Fairbanks

When I was in elementary school, paddling was something no self-respecting kid would ever come near. Today, I not only go near it, I dream about it! In deference to masochists everywhere, I’m talking about the kind of paddling you do with oars; white water, flat water, touring and recreational paddling.

I usually get the itch to paddle in late April when I see puddles forming near piles of snow in parking lots around town. Or when the drainage ditches clog with run-off because the frozen ground hasn’t caught up with the melting snow. Sometimes the urge to float my boat comes way too soon, though.

For instance, anytime during the winter, when I see that patch of open water on the Chena between the utility plant and the University Avenue bridge, I want to pull out my kayak and ride it like a sled down the slippery banks to boating bliss. Hey, if the ducks can paddle year-round, why can’t I?

Stark reality and self-preservation kick in long before I dig the dusty craft out of deep storage, so I resign myself to another day, week or month of gliding on water in its solid form. Nordic skiing is, after all, a great workout. I will even pass the time by enduring a day of tubing at Birch Hill. I’ll imagine that the tow rope is not pulling me uphill, but that I’m in a raft floating gently downstream on a meandering ribbon of fluidity.

Well, now that the rivers are flowing and the lakes are almost ice-free, I can scull anytime the mood strikes. Still, I must put away my skis, boots and poles as I dream of the white hills of winter.

-a guest post by Bill Wright