Drowning not waving: eloquent water

This morning dawned frosty but sunny. It seemed to be time to introduce the kayak to fresh water.

Lake Roosevelt National Recreation area is very near. All approximately 660 miles of its shoreline. I picked an arbitrary place some 30 miles from me: Daisy boat launch, noticed during my scouting a few weeks ago.

What I hadn't taken into account was a gusty north wind blowing strongly off snowy mountains.
By the time I got to the water's edge I was re-thinking the wisdom of the venture. I dithered undecided a bit, poking around amongst the rocks and sneaking quick corner-of-the-eye glances at the white capped waves. It really seemed a little hostile out there in spite of the pretty yellow flowers fresh blooming under the pines.

Just when I had resolved to have this a no-paddle day, an eagle swooped out of nowhere to circle once, then once again over me and the kayak still on top of the truck.
That was the Carlos Castanada moment I was waiting for.

I took the eagle appearance as a blessing on the venture. In we went, my Merlin and I, paddling fresh water for the first time. I had forgotten my teva sandals so this was appropriately a barefoot entry. Luckily the beach is sandy at Daisy boat launch. It felt good to have sand under my bare feet. No vicious toe nipping oysters here.

The kayak felt like an untrained horse bucking, kicking and tossing against harness, trying to roll. Or a horse unridden a while and grown frisky on spring grass.

I didn't go far. But I did paddle enough to feel the strength of the river and the wildness of the kayak in this environment. In spite of the beautiful aquamarine colour (glacial silt I believe) this is not a tame body of water.

Yes it is called Lake Roosevelt, but don't be misled by the poetic. Today I found no lake like a lady's mirror. A bitter north wind funneled razor sharp down the valley, urging the current to snarling white capped rollers which would give the Salish Sea on a frisky day a run for its money any day.

Lake Roosevelt isn't a natural lake at all, but rather the backed up river Columbia which flooded the whole long valley when Grand Coulee dam was built a ways down south. Electricity for industrialization was the goal.
Riding my wild horse kayak briefly on that churning water today, I wondered about the passion the water seems to have: anger and urgency could be expressed thus. I also thought about the 9,000 years of continuous human habitation in this region and all the villages, seasonal settlements and sacred sites which were drowned when this lake was made.

Too much of that kind of thinking was drawing my attention way too deep beneath the water.

I decided not to paddle far today. Way too dangerous.

Maybe I do need a paddle buddy. Not to be safer, but to keep me closer to the surface.

Certainly it would make the Park Ranger a lot happier if I were to paddle with a buddy. Ghosts just don't cut it with some people.