It had all started out so normally. I hadn't even gotten wet getting the boat into the water! I was on the way back home, and had been drawn over to the South edge of the water by the prospect of taking a picture of an egret. But each time I took the ziploc bag off my phone, it got scared and flew away (the last phone I destroyed was by flipping a kayak).
So I'd been trying to follow the channel up that south side. And the thing about water is, unless it's clear, it looks deep enough, until it just isn't. And if the tide is going out on an already pretty shallow tidal river, you can end up just like I was. Up the proverbial creek.
So two things became clear. I needed to get to the water. And I'd have to go back into even wetter, and therefore deeper, mud to get the kayak. And since each step was a shoe wrestling match, I'd have to take off the shoes. Heaven knows what's in the mud. Snails were all over the place on top. One can only imagine what lies beneath.
At this point, I should tell you that my greatest watery fear is something slithering underneath my feet. Eel, snake, whatever. As Lucy grew and we started playing in the ocean together, I've learned that wearing water shoes makes things much more pleasant. And that my fear isn't likely to come true---in the ocean. But in river mud? Who's to say?
|Different river. A canal, really.|
Well, now I'm to say, because I did what I had to do, and I'm happy(ish) to report that it wasn't really that bad. Sure was easier to walk. Stepped on a lot of things (likely snails), but nothing slimy or slithery. And soon enough (much quicker than all the manuvering before I got out of the kayak, and the mudwrestling with my shoes that followed) I was back on the water, muddier, but on my way home.
Did I learn anything? No, except about the bare feet, a piece of knowledge I hope never to use again. I know where the channel is in that part of the river, that's for sure. And I should've just gone for a bike ride.
|twas much muddier than this|