What gets you up at 4AM on a Saturday?
One Saturday in early January we peer through the inky morning light, roll out of bed and trundle ourselves into the car, thankful to have loaded it the night before. Coffee in one hand, steering wheel in the other, my co-conspirator drives us out of Seattle as the sky lightens.
We speed away, northward, northward. The sleepy city quietly gives way to dramatic landscapes of winding river, vast sky, and distant mountains. In landlocked Minnesota where we grew up, the ground would still be frozen solid this time of year, and probably covered with snow. As a child I read about the Salish Sea in storybooks, imagining it in some mythical faraway land. This morning it unfolds in silver and slate-gray slices on our drive. What gets my co-conspirator up at 4AM on a Saturday?
Apparently, going to run a trail race. Everyone runs a rugged loop through the forest, over roots and under trees, over and over again inside a certain time. Each round the cutoff time decreases until one person is left standing --or rather, left still running.*
I drop him off to do his thing. Then, I throw a u-turn from the start line and speed to this mythical Salish Sea of childhood legends. At the beach off Possession Sound, I hop between inflating my stand-up paddleboard and hurriedly struggling my limbs into a wiley drysuit, briefly flailing like one of those red blow-up characters with the waving arms at an oil change shop. Finally it’s inflated, I’m suited up, and I practically sprint to the water to get paddling. The gentle salty smell of the Sound, a rhythmic lap of waves on my board, and a settling feeling in my stomach inch in as I slide away from shore. Away from the dog walkers who look at me like I’m crazy for going on the chilly waters, away from the small worries of petty human politics, away from anyone who will judge how wild my hair looks or how dorky my drysuit might seem or even wonder at how and if I can carry such a large and awkward object as a board with my small frame.
It’s overcast, but the clouds leave a little gap for the sun on the horizon. I can glimpse the Olympic mountains in the distance to the west and Mount Baker to the North, cloudscapes over mountainscapes layered on Soundscapes all around. At this time of day the water is practically still. Then, a visitor. At first, just a gray bump in the waves, almost like a bump on a wave-log in the sea. Then I see s/he/they has big black puppy eyes, a spotted gray head, and a curious expression.
I bark at them. Then slap the water playfully with my paddle. Bark a little, but not too much since I don’t know what I could be saying.
First s/he/they swims in front a few feet from me, then appears behind, always sooner than expected. Then there are two! I decide to sit for a break, my feet dangling in the water. We chat silently with our eyes. Then I realize they’re probably twice my size combined --and definitely faster in the water. I pull my legs in.
I may have hummed a tune or two to bait their curiosity. Then it’s time to go. I paddle back in wide arches, often looking back. They do the same, but under water. My new friends relay-escort me back to the start, and I’m sorry to say goodbye, but so thankful for their time.
Arf!
Worth getting up at 4AM for the calm and a couple new friends with flippers.
*For more on this fun race, check out the Gulch Countdown.
For a sample spot to paddle in the Possession Sound from Mulkiteo, try putting in at Edgewater Beach Park
Drafted 04.17.19, completed 06.10.21
