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I was frustrated. Here I was, making an effort to communicate with obviously less experienced kayakers, trying to get the seriousness of what they were attempting across to them, and I was getting the big blow-off. But the other two seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. “If it gets windy out, head for a cove immediately. And no matter what, stick together,” I said.
We asked them if they had maps and showed them where the little bailout cove was on their mediocre chart. We talked to them about how to steady someone’s boat after a capsize so the paddler can crawl back in from the other side.
It was easy to see that this was their first time out in kayaks. They didn’t have any idea what to do if the wind picked up or how to plan for other emergencies. After imparting a few more words of wisdom, Dave and I wished the two boys (who didn’t mind hearing the downer information) a good journey. We told them about the excellent clamming spot and emphasized again to keep a close eye on the weather and each other, then headed out to sea.
It had been easy to open up a dialogue with the second group of kayakers because of what had happened the day before, but sometimes it’s not so easy. People generally don’t want their inexperience pointed out to them.
As we left L.A. Bay, a sheet of glass covered the ocean, rippled only by the drops falling from our paddles and the slight turbulence of our wakes. I watched Dave’s reflection on the water as he paddled alongside me. Our early start that morning let us take advantage of the tendency for Baja weather to be better in the morning. It also let us catch a free ride on the current making its way out of the Sea of Cortez, rushing past the islands on its way to the Pacific.
Melesa Hamer is currently working on a book about her three-month, self-supported sea-kayak trip down the Sea of Cortez. Melesa’s next kayaking adventure will take her from Seattle, Washington, to Nome, Alaska—a distance of about 3,600 miles. |
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