Losing Sight of the Shore: Kayaking Lake Michigan

A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.

~ William G.T. Shedd

T

he kayak leaned drunkenly to the right. I braced my legs against the sides as a small swell raced towards the hull.  My paddling grew fast and sloppy, as if I could hear the sound of banjos and I angled the kayak to avoid getting side-swiped.  The small swell rose up and lifted me about two feet above the shoreline before dropping me like a roller coaster. 

My mouth became a desert and my muscles ached with near panic.  Those two exhilarating hours spent with Johnny Wolfe on the glassy Rappahannock a couple of weeks ago seemed a lifetime ago; as the next wave battered my boat, I wished that I’d asked him to teach me how to roll back upright. But I’d sworn to everyone that it was a skill I wouldn’t need -- river paddling didn’t seem to call for it, I’d never seek out white water and I assumed this trip would be along the same lines. 

Now I was being bested by a lake.  A lake!

Granted, a lake that is 118 miles across and 307 miles long and with riptides strong enough to pull ships down 923 feet to its murky bottom.  6,000 ships to be exact – many of them the tall, masted ships of the 18^th century and 19^th century. Superior’s got nothing on this freshwater sister. 

Lake Michigan never gives up her dead either.

I wasn’t stupid – I had watched the ocean-like waves pound the beach all week, stood knee deep in the shallows every other day for the sheer thrill of feeling the frigidity, and listened to my Wisconsin hostess and friend tell tales of tourists whose kayaks had been swept out far from shore, their bodies resting undiscovered hundreds of feet below the surface.  I had the utmost respect and awe for Lady Lake Michigan and treated her like the siren of the deep she is.

But even crashing waves and angry, rainy skies couldn’t dampen the hunger to get out on the water.

My friend Diane was with me at the writers’ retreat by the lake and had river kayaked as well.  Although not quite as keen as I was, she was game to go out on the water once the waves died down to a whisper.  And at first, it looked like it would be a good trip for both of us. 

Diane’s kayak was a sit-on-top that lay flat on the water and had self-bailing scupper holes in the top to aid in stability.  Mine was a long, sleek sit-inside ocean craft, designed to cut through waves and go a long distance on the open water.  Usually, one would wear an attachable skirt in this type of kayak. I did not.  So it was my own miscalculation that kept filling it up with lake water every time a wave hit it.  As it continued to rock from side to side and the swells got higher and stronger, my shocked brain could only repeat two mantras:

I don’t know how to roll back up and I cannot lose sight of the shore.

Being denied air as I panic and hyperventilate is one of my greatest fears.  Now I could add drowning in the middle of a gigantic body of water surrounded by a blank horizon to that list.  But panicking would only increase my chances of rolling. So I forced myself to breathe deep.  In. Out.  In. Out.  And I began talking myself off the ledge.

Hey, a year ago, you swore you would never ride in a plane smaller than a 737, and you rode in two bush planes and a float plane.  And you never pictured yourself walking in hip waders through shallow rivers to stand six and half feet from a several pound grizzly bear yet you did just that.  And then just a few months ago, you swore you would never kayak and then you swore you would never kayak alone, but you’ve done all of that. You can do this.  You have on your life jacket.  You know the basics. You aren’t going to drown.

The wind.  The waves.  The adrenaline.  It all faded as I concentrated on using the skills Johnny had taught me.  But learning to angle over waves caused by the wake of a speedboat are a far cry from waves caused by fierce north winds sweeping across the lake face and building riptides.

But I was not about to become a jewel in Davy Jones’ locker.

There are so many stories of whales and sharks getting stranded on beaches, unable to get back in the water; trust me, they would have no trouble getting off the beaches of Lake Michigan.  I paddled my way up on to the sand, began to climb out and another strong wave crashed into me, soaking me and sucking me back in to the lake.  Maybe the Lady of the Lake just really liked me and didn’t want me to leave.  Diane finally had to come over and hold the kayak on the beach so I could get out without risking a runaway boat.

It was the shortest kayak trip ever and a part of me regrets not having the courage to lose sight of the shore. 

As we walked both kayaks back to the cottage, I realized my error.  By staying so close to the beach, I trapped myself on the wrong side of a sand bar – a sand bar which made the waves higher and stronger.  If I had forced myself out past them, I would likely have discovered a calmer ride and we could have stayed out longer.  But I don’t regret knowing my limits and following my gut.

And I walked away from the world’s most oceanic lake with a new goal: to stretch myself once again.  Once warmer weather returns, you will find me back out on the river learning to roll. 

River water never looked so good.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Posts on La Belle are written with the following fonts: Georgia, Times New Roman, Vivaldi, Edwardian, and occasionally Baroque Script.

Fear: Don't Let It Cripple You

Pinterest

The Gift of Receiving: Accepting Another's Gifts

. . .the bridges had been blown up; we squat on piers that don’t connect anything. . .
~ Ruth Kluger 

R

uth Kluger wrote her memoir, Still Alive: A Holocaust Girlhood Remembered  about her experience in Austria during (and after) World War II.  After reading Richard Chess’ unpacking and exploration of her observations about bridging the gaps between “my memories” and “our memories,” I not only want to read the book, I want to take his class at UNC!

This gap is illustrated by an incident where Kluger and some friends were relating their experiences of claustrophobia.  The stories they offered seemed piddling compared to the one she could have told regarding her ride in s stifling boxcar to Auschwitz.  She felt that to have told it would have been rude, that somehow her friends would have resented her.  So she remained silent.

That struck me: this fear that Kluger had to share her story because it might make someone uncomfortable.  She said: “And so my childhood falls into a black hole.”  Chess goes on to discuss how an experience can be informative versus transformative and then relates that to writing. 

But I am stuck on the loneliness of Kluger’s statement.

Perhaps it would have been inappropriate to share her memories with the group.  Perhaps she knew that they would not have received it well.  But what if they had been open?  What if the sympathy she feared she might have elicited was what was needed in that moment?  Such a feeling could have been healing, both for her and for her friends.

Why is this?  Why is receiving a gift ~ whether it be of their time, talent, love, support, or even something material ~ so difficult for us at times?  What makes us uncomfortable with another’s generosity?  Chess discusses this discomfort and relates it to writing and learning:

The desire to understand may also be a natural reaction to the discomfort of being confronted with something new and strange, a discomfort that can trigger feelings of inadequacy and failure. Most of us, I expect, don’t want to sit with such unpleasant feelings, and we might be willing to do anything within reason to rid ourselves of them.

Feelings of inadequacy and failure.  Could that be why we are sometimes poor receivers?  Do we think we are unworthy of the gift?  Maybe we have received gifts in the past that were not freely given ~ that came at a price or with emotional strings attached.  But then, those were not real gifts.  They were bribes, Trojan horses.  So fear of gifts becomes a defense, a protection against further pain.

And we do not like pain.  As Chess says, we will do “anything within reason” to avoid it.  Some of us will even do things outside of reason.  But that is a topic for another post.

It might help us to move in the direction of becoming better receivers if we remember that a gift is always given twice: to the receiver and to the giver.  And when we don’t receive someone’s gift, we both lose. Henri Nouwen, the 20^th century mystic, observed

. . . by receiving we reveal to the givers that they have gifts to offer. . . . we make givers aware of their unique and precious gifts.  Sometimes it is only in the eyes of the receivers that givers discover their gifts.

What an incredible and freeing idea! That in receiving a gift well, we are in turn giving back.

May we all work towards becoming better receivers of each other’s gifts.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela 

Have you ever felt uncomfortable when you’ve received something?  Were you ever resentful when a friend shared their story?  Share yours in the comments!

Top Five Friday: Fear the Thirteenth!

Fear makes us feel our humanity.
~ Benjamin Disraeli

Happy Friday the 13th! I am not a overly superstitious person nor am I OCD ~ although sometimes for the sake of my cluttered home office and bedroom, I almost wish I were! But I love stories that deal with the dark side. Not the blood-and-guts, chop-chop horror stories full of scantily-clad screaming teenagers and no plot. But stories that tackle the dark side of humanity ~ something I think we are all too familiar with.


So in honour of Friday the 13th, I offer up my top five picks for artistic explorations of the dark side of humanity.


Criminal Minds – CBS
In my opinion, Criminal Minds is one of the best dark police procedurals on television right now. I have been watching the show on DVD the past couple of months, starting with Season 1; I’m in Season 5 at the moment. The writers for this show are incredible ~ every episode I watch has some aspect that makes me green with writerly envy. I’m the type who becomes completely enmeshed in the story [i.e. do NOT talk to me while I’m watching]; however, there have been moments when the writer in me detaches and thinks “that was a brilliant line or plot twist!”


In terms of fear, CM has got it: they’ve had episodes dealing with almost every type of sick psycho out there, including a Satanic-esque cannibal. What fascinates me is the myriad factors that go into making a criminal who he or she is, family background being the most important.


Grimm – NBC
The Grimm Fairy Tales as criminal profiles? Brilliant! The development of myths, how they affect us and what they say about a culture is a fascinating study. And NBC has a winner with this show. The pilot was a little slow, but set the stage and the episodes after have not disappointed. Imagination is not dead, folks! It’s alive and well in the minds of Stephen Carpenter, David Greenwalt, and Jim Kouf.


There’s fear aplenty and it airs tonight at 9pm!

Fringe – Fox
J.J. Abrams is my hero. He comes up with the most amazing plots and story lines that push the boundaries of the mind. He must wake up every morning thinking “What if…?” Mad scientists, parallel dimensions, other selves, and Joshua Jackson. Plus a haunting soundtrack.


Downside? Also airs on Fridays at 9pm. Tivo, baby!


The Heart of Darkness – Joseph Conrad
Remember reading this for English 101? A fascinating psychology study. A modern adaptation is Apocalypse Now, starring Martin Sheen and set in Vietnam instead of the Congo. Read the book ~ again ~ and then rent the movie.


The Tell-Tale Heart – Edgar Allan Poe
Picking five stories to read or watch for Friday the 13th is tough ~ there a re many great authors and stories out there. But you can’t talk about scary stories without mentioning Poe. The man was a master of the macabre and a brilliant writer. Masque of the Red Death is one of my personal favorites, but the Tell-Tale Heart is sheer brilliance because it Poe wrote it before “profiling” was invented. It’s a crime story told by the criminal who committed it.


I would love to see this re-imagined on Criminal Minds in Season 8. A violent and possibly schizophrenic yet organized protagonist becomes fixated on the old man’s eye, sadistically shines a light on it night after night for several weeks. After the vile deed is done, he chops up the body and arrogantly invites the police into the room and talks to them at length. Come on, it’s perfect!

What noir fiction do you like to read or watch and why?

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Word Count Blogathon Day 2: Fighting Fear

I don't do the good things I want to do. I keep on doing the evil things I don't want to do. 
~ St. Paul, Romans 7:19

In this case, the good I want to do and do not do is write.  The evil thing I do not want to do but do anyway is procrastinate.  And yet, if I do not write, I suffer.  All those words, lines of poetry, lyrical sentences, article topics ~ they frolic around in my head, kick up a ruckus and clamour to get out and make a good night's rest practically impossible until I do so!

Writing is as natural as breathing to me. Why then do I continue to suffocate myself?

Fear.

Fear of being imperfect.

Fear of being rejected.

Fear of being misunderstood.

Fear of being ignored.

As I have mentioned before, fear of being imperfect is a lie that blocks the real from taking root and blossoming.  How can we hope to become better writers, singers, painters, chefs, architects, etc., unless we write, sing, paint, cook, draw, etc.? 

We are such strange creatures.  We would rather stay in a wretched spot that is familiar then move to a Paradise we do not know.  An almost insane desire to stay in our comfort zone.  Don't get me wrong.  I understand change is difficult.  But that is why we have each other ~ for support, for encouragement, and for the unconditional acceptance.  Not just for the changes we are making, but for who we are right now.  And therein lies the secret. 

First I must accept who I am right now ~ a talented but procrastinating writer. And second, I must let go of fear.  It has been a familiar companion, but it is time we parted ways.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Are you still holding on to fear?  In what ways have you overcome your fears?  I love hearing from you!