This weekend I went home to Connecticut once again, and we went kayaking once again. After this trip, though, Juma was heard to say, "This is the worst day of my life!" and "Well, at least now I know what the worst possible thing feels like."
So what's the worst possible thing?
The kayak flipped over in some white water where a marshy river rushed through an opening in a small dam and dumped into the ocean. The effect was a mini-waterfall, only about a two-foot drop, but enough to create some serious white water that our kayak couldn't handle. Not while navigated by us, at least.
We did have life jackets on, so we were okay, but I think none of us were quite prepared for the spill. Justin and Juma popped up to the left of the waterfall and escaped the current quite quickly, and Justin was near enough Juma that he could grab him immediately. (Not that he was in danger, with his life jacket on, but Juma sure hates putting his face and head underwater, so a sudden dump into the ocean in churning water was a pretty awful thing for him.) It didn't help that one of his water shoes got pulled off and he cut his toe (it's fine).
As Justin tried to surface from the churning water, he hit his head twice on the kayak and cut his feet a little on the rocks, but he had his wits about him enough to grab Juma as soon as they both surfaced.
As for me, I hit the current at its strongest point along with the kayak and most of our stuff that was in the kayak with us--two fishing nets, a fishing pole, flip flips for both me and Justin, and a backpack full of fishing gear. Under the water, one of the fishing nets somehow landed on my head, and I pushed it off and let it go. Just after I surfaced, I flipped around to look for Juma and Justin, saw they were safe, and found myself suddenly surrounded by some of our items. I was able to grab the backpack, one of Justin's flip flops, and his baseball cap (go Sox!). The kayak floated toward me as I swam to get out of the current, so I pulled the boat along to shallower, calmer water where Justin and Juma were waiting, and flipped it back over.
We climbed in and made a mad dash to recover our lost items that were still floating within sight. (Justin had saved the paddles.) We got back a couple fishing items, Justin's other flip flop, Juma's shoe, and one of my flip flops. The nets, all our sunglasses, and the Batman fishing pole have gone on to rest with all the other treasure that's been lost in the Long Island Sound over the centuries.
Juma was shivering and nearly hysterical at this point, the sight of his bloody toe only making it worse for him. I assured him he'd be laughing about this someday--a future he simply could not comphrehend.
We paddled back to the beach where our car was parked, only to find that the tide was now completely out, and the kayak couldn't come within 100 yards of the beach.
So here we were, wet, cold, with cuts on all our feet, Juma hysterical, Justin and I trying not to laugh for Juma's sake, 100 yards of mud flats between us and the sand, and only Justin with a complete set of shoes. And those were flip flops that were useless in the squelching, sticky mud. For Justin and me, this was a tragic comedy, but for Juma, just a tragedy. Juma refused to put on his other shoe because of his cut toe, so we took turns carrying him and trying to hoist the kayak at the same time. Mind you, the kayak weighs 70 pounds. The mud was so deep and soft in some parts that we sank in past our ankles.
I so wished we'd gotten that on film! These post-trauma pictures will have to do.
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