A story of a kayak

I think I could spend hours typing up all the details of our excursion around the Grand Cul-de-Sac Marin, the protected bay of water next to Sainte-Rose. Where we toured 2 years ago, in little boats with motors no more powerful than a lawn mower, zipping across the water with speed and agility, and getting toasted by the sun in the process. I could tell you about the fact that we originally selected the rental outfit based on the good feeling we got looking at their website, but they were fully booked, and so steered us towards one of their "colleagues", who ended up being a hoot. I could tell you about how we waffled between renting the bright yellow-and-orange kayak for a half or a full day, ultimately choosing the later, and how, at the end of the day, we were so glad we stayed out and took the time to really appreciate every moment of the journey, rather than rushing and saving a couple of dollars.

I want to tell you that we followed the tour guide's itinerary to the letter, visiting every spot he pointed out to us. But when you are explained an entire days' worth of sightseeing in 5 minutes, with less than precise directions, and no map, you tend to lose a few details. I think, for what he explained, we did pretty good navigating to and finding them, especially when some directions involve "kayak at 45 degrees from this point", through choppy waters pushing in the opposite direction, and "follow the pom poms". Yeah.

Pelican	Tiny Hermit crab
Cushion Sea Star	Giant Marine Hermit Crab
Fish getting way too close to us!

I want to say that we spotted all of the wildlife and sealife hidden in the sheltered bay, but alas, there were no stingray nor sea turtle sightings. We did have our fair share of spottings, even if they were less than glamorous: lots of pelicans, hummingbirds and bananaquits in the mangroves, tons of spiny black sea urchins under our kayak in the clear shallow waters. Snorkeling around the Îlet blanc revealed  fish, giant hermit crabs hidden in conch shells, a massive sea star, and lots of little fish. Oh, and there was probably a jellyfish or two, in the mangroves, which I *felt*, rather than saw, the stinging sensation remaining in the back of my ankle for the rest of the day.

I want to relate the feeling of peace and quiet we experienced when turning into the Rivière Moustique. The waters were so calm, they created a mirror that only our paddles marred as they broke the surface of the water. The sun filtering through the mangroves lit up the scene to perfection, and it took all my might not to take several hundred pictures of the scene. The only thing that ruined the moment was another group of kayakers banging their way noisily down the river towards us, faces marked with emotions of frustration, impatience and fatigue. I feel sad that they will not have beautiful memories of this spot.

I want to say that *we* have beautiful memories of finding that perfect lunch spot, in a secluded grove of mangrove trees out in the middle of the bay, overlooking the sparkling water, fish nibbling at our toes, or lying on the sand. After a strenuous crossing to Îlet La Biche, we discovered all the party cruises moored at the same sand spit, the music of a dozen different sound systems blaring in competition with each other. Groups of excited and slightly inebriated tourists gathered at each vessel, drinking ti'punch from plastic cups set on tables in the water, and posing noisily for group pictures. We ate our jambon-beurre baguettes, climbed back in the kayak and moved on to a quieter space.

I want to tell you how I discovered that Pelicans are non-aggressive birds, giving looks of annoyance and  disappointment when we floated too near to their perches in the mangroves. How they all landed into the water in a formation that looked like they were planning a counter-attack, but then floated away on the water. How one big bird was so startled, he seemed to turn to fly off, and then tumbled awkwardly into the water behind him. They didn't look aggressive, anyways.

I want to say that landing at Îlet Blanc was a welcome reprieve, quiet and lonely in the middle of the water, a sand bar of an island that was created by a hurricane. That once we pulled the kayak onto shore, we spend the rest of the afternoon in the surf, snorkel masks on, bobbing on the waters while examine their depths. It's not the richest area in underwater life, but when you are just starting snorkeling, spotting anything down there is a win. Once the party boats starting making their way over, we packed up all the gear and began the long paddle back. 

I really want to say that I have not lost my love for kayaking, and that this tour tested that fact. There was a good amount of strong paddling, through boat wakes and rougher currents out to the edge of the bay, but that the hardest parts were going, and the return to shore was with the wind. I think I could have lifted my paddles and taken a nap and still made it back to the Marina, though likely not on time to return the boat. 

But really, I feel the most important thing to say is that this is really the story of a kayak, that transported us to quiet corners and noisier areas of a body of water we needed to explore further, and that vessel allowed us to be as intimate with the location as we desired. There's always something to be said about foregoing the tours and going it on your own, though a little direction is always welcome. And there is something to be said about the satisfaction of calculating your route at the end of the day, and discovering you journeyed for almost 16 km, and are still ready to do it all again tomorrow. Maybe with a little more sunscreen this time - those red legs are going be sore for a few days. 

Ouch.