Sälar, mareld och stjärnhimlar förekommer såklart. :-)
Janina
The Greatest Sense of Freedom
Picture yourself getting out of a
car on a snowy parking lot. It is really cold. Now, imagine stripping down to
your underwear (yes, you are standing in the snow). Put on your kayaking
clothes, carry your kayak from the car across the snow to the waterfront, wade
out into water that is full of ice flakes. “Why would I do that? Are you
insane?” you may ask. Well, maybe I am, but this is one of the big enjoyments
of my life. Here I will try and explain why I love kayaking so much – in most
weathers, and in all seasons.
Around 3 am, a starry night is at
its most beautiful. One winter night on a small island I had to leave my warm
sleeping bag and walk through the freezing wind to the outhouse. The moonlight
was so strong that I did not need a flashlight. The sky was a deep, deep blue
and I stopped to stare at the stars until my neck started hurting and I got
very cold. I saw every single star in the Milky Way. Anywhere I turned, the starry
sky went all the way down to the horizon, right next to me. The tiny island
seemed like a planet, floating freely among all the other planets.
Another night, in October, there was
fluorescent plankton at the beach where I was camping. Anything that you put in
the water, such as your feet, or a paddle, or a kayak, was immediately surrounded
by an explosion of fireworks. I forgot about time while walking and splashing
up and down the beach line with my gumboots in the shallow water, watching the
plankton light up around my feet.
The silence on a tiny island is something
that I will never forget. The earth was so quiet, it seemed as if I was all
alone in the world. A night bird at a far distance, a wave brushing against a
stone, were the only sounds I heard, and I almost held my breath so as not to
disturb the silence.
Strangely, standing there alone in
the dark, I wasn’t scared. Instead, I felt sheltered and secure because I was
part of this massive universe, and the universe became part of me. We are so
small and weak compared to the rocks and the waves that we encounter, but that
night made me trust that Nature will treat me kindly if I try to follow her rules.
Now, this may sound as if kayaking
trips are usually pleasant, sunlit and starry? They can change quickly! You might
have breakfast on a warm, sunny rock. You might even complain that your
long-sleeved t-shirt is too warm – and just then, you might think that this is
the day’s worst challenge. On this particular morning I even remember
complaining a little about the heat.
Three hours later, in the middle of
the ocean, just as I was beginning to get hungry, raindrops started falling.
They fell so heavily, it hurt where they hit me. My anorak was soaked through
within a few minutes, and my lunch was safely hidden somewhere inside the
kayak, out of reach.
By now the raindrops were bouncing off
the sea surface, bouncing higher than my head. The wind started to build up,
and there was a dark, threatening wall approaching from behind. We met a single
sailing boat – it slowed down, and the captain shouted, “Are you insane, what
are you doing in these waters in this weather?” He offered to tow us to a safer
place, but we declined. It was tough going, for sure, but we decided to pay the
price because the reward is just that much bigger afterwards.
You need a lot of determination if the
weather is against you. When you are travelling against the wind, stealing
every inch of distance from the ocean, you cannot stop even for the shortest
break. Why not? Because the wind is going to blow you back to where you came
from. You have to keep pushing forward until you reach the next shelter. And
the best strategy just then may be to try and focus on the happy things. How
good a hot drink will taste, how nicely the clothes will dry in the sun once it
comes out, how warm the sleeping bag will be tonight.
Every day in the archipelago we would
have to make the big choice: Should we travel on the open ocean, or should we
take the sheltered route among the islands?
The outside route is the tougher
one. The waves will be bigger, the wind will rise faster, but here you can also
get the greatest sense of freedom. On the open ocean, with waves breaking onto
rocks right next to you, you can almost feel the ocean breathing underneath
you. You will encounter majestic seagulls, perched on a rock in the middle of
the water as if it were a throne.
On the other hand, the sheltered
route among the islands has its charm, too. This is where you can find bird
families in spring, mother and babies swimming so closely together that they
look like a gray blob from a distance. Don’t try to get too close, or the
mother will leave her children to try and distract you from them. This is also
where you can find secret passages between the rocks, and you can play like a
child, trying to navigate your kayak through shallow waters into the tiniest
cracks.
If I see a black spot at a distance,
my heart always start racing in the hope that it is a seal. Seals are curious
and playful, and they seem to be attracted to kayaks. Why, I don’t know, maybe
because a kayak moves slowly and without making any noise?
Seals enjoy sneaking up on kayakers
from behind, and following the boat, so it is a good idea to turn your kayak
and start paddling backwards if you are in seal country. They are not really
shy, but they sometimes miscalculate how near they want to go. If a seal suddenly
changes its mind and wants to get away from you, it will throw itself backwards
with a splash that can make your heart stop the first time you hear it. On the
other hand, if you are lucky, seals can follow you for quite some distance. I
once had a group of twenty or so seals following me quietly for several minutes.
It was like that children’s game where one person turns around and the others
have to stand perfectly still. I enjoyed the game a lot, and I honestly think
the seals did, too.
In autumn you see migratory birds
flying overhead. For us humans a few kilometers are hard work, and these birds
fly from the north of Sweden to Africa without ever complaining – how can they
do it? And how can they beat their wings so fast while constantly chattering to
each other? I admire their discipline, the way they keep flying in a perfect V formation,
always knowing their place in the group. Imagine humans travelling together,
they would want to switch neighbors and start arguing with the group leader
about going too fast or too slowly…
Sometimes you see life and death at
a close distance. One day in early spring we found several dead swans on an
island. It had been a long winter, and they had probably waited and waited for the
ice to melt. By the time they realized that the winter was longer than usual, they
were too weak to leave the island, and died there. If only they had moved into
a park in town, they would have been fed bread crumbs by chubby children every
day, but how should they have known that? And would they have wanted that life?
A few months later I was camping within
sight of a swan’s nest. Every morning I would see one swan sitting perfectly
still on top of the nest, and its partner patrolling patiently nearby. But on
the last morning they were moving freely on the water – and on the mother’s
back there were three tiny gray heaps of feathers. New life.
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