Kayaking Into An Ocean Of Trouble
It almost cost me my life!
It was the end of a hot summer and the beginning of a cool Autumn. I was on the beach contemplating whether or not to go out to sea and do battle with the waves on an ocean-going kayak.
Staring out at the deep blue ocean, trying to assess the conditions, there was one vital sign which I almost regretted not noticing.
By this time I had been practicing kayaking for three solid months. In that time I had progressed from total novice to almost professional level. I felt more than competent to take on whatever conditions might face me.
There are days when even the pro's think twice about setting sail. Today was such a day.
The sea is most turbulent in shallow waters. For a massive volume of water to move forward without rising, it needs depth. As the depth becomes increasingly less, the water simply rises to form turbulent waves. That is where all the fun and danger is. Once you manage to get past where the waves break you can relax a little. It was with this in mind that I was looking beyond the breakers, further out to sea.
They say that you should look for white crests for an indication of how conditions are beyond the break-line. Too many white crests in deeper waters is a sign that things are pretty choppy. This basically means it is maybe not a good idea to venture out. On this day the crests indicated a rough but manageable swell.
I got suited up in my neoprene and grabbed a kayak.
Erring on the side of caution, I asked my monitor, Victor, what he thought about the conditions. He looked out to sea and concluded that if I was careful I would be ok. His tone was unconvincing. I asked Pablo, an excellent highly experienced sailor, who was holding the fort in the sailing club beach-side hut what he thought. He more or less concurred with Victor.
And so feeling reassured and somewhat adventurous, I dragged the kayak to the spumy water at the shore-line, climbed in and set off.
Getting past the breakers was hard work, but great fun, once you knew how to do it. First you gently row out to where the waves are breaking, then it's simply a matter of timing. It's always wise to hold back a little and let the monster wave break, then paddle for all you're worth to get past that point before the next monster wave arrives.
Get it wrong and you'll know about it. It is no fun smashing head first into a wall of water with thousands of litres of H2o. It is somewhat akin to running head-on into a brick wall. So you have to hit the wave before or after it has broken.
Without too much effort I managed to get over the breakers. Before long I was quite far out, riding the big swells and crests with a certain degree of finesse, though I say so myself. Truth be known, I was having the time of my life, pitting my wits against the elements.
I felt a mixture of great pleasure and fear all at the same time. You have to try to put that part aside and give your full concentration to the next heave of the sea almost upon you.
Down Into the abyss between swells, paddle in the air as you go, then when you get to the bottom of the watery valley, get that paddle back into the water and paddle up the next swell like your life depends on it, which it does.
Conditions started to change pretty darn quick. In a matter of seconds an unexpected squall can arrive and you are in a deep doo dhaa day. I hadn't quite reached that point yet, but it seemed to be heading that way.
Being about half a mile out, I decided to have a rest. Between swells I quickly spun the kayak around through ninety degrees to face the beach. As I did so I finally spotted that vital sign I had had missed when I was observing the sea from the beach. I was alone.
I suddenly realised that apart from a distant windsurfer, heading my way, there was nobody else around. The windsurfer happened to be another sailing club monitor, Curro, a brilliant sailor and windsurf expert. Curro was travelling at a hell of a lick, maybe thirty knots, along the same line as the beach, except he was about 200 yards further out than I was.
I could see even the expert Curro was hanging on for dear life! So we were the only idiots stupid enough to venture out.
As I sat there, maintaining balance with nothing more than my ass and the paddle, I noticed something else. Far away on the now distant beach a small crowd had started to gather. The were just about clear enough to see that they were all from the sailing club with their distinctive black, ominously branded, club T-shirts. They seemed to be gesticulating in my direction, but it could have been a simple friendly wave to me or Curro, now behind me.
Before I knew it, the next thing was everything went from bright Andalusian sunlight to a very dark shadow. I knew what this meant from experience.
Right behind me a giant wave was upon me, so big it was blocking out almost all of the light of the sun.
I started to paddle with all the strength I could muster and caught the gigantic wave just in time. I was now in one hell of a squall. All I could do was ride it all the way back to the safety of beach. In fact it was the best ride of my life. No sooner had one wave petered out than yet another, even bigger one, was upon me.
I rode a whole series of waves none stop right up to where the water finally begins to recede, just on the shore-line. The group of about a dozen monitors broke out into a big round of applause which puzzled me a little. I thought it was for the expert Curro. I asked what it was all about and Victor called out...
"YOU, you've 'got balls going out in those conditions, Liam."
"Victor," I exclaimed as I stood up and stepped out of the kayak. "You said it was ok?"
"It was, but it suddenly got a whole lot worse. Besides, if it wasn't dangerous it wouldn't be fun, would it Liam?"
Then somebody pointed out Victor's leg, stitched from knee to groin from kitesurfing. Victor had been flying twenty feet in the air and suddenly lost the wind and crashed down into the sea. He hit a very sharp, jagged rock submerged just under the surface of the sea.
What I learned from that was never to ask Victor for advice ever again.