As a charter member of the Bone Idle Sect of summer recreation, it is a wonder that my fabulous Ocean Prowler 13 kayak ever sees water at all.
True, I live a mere mile from the fabulous Megunticook Lake, which bans development on about half of its shores. But there are so many obstacles to get me and the Prowler to its shores.
First there are the roof racks. They are a pain to install and they always seem to mar the surface of my Honda Accord. My former vehicle, a Toyota Tundra complete with racks, was perfect for the activity. Alas, the $100 price tag for a Tundra fill-up was far beyond the Cobb Manor budget.
Once the racks are on, the next task is to hoist the Prowler onto the racks. Once again, this was easier on the Tundra. I usually perform this task alone since I have no serious and available friends. I am not saying I’m getting old, but this task seems a little harder every effort.
Every hoist seems to leave a few more scratches on the Honda. It now looks like the vehicle has completed half of its mileage sliding down the highway upside down.
Once the yellow beast is aboard, it is time for the L.L. Bean tie-downs. I am a fetishist about these tie-downs, since I once dropped a canoe on Cobb Road using inferior devices. Naturally, Blue Eyes was present to deliver the customary “tsk-tsk.” Since then I have become a zealot to avoid hitting a passing hiker, runner or mother of three walking her brood.
Let’s check the equipment. Naturally, I have a (Bean) life vest with bicycle gloves (blisters) in each pocket plus a whistle for God-only-knows-what reason. I insist on a dry bag even though I am only going a mile or two. This dry bag will contain a towel, compass, water bottle, knife and flashlight (natch), wind jacket and wind pants. You never know, right?
Needless to say, the trip cannot be accomplished without a paddle. Because I have had some skin chopped off already, I will slather myself with sunblock and wear a full brim hat to protect what is left of my ears.
Bug spray is a must. So is a liter of Poland Spring.
I haven’t even left the driveway yet and am swearing and sweating because I can’t find half the required gear.
Puff, puff.
Let’s drive to the lake. That is the most pleasant part of the exercise.
Once at the lake, it’s time to untie and haul the kayak off the racks and put it in the water. I cover the trunk with a heavy blanket and assorted towels, but the Prowler always seems to add another scratch to the trunk lid.
Finally the beast is in the sand waiting to go. I assemble the vest, the hat, the water, bug spray, dry bag and the paddle.
I am sweating again. I park the car. Puff, puff.
But wait. The wind has shifted and freshened appreciably. There are whitecaps on Lake Megunticook. That is my signal to abandon ship or at least abandon paddling. Just like during sailing activities, the wind is always blowing from the exact location you seek and much harder than you would like.
Safety rules over valor once again and I reload the beast back on the racks, alone, sweating and swearing. This time the rear window seems to collect most of the scratches. I tie the kayak down, nice and secure.
I decide to go for a nice bike ride instead, and then leave the bright yellow kayak on the roof racks for at least a week, in the hopes that I will impress someone, anyone.
This is supposed to be fun. Not if you are Bone Idle by inclination.
Emmet Meara lives in Camden in blissful retirement after working as a reporter for the BDN in Rockland for 30 years.