Dear Reader,
Today’s paddle had all the ingredients for a perfect day of paddling, except two. Dang, we were so close!
It started with The Old Carrabelle Hotel’s proprietor and gracious Innkeeper, Skip, returning Miss Pink, Baby Blue, John and me to Carrabelle’s Public Launch Site on the Carrabelle River where he’d picked us up two days ago.
And then up the river we went, past Carrabelle’s waterfront and fishing fleet and pleasure crafts.
Up into the marshes, where we veered to the right, up the Crooked River.
Islands of marshland which turned into wooded forests. Tate’s Hell State Forest, to be exact.
What a lovely day to paddle. Calm. Overcast and thus cool. The current running with us. And the water flat as a mirror.
And what a gorgeous and wild river to be paddling! A welcome change from the impacted banks of the ICW (Intracoastal Waterways) we paddled over the past few weeks.
It IS a crooked river though. My compass bearing kept switching north, east, south, east, north, west. As the crow flies we only had a distance of five miles to go. As the river went we paddled 13 nautical miles.
At one point John just ducked through some tree limbs and by cut an entire meander.
There were a few homes scattered along the river, hidden in the trees with only an old wooden dock and maybe one lone plastic white chair breaking up the wall of vegetation. Nothing fancy.
And no place for us to climb out of our boats. The hours went by. One. Two. Three. Four. We’re always trying to stay hydrated. So we’re drinking water. And also eating snacks we can easily devour as we’re drifting on the river.
As soon as we got on the Crooked River we’d come upon a campsite and we got out to stretch our legs and pee. We would’ve taken a longer break and eaten something but we started shivering and so jumped back into our warm boats and got back to paddling.
By hour three I had to pee again.
But there was no dry land so nowhere to get out of our boats.
By hour three and a half I was trying to figure out how to pee from my boat without tipping over. Our boats are VERY tippy. I nixed all of my bad ideas.
“We’ll be at the campsite soon,” promised John. “Just a few more miles.”
My perfect paddling day went south. My head started pounding, demanding more water. My bladder was screaming, demanding I release water.
And then dear reader, at four hours and fifteen minutes, I did what John had told me I could always do in a pinch, And which I really wished I wouldn’t have to do. Especially not on the first day of twelve paddling days before our next hotel. Especially not with freshly washed body and laundered clothes.
Yes dear reader, I just went ahead and peed in my wetsuit shorty pants, in my boat, while paddling.
And of course no more than ten minutes passed before we reached our camp.
“No biggy. You just sponge it up,” said John, my lovely husband.
My perfect day had plummeted down to me sitting in my own warm urine. And then to my sponging it up.
And Miss Pink? Well, I bet you’ll never look at lovely Miss Pink the same way again, will you? Some might actually even say she’s been christened.
But John is sick. He’s running a fever and is very congested. That’s the second thing that ruined what would otherwise have scored a perfect paddling day.
John still repaired our ancient, ailing stove. He still made hot tea and still cooked dinner. He still fell asleep at 6 pm. And the heat emanating off of him in the tent right now is like a furnace.
I hope it’s just a virus and passes soon. Our healthcare plan just covers us in Colorado. Plus we have miles to paddle! Places to go and people to see. No time to be sick.
We’re at a great camp though. And we certainly have plenty of food and a couple of days worth of water. And it’s shockingly quiet. No waves. No boat or barge or automobile sounds. No barking dogs or coyotes. No military aircraft. Just John’s fitful snores, the buzz of a mosquito, and the incessant tapping of my thumb on my iphone screen.
We are alive.
We are (well, one of us is) healthy.
We are adventurers.
Goodnight!
Cheers, Susana
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