Way back in 1989, a great guy from Easy Rider Canoe & Kayak Co. in Seattle sold me a 17-foot Easy Rider SeaHawk kayak and said I would enjoy it for years to come on Lake Michigan here in Harbert, Michigan.
Well, Peter McMullen, if you’re still out there paddling, and I certainly hope you are, allow me to say that SeaHawk and all the necessary accessories you sold me for $1,437 in 1989 are serving me well in 2011. I am so glad you convinced me that I needed a true sea kayak for the rugged waters of Lake Michigan, and I am still impressed with the expert way in which you had my boat shipped all the way from Seattle without a scratch.
So thank you, Peter McMullen, and thank you all for tuning in to my latest adventures of the high seas with my 22-year-old Great Lakes cruiser.
SeaHawk called from the beach the other day and said: “Get your butt down here! The lake is like glass, and I’ve been chained here for days wondering when you were going to realize you’re in desperate need of exercise. Now, put down that donut and get your butt down here! And don’t forget the paddle and the life preserver.”
I forgot neither, and, honestly, I wasn’t really eating a donut when SeaHawk called on the old psychic hotline.
No, but I was thinking that the big blow that had just blown through was really gone off to Ohio or somewhere and that the lake was probably settling down for some serious kayaking, so I heeded the call.
And, was I ever glad I did, because, as SeaHawk so succinctly put it, the big lake was truly looking like the big pond.
Not a ripple in sight, and even the resident Ring-billed gulls were having trouble staying awake.
Just a day before we had all been out body surfing until we could no longer stand up straight. That was the day of the big blow. It was great, and we had a blast, but, as we Beachers all know, big blows are always followed by days of calm.
And so there was a great calm, glassy lake out there just waiting for me and my gal-SeaHawk.
SeaHawk patiently waited while I dragged her to the water’s edge and then rigged her for silent running. But I think I heard a guffaw or two when she saw me stretching to get ready.
“Okay, old girl, no more donuts!”
“Yeah, right!”
No more donuts, but lots more paddling, and that’s what I did that glorious day after the big blow.
I paddled SeaHawk straight out from our beach and then set a course for Warren Dunes State Park where I reckoned we would make landfall and take a nap or something.
But something happened to my muscles about halfway there. They just gave out.
SeaHawk simply said: “If you’d spend more time out here with me instead of up at the cottage eating donuts, you’d be able to paddle me all the way to Saint Joe and back before nightfall, big boy. And I do mean, BIG BOY!”
“All right, old girl, point well taken.”
We’ll spend lots more time together out on the big lake before the gales of November come slashin’, and I’ll push away from those donuts, and, well, now would be a good time to spend with SeaHawk, so:
“See, ya, whilst I go off on sea duty! Fair winds and following seas!”