The weatherman in me knows that these skies and heavy sullen heat mean trouble. As beautiful as mid-day was, late afternoon was a paddler’s nightmare.
I raced a huge, menacing cloud for the last 2 hours to shore and safety. It was going to be The Narrows or nothing. Racing Mother Nature is never a good idea but air was prepared to trade lumps for burgers.
I lost on both counts.
Mother Nature beat me to The Narrows and I washed up on shore soaked from the waist down, cold, and exhausted. To add insult to injury, the restaurant was closed. No cook. No hamburgers. No Coke Zero.
Not all was lost however. There were chicken fingers and potatoes wedges in the store. I bought every last one.
In the end, the last laugh was mine. While mowing over my deep fried winnings, all hell broke lose outside. Lured inside by the smell of fried food, I broke a cardinal rule: Tent up first. Always. No exceptions. Excepting chicken fingers this one time.
Had I put the tent up, it probably would have washed away in the rain that absolutely bucketed down. Looking outside, and licking greasy, salt-encrusted fingers, I couldn’t believe my luck. Rules, I suppose, are meant to be broken