The Paddler Autumn/Fall issue 2017

of words melting into words coalescing to one
word and into timelessness. Words create time
and time creates need. Need creates words.
Again. Relax the face, soften the eyes, move
without direction, sentences to words, words to
word, word to timelessness. Mush-mind; this is the
objective when the body is suffering.
Final state of deterioration
We round Soberanes at 11.20 into absolute
nuking winds and huge swells rolling in. If
something goes sideways, a lost paddle, a
swimmer, an injury, the wind will surely blow us
into some place unrecoverable. There is no towing
option, no resting option, no landing option, we
have reached that final state of deterioration.
We are two and a quarter miles from the take
out and we dare not let a blade leave the water.
Each paddle stroke is like moving a snow shovel
through mud. Every stroke guided by a forward
shoulder, deep catch, pressure on the foot and a
strong rotation from the body. Our reality, no
paddle stroke too shitty, no words too foul, no
hate too deep. It’s a shit show now and we just
want to get the fuck off the water.
I keep an eye on Priscilla as she navigates around
rock, crashing waves and reflected swell energy
confused beyond recognition. Outside sets are
difficult to anticipate. The intensity of the wind is
reaching a comical state at this point. I know we’re
going to make it if we can just stay off the rocks.
Priscilla arrives first and waits to land on the
beach while I catch up. As I approach, I can feel
the last seven and a half hours disappearing
already. Memory is a funny thing that way. As the
fear lifts, so too lifts the mind-fuck—the mind
gripping tightly on the suck until it feels safe again.
Surfacing between exhaustion, thirst and hunger,
I now begin to embrace the raw beauty and
depth of the experience. Priscilla looks at me
and says, “That was so fucking hard!”
We land our crafts; bodies unfold and we crawl
out of our boats. Boats… extensions of our
spines, vertebrae; connecting us to the sea.
We haul our boats and gear up the trail, load our
cars and change into dry clothes. We say
goodbye. Priscilla has another long slog ahead of
her through central coast summer traffic along
Highway One—more beautiful coastal scenery.
Three hours later she will arrive at her home in
the South Bay…surrounded by concrete, cars
and humans. It will be weeks before Priscilla and
I have an opportunity to talk about the Big Sur
trip. I wonder about her insights and how they
will manifest in other parts of her life.
ThePADDLER 55