Prateek S.
Yelp
If I hadn't met Miss K, I'd be in the Navy. Or working on a tanker.
Just the idea of being on a boat earns any place four stars before I even get there. And it would have remained at four stars if not for a SNAFU we faced after we started paddling. The SNAFU turned it into a five-star experience.
That's right. Let me tell you the story of how we found a silver lining in a cloud of embarrassment and turned it into a beam of sunshine.
Ed, the elderly instructor, gave us life jackets and watertight bags for our things. Then he began instructing. He went through a well-rehearsed series of canned jokes and then explained the types of strokes.
There's a forward stroke, a backstroke, and a down stroke. The down stroke is for turning. Push water back to go forward, push water forward to go back, create a rudder to turn.
That's what I would have said to beginners. Ed went on for about ten minutes, expounding like Socrates on what is one of the most straightforward ways to navigate a vessel. Most of it was unnecessary.
He then explained how the tour would work. It would last about two and a half hours round trip and we would spend a lot of time hanging on to other kayaks in a cluster so we could hear him talk about history. He explained that his voice didn't really carry so we needed to be close to his kayak to hear him. I had noticed that he was quite soft-spoken. I wasn't too excited about this but the prospect of being out on the water kept me enthusiastic.
Once in the kayak, we started paddling and immediately sailed into the wall.
Ed and the rest of the group had gathered about twenty yards away, hanging on to each others' kayaks, waiting for us. Someone pulled us back and we paddled right back into the wall. Ed told the others to paddle ahead gently and came to check on us.
Patiently, he explained which side of the kayak to paddle on and in which direction if we wanted to reverse. It fell on deaf ears. I usually thrive under pressure but I was trying to recall his lessons and listen to his instructions at the same time. He freed us from the wall and, trying to compensate for rowing too far right, we rowed really hard in the opposite direction and ended up under the pedestrian walkway.
We take the blame for not communicating and for not paying attention to the direction in which we were paddling. I was in the back so I had 95% of directional control, according to Ed, so most of the blame fell on me. Instead of the see-saw movement necessary to move in any direction at all, it looked like I was trying to stab a shark.
By now, Ed, the man whose voice doesn't carry, was bellowing like a dictator rallying his troops. With every murderous stroke of my paddle, he lost more and more patience. He knew he wasn't getting through to us. We wanted him to get through to us but the yelling only frazzled us. I wish I could have seen what he looked like yelling. He's a fit, older man with high cheekbones and a deep tan. But with bulging eyes and pulsating forehead veins, he must have looked like an open-mouthed Skeletor with eyeballs and porn 'stache.
Somehow, I hit upon the right stroke and we popped out from under the walkway like a bar of soap from a pair of wet hands. Right into the wall from which we came.
We made a few more useless strokes, plowing against the wall like there was gold on the other side, until Ed, exasperated, lowered his voice and told us it wasn't going to work. We stopped trying to kill the river and looked at him shamefully. He told us that we were just not at the level we needed to be to keep up with the group, but we could try paddling around by ourselves.
I couldn't tell if we had been kicked out or mercifully put out of our misery. Whatever it was, we were embarrassed. We sat for a minute, red-faced, and then started paddling again. Right away, our paddling improved. After jostling with other kayaks, we found ourselves out on the Charles. Using Miss K's head as a reference point, I kept us fairly straight and got the hang of directional control within ten minutes.
All of a sudden, we found ourselves facing a huge body of sparkling blue water and bright sunshine without any restrictions or history lessons. And we were mobile and functioning as a team. I've never been so happy about essentially being declared a retard by an instructor.
We spent more than three hours paddling at a furious pace around the Charles River, exploring most of the shoreline and getting a close look at rich old bastards' boats. Near the CambridgeSide Galleria, we spotted a lesbian wedding and I steered us towards the grass so we could watch and clap for equality with the wedding party.
I became so comfortable with steering that I was helping others by the time we came back. It turned out to be the most fun I have had on the water in years.