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cheezkayaking at kailua beach
I woke up early. I was still on California time. A brief wave of pensiveness caught me, and I thought, it's not too late to not go. Or to do something I'm more used to, like hiking, walking around. I didn't know how to kayak. I've only been once or twice, with others, in calm waters. But what I did know was why I was hesitating, even at the last. It wasn't because of not knowing enough, or even possible danger. I was scared to make a fool of myself.
Knowing this pushed me out of bed and out of my hotel room. I couldn't keep hesitating like this, over every small feeling of reluctance. Wasn't this a piece of why I was here? Aside from vacation and escapism and pretending I didn't have to return to work ever. To prove to myself that I could be alone and not afraid. Well, not afraid was probably too much to ask, but if I could move myself through this world despite whatever unfounded fears I held, that would be worth just as much.
So there I was, bright and early at 8, in the parking lot of the kayak rental shop.
"You shouldn't go to Moku Nui today," was the first thing the guy at the front told me. The waves would be too rough. "Unless you're really confident in your kayaking abilities." As already established, I'm not. "A couple got stranded out there yesterday and had to be picked up by helicopter." And there went any last thoughts I had left of heading to the mokes. I almost backed out on renting the kayak entirely, again, but since I was already there and still frustrated at myself for almost not coming at all, I went ahead with it.
There were two guys at the side to help rent out the kayaks. They looked...kind of bro-y in that way of young, athletic guys. Slim, fit, and more invested in cracking jokes with one another than paying attention to their surroundings. Not saying that they were, but that was the impression they gave off. One of them led me to the kayak and helped point out how to get down to the beach when I asked—I didn't trust myself to remember the directions in their instructional video. He was friendly but answered only exactly what I remembered to ask, no more than that. I could understand why though. Most renters who came alone probably weren't complete novices at kayaking and water sports.
After that, I was on my own. I lugged the kayak down toward the beach. Even on the cart they provided, it was heavier than it looked, and I could feel the small ups and downs in the road.
Before kailua beach, there was a bridge over a small canal where I dropped off the cart. I pushed my kayak into the shallow waters of the canal, scooted myself inside, and started paddling across the short distance to reach the beach. The oar felt large and cumbersome in my hands. Every stroke I made moved me forward less than I hoped, and sometimes turned me in a direction I didn't expect. Which, I'm sure, boded well for the ocean.
But hey, I made it to the other side. Dragging the kayak through sand was much harder than pulling it on a cart, but soon enough I was waist deep in the ocean, pulling my kayak along. I saw several other kayaks and some paddleboats, but they were far out from shore. This was both a relief and kind of a problem: I had no one to copy to see how to get onto my kayak, but also no one to see my struggle. Somehow I scrambled onto the kayak, not really sure how, and started paddling.
It felt like my energy was dissipating into the water, but it wasn't too bad. I could move forward, albeit slowly, and turn, albeit clumsily. What more could I ask for? (I'm lying, I wish I could go faster. But realistically, I was floundering less than expected, so better not to jinx myself by being too ungrateful.)
I wasn't going to the mokes, but there were two other spots I could check out: flat island, a small bird sanctuary, and lanikai beach, a beach up the shore from kailua. Neither was very far.
I headed for flat island first, but after getting to the island, I had a problem. There's only one inlet on the island where you're allowed to park your kayak, and I couldn't tell if I was heading for the right place. I eventually pulled up onto the small lip of beach I'd been eyeing, but after stepping out and seeing no one else there, I didn't stay long. Maybe it was the right place, maybe it wasn't, I wasn't keen to find out. At that time there was no one else on the island, though there were a lot of paddle boats and surfers in the water nearby.
I pulled my kayak back out into the water and got back in, which felt about the same as the first time. That's to say, there was some scrambling around and I got into the seat at some point, but I still don't know how.
From there, I made my slow way toward lanikai beach. It could've been relaxing, for people who like drifting through the ocean with their own thoughts. I don't think I'm one of those people. I didn't hate it, but my own thoughts aren't that interesting in general, and especially aren't when they're mostly along the lines of, hmm, that beach still doesn't look much closer, does it? hey, who said you could stop paddling? I hope this dramamine lasts for the rest of the morning. is it bad that I've taken dramamine three days in a row? can people develop resistance to motion sickness meds? is that a thing?
It didn't actually take too much time to get to lanikai, but it felt longer. Like the writing on car mirrors. Time in the mirror is slower than it appears.
Getting onto the beach was harder than I expected. I hesitated too long, and a wave washed me into the beach before I could hop out of the kayak. It spewed me into the sand, and I half-rolled, half-jumped out of the kayak, balancing myself on the sand with one hand while grabbing at the bindings on the end of kayak with the other, to keep the waves from pulling it back out to sea. Then I was running, or attempting to, dragging the kayak with both hands until I was further up the beach and out of the reach of the water.
I stood there panting for a little while, then brushed off the sand and looked around. I'd had some vision earlier of lying on the beach and reading a book, but in those visions I'd conveniently forgotten that I'm a cave hermit that shrivels in the sun. Now that I was here, with the sun beating down on me, I tossed out that silly idea. Instead, I stowed my bag in a spot between two nice looking families, and ran back into the ocean.
The water felt good, cool against my skin but not cold. I swam for a short while. There were more outcroppings of coral than I expected, and I tried not to accidentally hit them with my feet. I regretted not bringing my goggles. Not only because I wanted to see what was under me, but because I'm not much good at swimming while keeping my head above water. I wanted to submerge myself.
A little disappointed, I returned to shore, and headed back out on the kayak.
I passed one snorkeler excitedly telling her family she'd seen a sea turtle, and that was a little disappointing too. I turned away, turning the tip of my kayak back toward kailua. Then, maybe 5 to 10 feet away from me, a turtle breached the surface of the water.
I stopped moving, my paddle hovering in the air. For a moment, all was still, except for the up-and-down bob of the water, and the turtle lifting its head. It stayed there for a little while, opening and closing its mouth, as if it couldn't care less that I was there. Then, it ducked back under the water, and was gone.
It's funny how one moment can change your mood. Not into happiness, that would be too far. But away from disappointment, a little toward wonder.
On the way back I stopped by flat island again. It turned out that the inlet I stopped at the first time was right; this time there were several other kayaks to prove it. I walked a short circle around the island, watched the waves crash against the rocks, and looked at some crab carcasses. To be honest, there wasn't much to see. A couple nice strangers helped me push off from the island. I learned it is much, much easier to get on a kayak with some help.
I was ready this time around, when I got close to kailua beach. Or I thought I was. Instead of letting the waves beach me, once I was in shallow waters, I hopped out of the kayak. And after a moment of shock that I managed to get out without falling over, the incoming wave pushed the kayak into my legs and knocked me over into the sand. I managed to avoid losing my kayak to the waves, but wound up with sand in all my clothes and a scraped shin in the process. Spluttering a little, I dragged my kayak onto the beach. Grace landing round 2: complete.
I kind of hoped no one had seen me, but I didn't have that much luck. There was a guy sitting in a white folding chair who started jogging up to me once he saw me dragging the kayak out of the water. He waved. I squinted. And realized he was the guy who'd sent me out with the kayak in the morning.
He helped me a little, enough to get out of the water and onto drier sand. But then he continued to linger there as I thought about how best to get the kayak back to the canal and the bridge with the carts. It didn't seem like there was much choice besides brute-force. I started dragging the kayak along, thinking he'd leave, but he didn't. He also didn't help, so I stopped again, not sure if I was doing something wrong, and also not interested in being watched while I struggled.
He asked how I liked kayaking. A survey for the company, maybe? I answered without much thought. Then how long I was staying, if I was visiting other islands.
"So you must have a whole itinerary planned out then?" he asked.
"Nah, I'm just doing whatever I feel like. Planning to take it easy," I said.
"Well, if you want a local to show you around, we could hang out some time."
"Sure, maybe," I said, in what I thought was a noncommittal voice. But I've always had the habit of smiling and laughing more when I'm nervous or uncomfortable, and regardless of the situation I'm always nervous and uncomfortable talking to new people.
"Great, can I get your Instagram? Or phone number?"
For some reason it didn't cross my mind that I could say no. As if now that I'd revealed I was free, I had no excuse to say no, instead of the much more logical truth that you never need an excuse to say no. I'd like to blame the heat, the semi-crash landing, but I'm not sure that's the truth. I think that was part of it, but there was also fear that I was too cautious, that I would never step out of my comfort zone, that I might never make a new adult friend or escape the limited confines of the boxes I'd put myself in, and confusion since no one ever hit on me, and he was the rental shop guy, and was I even being hit on? Was I reading too much into it?
Whatever it was, I should've cut it off there, but instead I gave him my phone number. Stupid, I know. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'll see you around then," he said.
"Yeah, maybe, if there's time," I said.
He jogged away, and I continued my slow trek back up the beach, kicking myself for being an idiot.
I woke up early. I was still on California time. A brief wave of pensiveness caught me, and I thought, it's not too late to not go. Or to do something I'm more used to, like hiking, walking around. I didn't know how to kayak. I've only been once or twice, with others, in calm waters. But what I did know was why I was hesitating, even at the last. It wasn't because of not knowing enough, or even possible danger. I was scared to make a fool of myself.
Knowing this pushed me out of bed and out of my hotel room. I couldn't keep hesitating like this, over every small feeling of reluctance. Wasn't this a piece of why I was here? Aside from vacation and escapism and pretending I didn't have to return to work ever. To prove to myself that I could be alone and not afraid. Well, not afraid was probably too much to ask, but if I could move myself through this world despite whatever unfounded fears I held, that would be worth just as much.
So there I was, bright and early at 8, in the parking lot of the kayak rental shop.
"You shouldn't go to Moku Nui today," was the first thing the guy at the front told me. The waves would be too rough. "Unless you're really confident in your kayaking abilities." As already established, I'm not. "A couple got stranded out there yesterday and had to be picked up by helicopter." And there went any last thoughts I had left of heading to the mokes. I almost backed out on renting the kayak entirely, again, but since I was already there and still frustrated at myself for almost not coming at all, I went ahead with it.
There were two guys at the side to help rent out the kayaks. They looked...kind of bro-y in that way of young, athletic guys. Slim, fit, and more invested in cracking jokes with one another than paying attention to their surroundings. Not saying that they were, but that was the impression they gave off. One of them led me to the kayak and helped point out how to get down to the beach when I asked—I didn't trust myself to remember the directions in their instructional video. He was friendly but answered only exactly what I remembered to ask, no more than that. I could understand why though. Most renters who came alone probably weren't complete novices at kayaking and water sports.
After that, I was on my own. I lugged the kayak down toward the beach. Even on the cart they provided, it was heavier than it looked, and I could feel the small ups and downs in the road.
Before kailua beach, there was a bridge over a small canal where I dropped off the cart. I pushed my kayak into the shallow waters of the canal, scooted myself inside, and started paddling across the short distance to reach the beach. The oar felt large and cumbersome in my hands. Every stroke I made moved me forward less than I hoped, and sometimes turned me in a direction I didn't expect. Which, I'm sure, boded well for the ocean.
But hey, I made it to the other side. Dragging the kayak through sand was much harder than pulling it on a cart, but soon enough I was waist deep in the ocean, pulling my kayak along. I saw several other kayaks and some paddleboats, but they were far out from shore. This was both a relief and kind of a problem: I had no one to copy to see how to get onto my kayak, but also no one to see my struggle. Somehow I scrambled onto the kayak, not really sure how, and started paddling.
It felt like my energy was dissipating into the water, but it wasn't too bad. I could move forward, albeit slowly, and turn, albeit clumsily. What more could I ask for? (I'm lying, I wish I could go faster. But realistically, I was floundering less than expected, so better not to jinx myself by being too ungrateful.)
I wasn't going to the mokes, but there were two other spots I could check out: flat island, a small bird sanctuary, and lanikai beach, a beach up the shore from kailua. Neither was very far.
I headed for flat island first, but after getting to the island, I had a problem. There's only one inlet on the island where you're allowed to park your kayak, and I couldn't tell if I was heading for the right place. I eventually pulled up onto the small lip of beach I'd been eyeing, but after stepping out and seeing no one else there, I didn't stay long. Maybe it was the right place, maybe it wasn't, I wasn't keen to find out. At that time there was no one else on the island, though there were a lot of paddle boats and surfers in the water nearby.
I pulled my kayak back out into the water and got back in, which felt about the same as the first time. That's to say, there was some scrambling around and I got into the seat at some point, but I still don't know how.
From there, I made my slow way toward lanikai beach. It could've been relaxing, for people who like drifting through the ocean with their own thoughts. I don't think I'm one of those people. I didn't hate it, but my own thoughts aren't that interesting in general, and especially aren't when they're mostly along the lines of, hmm, that beach still doesn't look much closer, does it? hey, who said you could stop paddling? I hope this dramamine lasts for the rest of the morning. is it bad that I've taken dramamine three days in a row? can people develop resistance to motion sickness meds? is that a thing?
It didn't actually take too much time to get to lanikai, but it felt longer. Like the writing on car mirrors. Time in the mirror is slower than it appears.
Getting onto the beach was harder than I expected. I hesitated too long, and a wave washed me into the beach before I could hop out of the kayak. It spewed me into the sand, and I half-rolled, half-jumped out of the kayak, balancing myself on the sand with one hand while grabbing at the bindings on the end of kayak with the other, to keep the waves from pulling it back out to sea. Then I was running, or attempting to, dragging the kayak with both hands until I was further up the beach and out of the reach of the water.
I stood there panting for a little while, then brushed off the sand and looked around. I'd had some vision earlier of lying on the beach and reading a book, but in those visions I'd conveniently forgotten that I'm a cave hermit that shrivels in the sun. Now that I was here, with the sun beating down on me, I tossed out that silly idea. Instead, I stowed my bag in a spot between two nice looking families, and ran back into the ocean.
The water felt good, cool against my skin but not cold. I swam for a short while. There were more outcroppings of coral than I expected, and I tried not to accidentally hit them with my feet. I regretted not bringing my goggles. Not only because I wanted to see what was under me, but because I'm not much good at swimming while keeping my head above water. I wanted to submerge myself.
A little disappointed, I returned to shore, and headed back out on the kayak.
I passed one snorkeler excitedly telling her family she'd seen a sea turtle, and that was a little disappointing too. I turned away, turning the tip of my kayak back toward kailua. Then, maybe 5 to 10 feet away from me, a turtle breached the surface of the water.
I stopped moving, my paddle hovering in the air. For a moment, all was still, except for the up-and-down bob of the water, and the turtle lifting its head. It stayed there for a little while, opening and closing its mouth, as if it couldn't care less that I was there. Then, it ducked back under the water, and was gone.
It's funny how one moment can change your mood. Not into happiness, that would be too far. But away from disappointment, a little toward wonder.
On the way back I stopped by flat island again. It turned out that the inlet I stopped at the first time was right; this time there were several other kayaks to prove it. I walked a short circle around the island, watched the waves crash against the rocks, and looked at some crab carcasses. To be honest, there wasn't much to see. A couple nice strangers helped me push off from the island. I learned it is much, much easier to get on a kayak with some help.
I was ready this time around, when I got close to kailua beach. Or I thought I was. Instead of letting the waves beach me, once I was in shallow waters, I hopped out of the kayak. And after a moment of shock that I managed to get out without falling over, the incoming wave pushed the kayak into my legs and knocked me over into the sand. I managed to avoid losing my kayak to the waves, but wound up with sand in all my clothes and a scraped shin in the process. Spluttering a little, I dragged my kayak onto the beach. Grace landing round 2: complete.
I kind of hoped no one had seen me, but I didn't have that much luck. There was a guy sitting in a white folding chair who started jogging up to me once he saw me dragging the kayak out of the water. He waved. I squinted. And realized he was the guy who'd sent me out with the kayak in the morning.
He helped me a little, enough to get out of the water and onto drier sand. But then he continued to linger there as I thought about how best to get the kayak back to the canal and the bridge with the carts. It didn't seem like there was much choice besides brute-force. I started dragging the kayak along, thinking he'd leave, but he didn't. He also didn't help, so I stopped again, not sure if I was doing something wrong, and also not interested in being watched while I struggled.
He asked how I liked kayaking. A survey for the company, maybe? I answered without much thought. Then how long I was staying, if I was visiting other islands.
"So you must have a whole itinerary planned out then?" he asked.
"Nah, I'm just doing whatever I feel like. Planning to take it easy," I said.
"Well, if you want a local to show you around, we could hang out some time."
"Sure, maybe," I said, in what I thought was a noncommittal voice. But I've always had the habit of smiling and laughing more when I'm nervous or uncomfortable, and regardless of the situation I'm always nervous and uncomfortable talking to new people.
"Great, can I get your Instagram? Or phone number?"
For some reason it didn't cross my mind that I could say no. As if now that I'd revealed I was free, I had no excuse to say no, instead of the much more logical truth that you never need an excuse to say no. I'd like to blame the heat, the semi-crash landing, but I'm not sure that's the truth. I think that was part of it, but there was also fear that I was too cautious, that I would never step out of my comfort zone, that I might never make a new adult friend or escape the limited confines of the boxes I'd put myself in, and confusion since no one ever hit on me, and he was the rental shop guy, and was I even being hit on? Was I reading too much into it?
Whatever it was, I should've cut it off there, but instead I gave him my phone number. Stupid, I know. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'll see you around then," he said.
"Yeah, maybe, if there's time," I said.
He jogged away, and I continued my slow trek back up the beach, kicking myself for being an idiot.
