The Paddler Autumn/Fall issue 2017

ThePADDLER 62
removed. Prajapati has seen it all. He adds
nothing to his explanation of permissions being
revoked. As I stare at the hunk of metal that was
removed before the paperwork arrived, I see the
name of the vessel – ‘Friends’. So here it lies,
dying and friendless. As I chat with said guard,
two local women start picking up plastic gems
scattered on this rocky beach after the departing
tide. Prajapati shoos them off. Nothing is black
and white here. Just various shades of brown,
each squabbling for a juicier pound of flesh.
There’s no going further than Alang. By sea that
is. The sea is littered with shrapnel. Even if I
launched I would have to wade out for miles to
put the kayak knee deep. If I did that, the Gulf
might take me, so at the advice of everyone
who’s sailed or avoided sailing here, we cut
across 30 kms to the beach of Dandi, where
Mahatami Gandhi broke the British with his
barefoot march for free salt.
Mainland!
Breaking past the peninsula of Gujarat has it’s
benefits. One, the cross wind doesn’t play as big a
role here. It does however expose me to a sea of
rock under the sea of brown murky water. I
launch from Gandhi’s favoured beach with the
tide behind my back. It’s fast paddling and the
calm you’d expect in a sheltered beach. The charts
I’ve consulted show fishing nets and rocks and
sure enough I’m dodging through poles and fishing
lines about two kms out. I’m skirting danger by
being this close but it’s a thin line between some
of these rocks. By day three of this, I feel I’ve got
the hang of it and skirt between a rock island and
land. I’m sure I can touch the bottom where I’m
paddling, but the sea is calm and I like my chances.
#donottrythisathome
Despite the sun and the murkiness of the water,
I am buoyant. A little out of my third day halt, I
catch waves of sandbars. Instead of weaving past,