Saturday was guy's day.
This was kind of a revenge event -- a reaction to a "Spa Day" some of our womenfolk had enjoyed a few months back. The worst part about the Spa Day was that it was actually my friend Marty's idea: he suggested to his wife that she leave him with their kid while she went off and did some Spa thing... she took the idea and ran with it, inviting several of her friends (including theWife) to join in... ultimately, it become something of a ripple effect wherein Marty's simple, thoughtful suggestion ended up screwing several guys simultaneously, as we all ended up on kid duty whilst our alleged better halves prettied up their fingers, toes and what have you.
Anyhow. Saturday was our get-back for that long-ago sacrificed Saturday -- and we celebrated by fleeing to the beautiful North Shore and kayaking all over the salt marshes of Essex, MA.
It was a windy day - it's been unseasonably cool in New England for the past week, making up for the vicious heat wave we suffered through the previous week - and because this created tougher conditions than the beginners in our initial touring group of 10 were prepared to meet, we quickly whittled the group down to my 4-person carload and our guide. Which was ideal: every kayaking tour I've done in the past has been hampered by at least 2-3 unreasonably slow and/or helpless boatloads of retirees who seem incapable of running a paddle through the water in any coordinated fashion -- meaning that the tour as a whole slows to a crawl while they try to figure out how to get the kayak to actually move through the water.
But the "rough" conditions (and let me be clear -- we're talking about a mild wind and some chop, but nothing remotely challenging) were enough to end everyone else's day early... and freed us to really get out on the water, move freely and quickly, and see some great stuff.
We took advantage of what our guide told us was a "supertide," meaning that in places where the water is generally a wandering estuary winding its way through acres and acres of salt marsh, we instead paddled over the marshes — our paddles skimming the tops of the tall grasses as we made our way. Our guide claimed that the water was 12 feet above its low tide height, which seemed hard to imagine, although the clusters of grasses and deeper, darker waters where the estuaries lay testified to his accuracy.
At one point, we came upon a small, marshy "island" - probably a hill in normal tides - on which something close to 30 snowy egrets were perched. (I wish I had photos, but any camera I brought would have been soaked and destroyed.) Seeing that many big, beautiful birds that close up - without disturbing them - was an unusual experience. We floated there next to them, quiet and low to the water. We watched them step gingerly among the grasses, looking for insects or scanning the horizon. Snowy white birds in a field of greens and summer gold, surrounded by the endless ripple and motion of the salty air and waters.
(I need more of this in my life.)





