The Cameron Column # 96

For those of you that do not subscribe to The Cameron Column, I thought you
might appreciate this weeks article...

Michelle Johnson

>
>The Cameron Column # 96
>
>A FREE Internet Newsletter brought to you without remorse by W. Bruce
Cameron.
>
>If you are not a subscriber, you lack basic protection against a bad mood!
>Please send a message to majordomo@cwe.com with the words "subscribe
>cameron" in lower case as the first line in your message. To unsubscribe,
>DON'T reply to this message. See the footer following this message for
>more information!
>
>Hey, visit the Cameron Column Website at http://www.wbrucecameron.com/
>
>Write to me at Bruce@wbrucecameron.com
>
>++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
>
>Kayak Lessons
>Copyright 1999 W. Bruce Cameron www.wbrucecameron.com
>Subscribe by sending the words "subscribe cameron" to majordomo@cwe.com
>
>==> Please do NOT remove the copyright from this essay. <==
>
>I don't recall ever having expressed an interest in kayaking. Any activity
>which requires the participants to wear a helmet and a life jacket is
>plainly something in which I should not be involved. In fact, I pretty
>much avoid all sports which cannot be played while holding a hot dog.
>Nonetheless, for Father's Day this year my children purchased me kayak
>lessons at the local recreation center.
>
>Now, for you uninitiated, a kayak is a thin sliver of boat into which the
>victim is hermetically sealed by way of a rubber "skirt." Picture being
>adhered to a water ski by a suction cup and being handed a paddle that
>looks like a helicopter rotor--that's kayaking. A kayak is about as stable
>as a guest on the Jerry Springer Show--it feels as if it will dive for the
>bottom at the slightest excuse. Kayaks were invented by Eskimos to be used
>in their death-wish rituals, and now can be found every weekend on the
>local rivers, flitting about like giant psychotic water bugs.
>
>Fortunately, or so I thought at the time, my lessons were scheduled to take
>place in a swimming pool, where I felt it unlikely that I would encounter
>any white water. My instructor, a bearded fellow named Tom, lined up six
>of us in our wobbly boats in about five feet of water, and proceeded to
>tell us that our first lesson would be in how to tip over.
>
>How to tip over! That's like telling a pilot that his first lesson in
>flying will be in how to crash. I held up my hand. "Uh, Tom? I think my
>kayak already knows how to tip over."
>
>Tom was amused. No, he explained, I had misunderstood. When out in the
>rapids, the strong currents sometimes flipped the kayaks over. But instead
>of sinking, the kayak's rubber seal would keep the vessel buoyant, so all
>we needed to do was learn how to flip back up.
>
>"Uh, Tom?" My hand was back in the air. "Why would we want to go out in
>the rapids when we have this nice pool?"
>
>"Let's get started," Tom suggested. He walked us through the whole
>maneuver, and then, probably concerned that I might feel I wasn't getting
>my money's worth from these lessons, he said we would start with me. He
>reach out and flipped my kayak over.
>
>I was plunged into the wet. Gamely I followed Tom's instructions, rotating
>my paddle and thrusting my hips. I did not rise into the air. Instead,
>the shallow end of the pool entered my nose and began washing my brain in
>chlorinated water.
>
>Tom heaved me back up, and I came out sputtering. "Whoa, Mr. Cameron! You
>just missed me with your paddle, there," Tom warned.
>
>"That's because my eyes are so full of water I can't aim properly," I choked.
>
>"Do you know what you are doing wrong?" Tom asked.
>
>"Drowning?" I suggested.
>
>"You're supposed to hip thrust AFTER you rotate the paddle," Tom chided.
>"Let's try it again."
>
>Back into the drink. Unexpectedly, I found myself thinking of my
>Grandfather, probably because I could hear his voice telling me to "move
>into the light." I tried to remember the advice he used to give me.
>"Son," he'd say proudly, "you're a dim-witted lad who will never amount to
>anything."
>
>Right, Grandpa! So why am I upside down under a kayak, hydrating my lungs,
>when I could be at home on my couch living up to my lack of potential? I
>gathered what little strength I had and kicked hard against the bottom of
>the kayak, popping out like a champagne cork. I swam over to the pool
>ladder and climbed out.
>
>"Mr. Cameron, where are you going?" Tom demanded.
>
>I turned to face him and the rest of the class. I was still wearing the
>rubber skirt from the kayak, which stuck out from my hips like a Tupperware
>tutu. It may not have been my most manly moment. "Tom," I said, "if God
>had meant for me to kayak, he wouldn't have invented the outboard motor."
>I went home and watched a bass fishing show on television.
>
>Now, THAT'S boating.
>++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
>
>This newsletter may be distributed freely on the internet but you MUST
>include the following subscription and copyright information:
>

• Messages sorted by: [ date ][ thread ][ subject ][ author ]
• Next message
• Previous message

What's become of SCOUTER Magazine, the print publication?

Buy the Back Issues