Love That Dirty Water

Note: this is a post I started a while back (Oct 2023), but never got around to finishing until now.

Ah, Boston. If you've read some of my earlier posts, you may remember that I'm not a big fan of cities. I've learned that I can enjoy cities in small bursts, and that's exactly what I did this past Saturday. But rather than taking to the streets to explore the city, I got a completely different and unexpected view point: from the water.

The plan was this: five of us would meet in Cambridge and launch our kayaks on the Charles River. We'd paddle for a few hours, then take out in Boston Harbor and head home. I expected that we'd launch around 10 am, paddle till about 1 pm, and be home in time for a nap before dinner.

You know what they say about plans: Make plans and fate laughs.

She laughed pretty hard on Saturday morning.

First thing in the morning, we realized that our agreed-upon logistics for the trip wouldn't work, because two of our party backed out. So my sister & I spent twenty minutes on the phone figuring out where to meet and what cars to leave at which locations. I then rang up my uncle at 8 am to go over the new plan with him, and right then and there, as soon as he answered the phone, was the first hint of trouble.

The problem: he sounded sleepy. Now, I understand that people often sleep until 8, and it's entirely possible that he could set his alarm for 8 and still reach Boston by the pre-arranged 10:00 meet-up time. But you don't know my uncle. To say that he's an over-preparer is an understatement. You know how the boy scouts have a motto about always being prepared? Well, Uncle Steve could teach them a thing of two. Steve meticulously thinks through all of the details of the day, and packs accordingly.

Which brings us back to 8 am on Saturday. Knowing Uncle like I do, I expected that he'd be in full-on prep mode by 8 am. You know, things like packing his gear, getting dressed, making a brown-bag lunch, double-checking maps, triple-checking the weather. That kind of thing.

So, hearing a sleepy voice was not what I expected. I suspended judgement, though, and plowed along into the conversation about logistics. Which went fine, until he said, "Doesn't your sister have an event that day? What time is her event?". Correct information. My sister, the third member of our party, had, in fact, had an early morning event that we were working around.

What threw me, though, was his use of the phrase, "that day". Weird way to talk about today. But once again, I suspended judgement. Maybe he was just sleepy, not quite awake yet. I plowed forward.

"She's already done with that", I told him.

"Oh, already?", he asked.

I confirmed, and once again proceeded to discuss the logistics. A few seconds later, he once again used that same phrasing, saying something along the lines of "OK, so we'll meet there on that day". That day. Again.

Ever come to the realization that you and another person are having the same conversation but are on two different wavelengths?

Yeah. It finally occurred to me that we had a disconnect.

"That day?", I asked him. "You mean today".

"No, it's not today. It's next Saturday".

"No, It's today".

"What? No. It's next week".

Oh. Boy.

By this time, it was 8:15. I knew that Steve & I both had to leave our houses no later than 9 to reach our launch site by 10, so this was quite a pickle.

Pulling up Steve's email confirmed that he'd mentioned next Saturday's date in the subject, which my sister and I had both failed to notice. We both had it on our calendars for this Saturday.

So. Talk about scrambling. For several reasons, we decided that this was the better Saturday, so Steve gallantly shifted into high gear and started packing.

Fast forward to 9:45, when I'm pulling up to our designated meeting spot, only to find that it's completely inaccessible, due to construction. Sigh. This day is just getting better.

I search around and find a parking garage. It's going to cost us $14 each, and we'll have to carry our kayaks down the stairs, but it'll do.

Kirsten pulls in and we start pulling out our kayaks. Just then, the fire alarm sounds in the garage.

We look at each other, not sure what to do. Obviously the smart thing is to immediately exit the building on foot, abandoning our cars and kayaks, but do you think that's what we did? Well, you know I wouldn't be telling you this story if it was.

No. We shove our kayaks back into our cars and drive down to the exit, but we don't want to pay the $14. So we get on the intercom and request that they let us out, which they do, after a delay of 5 minutes or so. All while the fire alarm continues to sound and the firefighters are arriving on scene.

Do as I say, kids, not as I do. When the fire alarm rings in the parking garage, get out of the parking garage immediately. Don't wait 5 minutes to save yourself $14.

Still, it all worked out. We found a ground-level parking lot for only $5 per car - cheaper and more convenient.

Finally we were headed to the river. Once we got there, we had a bit of an adventure launching from a rocky shoreline, but we made it work. And we were finally off, only an hour-and-a-half later than expected.

By this time, of course, I was thinking that fate was not on our side, and this trip wasn't meant to be. I was very wrong. We hadn't been on the river for 5 minutes when it all became worthwhile. Oh, the views!

Boston was at the peak of foliage season that day, and although it's not a great year for bright foliage, it was still spectacular. The browns and yellows and oranges reflected delightfully off the water, with an array of metal, glass and brick buildings rising up beyond the trees.

When you're driving into Boston on route 95, there comes a moment when you round a bend and suddenly the city scape is in view. No matter how many times I've seen it, I never can help but point out, "Look, there's Boston!". Even when I'm in the car alone, which is a little weird, but on brand for me.

I had that same moment on Saturday, but this time from a different vantage point. Looking up at the city from the water was spectacular. "Look, there's Boston!", I thought. But luckily for me, I didn't say it out loud, so no one realized I was geeking out.

We paddled through the esplanade canals, passing under foot bridges in the wake of small groups of ducks. Uncle Steve, resplendent in his Uncle Sam costume, was photographed repeatedly by amused leaf-peepers. We happened upon a couple of duck boat tours, and heard the tour guides pointing out the kayaking Uncle Sam to them. Every passenger, it seemed, had their cell phone in front of their face, capturing the shot.

Our next adventure came when we paddled up to the back of the Museum of Science. It was an impressive sight, and we spent a few minutes enjoying the view. Outgoing Kirsten even found someone to chat with on the shore - a woman who worked at the museum, as it turned out. I was unsurprised when Kirsten spent several minutes chatting with her, but when Kirsten started making small circles in her kayak, I wondered what was up, so I paddled over. Turns out the woman had dropped her expensive prescription eye glasses in the water. She had several maintenance workers with nets who were trying to locate the missing specs, but they didn't have our vantage point. Kirsten, Uncle Sam and I proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes paddling in ever widening circles, staring intently into the water.

Wouldn't it be cool if I could say we found them?

But alas, despite the shallow depth of the water, the bottom was obscured by rocks, leaves, and other debris. I even tried submerging my waterproof camera and randomly taking pics of the bottom, but to no avail. We reluctantly gave up the search. Too bad. Would have been a great story.

Next up, we passed through a narrow canal, and then under the Zakim bridge. What a view that was! The Zakim is beautiful from the roads of Boston, but passing under it was much cooler.

We paddled for a few more minutes under Uncle's direction. He seemed to be searching for something, but wouldn't say what. He kept telling us he thought we should go one way, but Kirsten and I were getting tired, and started wandering off in our own direction. We came to a set of large docks and footings, and after searching around, Kirsten & I came to the conclusion that it was a dead end. Uncle must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I was discouraged, thinking we'd have to turn around and paddle back the way we came.

But that's the moment when Uncle revealed his big secret. We weren't at a dead end. We were at the Boston Harbor Locks!

If you're not familiar with locks, let me bring you up to speed. The Charles River meets the Atlantic Ocean right at this particular point. Thanks to the tides, the water levels are not consistent here. But since the waterways were crucial commerce routes once upon a time, the great minds of the time found a way to stabilize those water levels, at least on the river side. They built giant gates that close off the two bodies of water. And voila - the river stays at the same height all the time.

The only problem, of course, is if you want to travel from the river to the harbor, which was Uncle's plan that day. Then those giant gates are in your way. That's where the locks come in. You paddle into the lock. The giant gates, reminiscent of Jurassic Park, close behind you. The lock operator works his magic, and the water level in the lock is either raised or lowered, to match the water on the other side. Once that's done, the giant gates on the other end of the lock opens, and you paddle out into the harbor.

So, that's how a lock is supposed to work. Uncle had done his homework, and had gained intel on where and when to enter the lock. There was one little detail that got left out, though. How to signal the lock operator that you'd like to enter the lock.

There were signs directing us to honk our horns to gain access. Now, I don't know about you, but my kayak isn't equipped with a horn. We tried yelling. We tried waving our arms at pedestrians. We looked for an intercom. My sister, ever the entertainer, did her best impersonation of a car horn. Nothing. Having no further ideas to deal with this situation, we considered our options.

Option 1: Turn around and go back the way we'd come. None of us relished that thought. We'd already been paddling for several hours. We were tired. Turning around seemed like defeat.

Option 2: Find a dock to climb out of the kayaks, walk up to the road, uber to one of our cars, and drive back here to pick up the 'yaks. Unappealing on sooo many levels.

We sat quietly on the water for a few minutes, discouraged, trying to come up with a third option. Then, what to our wondering eyes did appear, but a spiffy party boat, speeding toward us! I don't know anything about boats, so I can't tell you what type it was. But compared to my kayak, it was big and crowded, with 8 or 10 boisterous younglings sitting around the railings, having the time of their lives.

The captain pulled right up to one of the giant gates and honked his horn, and the giant gates creaked open. We latched on to him (figuratively, not literally), and followed close on his tail as he entered the lock.

Out of nowhere, a disembodied voice boomed, "You know, I'd have thought Uncle Sam could afford something bigger than a kayak!", much to the amusement of the partiers on the boat. Turns out the lock operator was sitting in a glass booth high above the lock, looking down on our entourage. A little more good-natured ribbing, plus a mild rebuke for those of us who had arrived without a horn, and then he worked his magic. We shared a few laughs with the partiers as the water rose. Then we were set free in Boston Harbor.

Wow, what a full day we'd had, and it wasn't over yet!

Next on the agenda was a paddle to the USS Constitution, the floating museum featuring "Old Ironsides", the wooden-hulled frigate, once the pride of the U.S. Navy. Around the next bend was a spectacular view of some gorgeous ocean-side buildings, plus the channel leading out to the open ocean. The surf was choppier here, and we bobbed along pleasantly, basking in the late afternoon sun, past a Coast Guard station and a fire fighting boat. Our next landmark would be the New England Aquarium, which would signal our final turn.

Before we saw it though, we spotted a harbor seal, swimming toward us. The little bugger was apparently curious about Uncle Sam, since he swam straight for his kayak, head held high, checking out the spectacle. He approached within about three feet of us, and just when I started to wonder if he might hop on board Uncle's kayak, he dove under it instead, and then he was gone.

It had been a long day, and my arms were turning to jelly, so it was a relief to finally see the aquarium. We turned the corner, and stumbled on the Boston Tea Party museum, where a replica of the tea party ship was docked. Dozens of kids ran around the deck, tossing tethered replicas of tea crates into the sea, only to haul them back up, and toss them again.

Finally we spotted our final stop - the dock next to the parking garage where we'd started our journey that morning. The home stretch - woo hoo! Exhausted and happy, we aimed for the dock.

There was one last surprise in store for us, though. Suddenly the wind kicked up. It had been a perfect day, warm and sunny, with only the occasional light breeze. But now, out of no where, a strong head wind was blasting us. We're all experienced kayakers, and good thing, because a novice would have been pushed right back to the aquarium. As it was, we paddled as hard and as fast as we were able, and managed to avoid losing ground. We weren't gaining much ground, though, and we were tiring quickly. The dock, which should have only been a few minutes away, now seemed almost out of reach. We considered our options in that moment, looking for alternative places to take out. We were close enough to be able to walk to the cars. We just had to find a place where we could grab on to something while we climbed out.

But just as suddenly as the wind came up, it died out. We were once again back to smooth waters, and we quickly reached the dock without further incident.

We climbed out and loaded up the 'yaks, and then we were on our way home.

It had been a long day. An hour-long drive into Boston; 40 minutes of shuttling people and kayaks between launch and landing points; over 4 hours of kayaking, covering 7 miles on both the river and the harbor. Sights, seals, locks, wind - it had been an EPIC adventure, and despite being exhausted, we were all riding high. There were so many things that went wrong on this day, but also so many things that went spectacularly right.

And I can't help thinking... Days like this one... that's what life is all about.

Kimba

About the Author

Kimberlee Martin is a free-lance writer with a background in software development. In addition to the miscellaneous musings she posts here, she writes a technical blog on Microsoft Access and Excel at www.northportsolutionsllc.com.

Kim can be reached at kimba1228@gmail.com.

© Kimberlee Martin, 2024. All rights reserved.