Down the Shore

From the shoreline to the water, and partway back to myself

There are many things I used to love that I’ve learned to live without.
But kayaking has always lingered near the top of the list.

Before my devastating accident, I’d take a single out on Bantam Lake and just go. Around the point. Up the river. Into the coves. Sometimes for hours. Alone, but never lonely. The rhythm of the paddle, the stillness of the water, it gave me a kind of peace I haven’t quite found anywhere else.

After I was injured, kayaking became one of the hardest things to let go of.
We still have our small place on the lake, but for 14 years, I’ve sat on the shore, watching.

Rowing found its way back into my life in the meantime. As many of you know, I’ve been rowing out of Rockland Lake. It’s been great. Physical. Purposeful. Peaceful. But it’s not the same. I can’t just head out when the mood strikes. There’s a crew. A clock. A structure to follow. The rhythm is there, but I don’t control the beat.

Making waves and making my way back

Kayaking was something I wanted to reclaim. But I knew I’d need to ease into it.

Last year, I joined an adaptive group on the Connecticut River in Hartford. The first time, I paddled with pontoons. Safety first. I felt stable. The next time, I went without them and it went fine. That gave me the confidence I needed.

And last week, I went out on Bantam Lake again.
Not quite on my own, but close.

To his credit, my son-in-law, Eric, was the one who nudged me forward. “What do we need to make this happen?” he kept asking. And like most things in this life, it took some figuring out.

The dock was off-limits since it has steps I can’t navigate, so we found a small patch of land with a gentle slope. We tracked down the owner and got permission to use it. Then we rolled through sand, pushed, pulled, and eventually Eric and my nephew, Jake, lifted me into a double kayak.

I’ve never loved doubles. I’ve always preferred the quiet of a single. But this was about starting. And starting matters.

We paddled along the shoreline. Not far. Not fast. Just enough.
I got a blister between my thumb and index finger. A small discomfort, but somehow welcome. A reminder that I was doing something again, not watching it.

It wasn’t epic. It wasn’t effortless. It wasn’t what it used to be.
But it was a start.

And I’ll do it again.

back in the paddle again

There’s still a lot I can’t do without help. My balance isn’t what it was. My core strength is limited. I have to be careful not to capsize. But I also know this is the deal. This is the tradeoff. This is the life.

We all have something we’re learning to navigate.

I’m still clawing back what I can. However I can. Whenever I can.
That paddle was short. But it was a beginning.

Next time, maybe I’ll go farther.
Next time, maybe I’ll go solo.
Next time, maybe I’ll remember a little more of who I was. And who I still am.