Living in the desert I have access to a very large and windy lake. My cousin and I would often take the canoe out even with the wind
because it always felt great to learn how to paddle with and against the waves. Learning
how a boat acts in a wave spoke to me.
Until a squall hit, sudden and ferocious. Waves five feet tall if they were an inch. We rode
the storm towards shore, keeping the canoe mostly perpendicular to the waves with a slight angle up or down. We were doing well, keeping it balance. The shore was only fifty yards away but we were still in thirty feet of water
I still don't know how it happened. A rogue wave
direct from hell I would guess. Before I knew what was going on I was in the drink! I watched my two expensive fishing
poles fall towards the murky depths and my tackle box floating away too quick to rescue
My cousin and I fought Mother Nature's wrath for what seemed like ten minutes, trying to paddle the capsized canoe towards shore. It wasn't until I took a large mouthful of slimy lake water
that I realized the anchor
we had tied to the ....bow? of the canoe was of course on the bottom now. We had been fighting the anchor
for ten minutes.
I always carry a pocket knife clipped to my shorts so I cut the rope
and had to listen to my cousin bitch at me about his ten dollar anchor while we carried our canoe the three miles to the truck.
Nature, you scary!