|At this point, the storm is sailing toward us with a fury. Susan shot this.|
|Susan is looking for a shot here. It's not far off.|
We had paddled out to the distant island from the parking lot and I heard thunder for the first time. Susan wanted to explore a couple more coves, but I suggested hauling ass back to the dock might be the better part of valor at this point. We were both holding metal paddles, becoming human lightning rods.
We hit fifth gear pretty quickly and roared back toward the dock (me stopping once to take the photo below, Susan pausing to wait for me and worry about me being foolish. But we made the dock ahead of the rain, watching another kayaker struggling in the middle of the storm, which had caught him.
We put the boats in the truck, returned two paddles I had borrowed (I left mine at home, inadvertently), and loaded up our gear just as the rain caught us. It wasn't two minutes after we parked the boats. I hooked the last boat in and ran around the truck, slipping into the cab just as a sheet of hard, blowing rain hit and stuck for more than 30 minutes. It wasn't over.
The drive out of the cove on the curvy, mountain road was treacherous and taking Williamson Road home was less than a given. It was full of deep pools, running water and rain coming at us sideways in sheets. We pulled into the driveway of my house about 10 minutes before the storm passed, sat down and ate some dinner Margie had prepared. Susan and I smiled. We love adventures.
One lesson confirmed: Susan is a photographer. A real one. The storm was right in our faces and she was still shooting.
|This is the storm as we parked the boats.|