<strong>The</strong>PADDLER 70 https://youtu.be/ITLXX9OsxCQ I literally could not move – my body cold and hurting, dehydrated and unsure of where I was
I make it very clear that I am happy to talk to whoever he likes and even follow him to shore, but I will not have him lasso my kayak again. I’m not sure he gets the gist, but he thrusts a phone at me and says police. I go on to have a broken conversation about who I am and where I’m from. My name, which is not easy on most days to pronounce, finds particularly good form with an on-edge police officer on a shaky network connection. I tell him I’ll come and meet him and he takes my number down for good measure. I return the phone to the first fisherman. His captain is smoking a bidi (a local cigarette that is known for being cheap and of questionable content). He has a drag and then offers it to me as a truce. I’m a ruffled bird, but I politely refuse and just like that we part ways. <strong>The</strong> fishermen content they’ve done their bit, and I amused at how I found cowboys out at sea. <strong>The</strong> story ended well with a trip to the policemen later that evening, having a photo taken together with that photo (plus story) making it to the local newspaper the next day. Welcome to Kerala, a state laced with natural beauty. God’s own country At day 73 I had the option of kayaking in the calm, serene backwaters that run parallel to the coast in Kerala. <strong>The</strong>se backwaters were built to once traverse the whole state and I thought it was a good way to get some kilometres on the pedometer. One of Kerala’s largest backwaters stretches from just north of Kochi all the way down to Allepy. A 90km distance through the canals. So far, the longest days I’ve paddled have been 45 kms, so I figure that on a calmer stretch, I can do 45 in about six hours of kayaking. This is a story of optimism vs reality. 45 km days are exhausting in hot and humid conditions. But such was my confidence that I took a morning interview with a newspaper and even took time out to let his photographer take some stunning shots in the backwaters. By the time I launched, I was already three hours late. However, I was not too worried and it helped to have scenery so close on either side. Big Chinese fishing nets stretched on my left and in the middle of the backwater, a fisherman cast out his hopes and pulled it back as I sauntered past him in my kayak. I had taken my DSLR out on the water, and I made good use of it, capturing the cars humming on bridges overhead and the massive blue port of Kochi. As I entered the harbour area, big boats skipped past, leaving me in their wake. <strong>The</strong> backwater is treacherous in the fact that every path looks alike and I couldn’t distinguish routes on the line-drawing on my GPS watch. As the afternoon kicked in and the novelty of the backwater withered away, another truth dawned on me. It had been five hours that I’d been kayaking and only completed 22kms. I had 20 kms to go and the tide was against me. I also found that I was short on both food and water. <strong>The</strong> heat kicked up and I was burning in my jacket. Just as I took it off, a storm hit. <strong>The</strong> rain seeped through and I went from burning up to being cold and damp – it was painfully slow going. Standing in the rain, flailing his arms around, I saw someone calling out to me. Uncharacteristically, I approached, and in broken hindi he said , “Bada barish. Aap ruko. Fir jao.” (A storm is about to hit, please wait it out). Such was his sincerity and so beaten was my condition, that I brought my kayak alongside his boat, parked along the bank and just stopped. I literally could not move – my body cold and hurting, dehydrated and unsure of where I was. Over his shoulder, his brother peered at me and said, “Lunch kiya?” (have you had lunch) I mumbled , “No.” A wave of worry washed over their faces, and the next thing I know – they’re helping me out of my kayak, onto their boat and then to land. Minutes later I was walking through thicket and into their small house. <strong>The</strong> whole village seemed to congregate, as I was ushered in and given a fresh plate of rice and curry and fish. As I wolfed it down, someone brought me icecold water (a first in a state that has hot water with every meal). As I answered questions and showed the kids my GoPro, I was struck by how beautiful life is. How simple and welcoming people are. Someone fetched a pail of water for me to wash my hands and walked me back to my boat. <strong>The</strong> storm had cleared, and they helped me back in the kayak and bid me goodbye. <strong>The</strong> next 18 kms were the easiest I’d done on this trip. Muttom point Much of Kerala was spent paddling in a fair bit of discomfort. My fingers were swelling up and being locked in a grip for those many hours was particularly telling on my right hand. Despite the endurance training and the stretching I was doing every day, my bones were just not having it. <strong>The</strong>PADDLER 71