At 7pm, I dropped my kayak in the water off the big launch ramp at Thompson Boat Center. As soon as I sat in the boat, I immediately recalled something I had filed in my brain under, "Don't Forget This Again." Bring sunglasses.
In the morning on the way in to work and in the evening on the way home, the angle of the sun is perfectly aligned with my iris, striking hard at the spot where my optic nerve meets my retina. Translation - "Agh! Bright light...blinding...Jim...pass...glasses..." (end scene as Starship Enterprise careens into a black hole, or whatever) This has happened every time I have attempted this river commuting thing. And every time, I have thought, "I really need sunglasses to enjoy this." Well, I may file that thought under, "Christy told me to do such-and-such" instead. That tends to be the best place for me to file thoughts that I really intend to act on. The next post may prove or disprove that theory.
The conditions on the river appeared to be so perfect that I considered paddling up the river all the way to Fletcher's Cove, instead of going via the canal. However, by the time I was approaching Key Bridge, the persistent headwind and steady current let me know that I wasn't quite up for that challenge yet. That is, if I wanted to get home on the same day. Pulling up to the dock at Jack's Boathouse, I quickly jumped out of the boat, yanked it onto my shoulder, and hotstepped it up the stairs and onto Water Street, hoping that Jack's staff wouldn't object to me using their dock, or worse yet, think I was stealing a boat. From there, I crossed the street and ascended the cement staircase from the base of the bridge up to the canal. I don't mind the scent of urine in the stairwell as much as the thought of encountering the perpetrator while I have a boat on my shoulder - awkward.
Setting the boat in the canal, I was relieved to be on a body of water that was more like a skinny lap pool and less like an object lesson in "Man vs. Nature."
Again, the light was blinding. Looking down, the first thing I noticed was that the canal was completely coated in pollen. This transformed the usually glittering surface of the canal into what appeared to be a solid road of glowing white light. The second surprise dawned on me gradually. When I think of the canal, the first thing that comes to mind is not that it is a particularly pleasant olfactory experience. But on this day, that is exactly what it was. There were so many fragrant wildflowers in bloom, including honeysuckle and Rosaceae (or multiflora rose, which is incredibly abundant even though it isn't native), that every breath was perfumed. Seriously. This is not artistic license. I am a journalist and have my integrity.
The yellow iris was still blooming, in combination with wild geraniums, bluebells, violets, clover, wisteria vines, wisteria trees, and many others that I cannot identify. Oh, and just a touch of skunk cabbage. But hey, you've got to take the good with the bad. Which brings me to my next observation - garbage.
Not too bad. Just a couple of glass bottles, maybe a half-dozen cans, a few styrofoam and paper cups, and some assorted bits of plastic bags flittering in tree limbs. Idyllic - mostly - with the exception of the noise of cars and planes, and the aforementioned garbage. I am eternally grateful to the National Park Service and U.S. Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas (a story for another day, for those who don't know it) for the vision and resources to create and maintain this park. Thanks also to the Chesapeake & Ohio company, whose (arguably bad) investment made this park even possible.
Another constituency that is grateful for the park is the subject of this final section of today's entry: deer. I reached Fletcher's Boat House as the sun (thankfully) dipped below the tree line, casting the canal in a green, shadowy glow. As I paddled the final stretch from Fletcher's to the Crescent Trail bridge at Arizona Avenue, I was surprised to see how many deer began to emerge from the woods along the trail. In those final minutes of the journey, I glided past eight deer. And I actually saw sixteen deer, because as each stood at the water's edge, its image was reflected in the smooth surface of the water.
Now that the blinding sun had disappeard, I leaned back to look at the evening sky while taking my final strokes and saw the moon shining brightly. I immediately thought of how patient my wife is to actually encourage me to commute home by the slowest conveyance I could think of. I hoisted the boat from the water and hightailed it home.
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