Have Kayak, Will Capsize

I am fascinated by the idea of learning to kayak. Practitioners of this sport always look super-cool, whether floating alongside pods of orcas in the Queen Charlotte Islands, or paddling into inaccessible, pristine wildernesses. They always seem calm and competent, as though they could kill a rampaging grizzly with their bare hands whilst simultaneously whipping up a tasty supper of boiled tree bark.

So I want to learn to be one, albeit probably without the qualities of calm, cool or competence. I’m sure I’ll develop scary, ropey Madonna-like arms, whilst still managing to maintain a fat arse. That I will attempt do my first "kayak roll," fail to come out of it and have to be winched, sobbing, from the water by an amused yet scornful lifeguard while my contact lenses bob merrily away downstream. This will all, of course, be accomplished in less than two feet of water and within a yard of the shore. With an array of bystanders watching in open-mouthed fascination.

Despite these forebodings, I have this persistent, nifty fantasy image of myself paddling effortlessly along the shoreline of a pristine lake in my sleek one-person kayak, smiling sagely at fellow outdoors persons wading in the shallows, skimming out to the islets in the middle of the vast expanse, portaging effortlessly over marshy terrain, treading where no human footprint has gone before and generally being a Canadian version of Jane of the Jungle.

Nancy of the North, perhaps.

So what happens when I get out to one of these unexplored islets and discover that my arms have turned into over-cooked spaghetti, and are about as useful? Unless I want to make the front page of the local paper for all the wrong reasons, "Idiot With Tired Arms Calls Search & Rescue for Tow. Parliamentary Enquiry to Follow," then I’ll probably need to do some training. Perhaps a few press-ups before I venture out for a long paddle. I figure ten a day should do it.

Then there’s the problem of my sense of direction. In that I don’t have one. I managed to orient myself when I lived in London because there’s a whacking big river bisecting the city. It was fairly easy to orient myself as being either North or South of the Thames. Up or down. Easy peasy. East and West I figured out by facing in the direction I perceived to be south of the river, and then working it out on my left or right hands.

I suspect this won’t work in the Canadian wilderness, as everything is pretty much guaranteed to be north of the Thames.

A normal map won’t help, as even with a London A-Z Streetfinder I still occasionally managed to get lost, and often needed to orient myself by holding the book upside down. I suspect this is a female thing, as I’ve often seen other women in the street holding their maps at odd angles.

I’m also planning to get a big knife and stylish Ursula Andress style toolbelt to fend off wild animals and hack down trees for firewood when I get lost in the woods.

Should you wish to use my services as a Wildlife Guide, please feel free to contact me. My schedule is, amazingly, wide-open at the moment.