Our family took a short cruise up the Sea of Cortez in Mexico in January, just before school resumed. It was a wonderful nature cruise that offered up-close glimpses of wildlife, hiking, snorkeling, and sea kayaking.
I'm not a person who enjoys water. I can tread water, but going out in deep water causes me to panic, due to some early childhood trauma involving my dad throwing me in a lake in an attempt to teach me using the old "sink or swim method." I sank. Like a rock wearing a toolbelt. I don't like inhaling saltwater, so snorkeling has never held much appeal to me either.
Frank and Alex, on the other hand, are like a couple of friendly, inquisitive sea mammals and would rather snorkel than walk on land any day. I was feeling a little left behind sitting on the beach with my People magazine, and so when the opportunity to kayak came along, I decided to "feel the fear and do it anyway." I trusted that my husband would save me if we tipped over, and felt pretty sure that I wouldn't drown with the industrial-strength inflatable life vest I had strapped on my chest.
Neither Frank or I had ever been sea kayaking before this trip. Alex was happily building sandcastles with a half dozen or so other kids from our boat, and one of the other moms agreed to keep an eye on him. So, we squeezed ourselves into a 2-person kayak and paddled out to sea.
We made it out of the protected lagoon with ease, gliding on top of the water as sea birds swooped down to feed on fish swimming near the surface. It was beautiful and calm, with a light breeze making ripples in the water. We could see other kayakers out in ocean, paddling along with no problem. There was something very serene about gliding along on top of the azur water, surrounding by ocean and craggy mountain peaks. Though we could see other people in the distance, the two of us were alone in our little boat, calmly paddling out to sea to face the unknown.