The Paddler Autumn/Fall issue 2017

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. The fishermen
content they’ve done their bit, and I amused at
how I found cowboys out at sea.
The 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. These 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.
The 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. The heat kicked up and I was burning in my
jacket. Just as I took it off, a storm hit. The 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. The 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. The storm had cleared, and they helped me
back in the kayak and bid me goodbye. The 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.
ThePADDLER 71