Sport Explorations: Kayaking
-- Anna Middleton
“Boofing? What on earth is boofing?” I wondered aloud. The more I read about kayaking, the more intimidating the sport sounded. After the article on boofing techniques, I stumbled into several pages of tips on “high bracing” and “low bracing.”
Finally, I tripped over a headline titled “Complex Trajectories” and decided to call it quits. All I’d wanted was a little information on how to start kayaking, not enough technical detail to launch and land a space shuttle.
Luckily for me, the kayaking trip I took in July wasn’t nearly so complicated.
In with a splash
Deciding to avoid any kind of whitewater, I dragged my brother to Lebanon Hills Regional Park. The park buildings there made us look twice. “There’s grass on the roofs—and not the pretty kind,” my brother marveled. “The kind you go, ‘Do they knowthat’s there?’”
However, the park’s small lakes turned out to be a perfect place to learn the basics of paddling and portaging.
By time we arrived at the rental office, all the single kayaks were gone and we had to settle for a double. The park attendant provided a set of wheels to attach to the back end of the kayak when we wanted to portage.
We edged the kayak into nearby Schulze Lake, clambered aboard and attacked the tranquil water with our paddles. Suddenly the lessons I had read about holding the paddle securely with your dominant hand while allowing it to rotate in the other hand made sense. I found myself doing it naturally.
We sped across the sparkling surface, and I was feeling pretty good about my technique. At least I was until my brother commented, “You’re holding your paddle upside-down.”
Lakes and lilies 
Near the edges of Schulze Lake, wide patches of large, golden buds peeked out of the water. I was disappointed thatthe yellow water lilies weren’t blooming yet. However, O’Brian Lake flaunted pure white lilies in bloom, and I forced my brother to stop in the middle of a large patch so I could photograph them.
I was so absorbed by the lilies—and the geese with their half-grown goslings—that we missed the little portage path leading up out of the lake and into the woods. After paddling back and forth for awhile, however, we finally spotted it and moved on.
Portage Lake turned out to sport every type of dragonfly known to man (or at least every type known to me). Their fantastic, iridescent bodies zipped across the sunlit surface in all directions as we paddled gently toward another lake-top denizen: a duck with her train of seven fluffy ducklings. We joined the train for a while, bringing up the rear, until I felt bad about making the ducklings churn frantically through the water ahead of us.
By the time we landed in Lily Pond, I was wet from my dripping paddle, muddy from climbing in and out of the shallows and sitting in the kayak, and decorated with bits of water weed. “It’s all part of the adventure,” I told myself.
Bridge Pond was the last lake we reached. We paddled under the low bridge, admired a green heron and several snowy egrets, and accidentally pushed a drowsy painted turtle off its nice warm log. By then my arms were starting to feel tired.
“It’s almost easier to paddle backward,” my brother remarked. After testing this out by going backward across the pond, I decided that paddling in the normal direction was just fine.
The pains of portaging
Of course, skimming across smooth water was only half of the experience. The other half was getting the large kayak—which somehow became 20 pounds heavier every time we lifted it—out of the lakes and down the rocky, root-strewn portage paths.
These paths were fringed with wild raspberry in several places and what I strongly suspect to be poison ivy in others. They wound through the woods and many of their curves seemed to be just a little too sharp. The kayak bounced off numerous trees and scraped over more than one rock as we fought it along the trails.
It’s true that we dutifully attached the wheels to the back of the kayak each time, but even with that helpful gadget, portaging was hard work. At one point we allowed the kayak to carry itself down a particularly steep hill. (Then we realized what we’d done and madly scrambled after it, lest it launch itself into the lake, too, and leave us stranded.) Whitewater ahead!
If the thought of tame lakes and peaceful paddling puts you to sleep, don’t worry. Kayaking can provide enough danger and adventure to keep you awake—just check out the abundant opportunities to battle whitewater rivers or bounce through ocean swells.
And just in case you’re wondering, “boofing” is the technique of jumping off ledges and over holes. Sounds plenty exciting to me!