Tipping Point

“I’m worried about tipping over,” Liz says as she eyes the kayaks lined up on the pebbly Scottish beach.

“You’ll do fine,” I say. Liz is in her 30s and is a professional athlete. I am 30 years older and get winded walking the dogs. “I kayaked in Alaska and the Galapagos. It’s a piece of cake.”

Lee, our guide, hands us wetsuits. He’s 40-50ish with blond hair and that delightful Scottish accent. He’s definitely a fine-looking piece of horseflesh.

“It’s easy,” I tell Liz. “You just paddle and keep balanced. Watch me.”

I paddle into Loch Kishorn ahead of Liz and Lee.

“You okay, Susan?” Lee asks. I turn to wave and discover my kayak is now nudging the shore. What the …?

Liz, in the meantime, kayaks circles around Lee’s boat. A very nice Scottish woman gives me a shove back into the loch and I hurry after them.

Lee gives us a lesson on turning and reversing. “I remember now,” I tell him. I paddle toward the open water.

“You okay, Susan?” Lee yells.

I give him a thumbs up before I realize my kayak isn’t moving. At all. I seem to have paddled my way into a patch of seaweed.

Lee shouts instructions and I battle my way out. I’ve got it now, I think as I paddle forward.

“You okay, Susan?” I look up to see Liz and Lee a long way off with Lee stroking toward me.

“Got caught in the current, did you?”

“I was watching the birds,” I lie as he circles around.

“Another patch of seaweed,” Lee says, positioning himself between me and the floating mass. Liz waves and paddles ahead. Any other time, I would be thrilled to have a good-looking man keep close to my side. He isn’t flirting, he’s trying to save his job. Having a tourist float off into the open ocean would seriously hinder his chances of a big tip.

After 4.6 miles, we end up back in Plockton. Liz hops out of her kayak like a gazelle. Mine, once again, is mired in seaweed.

“You okay, Susan?”

I nod and struggle to extract myself, seaweed threatening to drag me down. Just as I think I’ve made it, my kayak tips and Lee rushes to grab me before I sink into the bay.

I stand, pretending I didn’t just have to be rescued. “See?” I say to Liz. “Piece of cake.”

Previous
Previous

Glasses, and Glasses

Next
Next

Beautiful Autumn