I got a text on Tuesday inviting me on a paddle on Thursday. Winter is my climbing season so I usually only paddle one day a week (the 20 kilometre day) but I seldom get invited on things having a very small circle of outdoor partners all of whom are getting older (as am I). My memories of big days ski touring in Canada with a cohort of keen skiers who, if I suggested something seemingly ludicrous like skiing south to the US border would happily say “I’m in” convinced me to say “I’m in.”
But I wasn’t going to drive down and launch from Mossy Point, I decided I would paddle down. Accordingly, I got all my gear ready the night before including some warm clothes. It’s dropping down to about 1 degree Celsius overnight currently and I would be on the water soon after first light. I got away right on schedule, in fact, a bit too early, as I had hoped to run into my two paddling companions just on the south side of Burrewarra Point, but I got to Burrewarra Point at around 9:20 am and my friends were not launching until 9:30 or 10 am. The low winter sun was mostly obscured by cloud, but the slanting light on the water made me feel a little queasy so I looked for a place to land on the south side of Burrewarra Point.
South of the point I found a little shingle sand beach, accessible only via kayak or private property down a sketchy track and walked about trying to warm up. From my location, it was only about three kilometres (or less) to the channel entrance at Mossy Point but that would have made a 34 kilometre paddling day and I didn’t feel fit enough for that without generating many aches and pains! After a bit, I spotted two kayaks paddling past far off-shore and I had to sprint out to catch up with them near Burrewarra Point.
We went around Burrewarra Point and into Guerilla Bay via the narrow slot on the north side of the semi-detached island, and had a welcome cup of tea. From there, I convinced my paddle partners to do a lap around Jimmies Island before they headed south so we all paddled through the gap between Jimmies Island and the south end of Rosedale where I waved them goodbye and paddled home.
As I paddled most the of the day alone, I thought about all the trips I had done and how many I truthfully wished I had said “I’m out,” instead of “I’m in.” After 45 years of adventuring, I can count on one hand the number of times this has happened and those were big multi-day ski trips where we had exceptionally bad weather which gave rise to extreme avalanche hazard. When everything is avalanching there is very little you can do but find a safe space and hunker down. When these weather conditions persist for your entire trip, that’s a trip that is not really worth spending your time on. Most of the time, the situation is far less clear cut, and, although there might be a modicum of “suffering” (in it’s loosest sense), I’m always glad I said “I’m in.”
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