on keeping your balance, so it’s just not as relaxing as, say, canoeing (which I love), where you just sit and paddle and have a nice day. Standing carefully to keep your balance feels too much like work.
2) You have to lean forward just a little bit the whole time, which does not agree with my lower back.
3) There’s really no good reason to stand up when you’re in, or on, any small craft that is floating on the water, and there is a very good reason to remain seated. I’m sticking with my first reaction, which I maintain was entirely correct: Sit down, you fool! You’re in a boat! Sit down!
Ingrid Noyes, a musician and the director of the Walker Creek Music Camp, is formerly from Marshall and currently makes her home wherever she happens to be.