Essences of summer

With the posting light on this blog right now, it seems like a good time to dip once again into the archives of those columns I wrote for the Outdoors, Inc., website about a decade ago.  And with another heat wave establishing itself here in the Mid South, the choice is an easy one.

Essences of Summer by Elmore Holmes (Originally posted September, 2003)      I'm writing this on a typical late-August day in Memphis.      Which is to say, it is stifling.  Sweltering.  Oppressive.  Hotter than Hades.      Not many other places in the world get hot quite the same way the lower Mississippi basin gets hot.  Walk outside, and the heat and humidity wrap around you like a thick cotton-polyester blanket saturated in boiling water.      And this is a relatively mild summer for this region.  In fact, until just the last couple of weeks, we thought we'd been spared the misery almost altogether.  According to the National Weather Service, an eastern trough of low pressure and a western high-pressure system have directed a stream of northwest air farther south than usual this summer.  The average high temperature in June was 5.6 degrees cooler than last year, while in July it was 1.4 degrees cooler than last year.  The mercury has hit 90 degrees about half as many days this year as last.      Ahh… last year.  Last summer was a bear.  The oppressive heat and humidity got an early start, and by mid-June, the heat index was well over 100 degrees, and we saw little relief until late September.

     In previous summers, I had escaped out to Colorado and other zones of low-humidity; but last summer, I had a lot of work to do in my woodworking shop, and my finances were stretched a little too thin to be skipping across the country without a care in the world.  My only "vacation" was to be a trip to Ontario in late August for a 14-mile canoe and kayak race, and that meant there was training to do.  And so, Memphis it was for the duration, and there was no way I would beat the heat.  So I took a deep breath and immersed myself in it.
     In the process of going down to the river, paddling for two hours or more, and returning to my non-air-conditioned workshop, I developed a set of survival skills for this hostile climate.  What follows is a list of challenges beyond the simple paddling of one's boat that one can expect in the summertime, and the methods I have adopted to cope with them.
      Surviving Memphis's summer heat means water, water, and more water.  Managing this water--storing it in or on the boat, and especially keeping it cold--can be a hassle.  At home, I get out my Camelback, a Nalgene water bottle, and a bicycle water bottle, pack them all with ice cubes, and top them off with cold water.  Then I get on my bike (the air conditioner in my van has never worked that well, and besides, the bike affords me a little extra fitness training) and make the 25-minute ride down to the Mississippi River.  I leave the Nalgene bottle in a shady place on the dock.  The Camelback and bicycle bottle go with me in the boat, and how I store them depends on the boat I'm paddling.  A sea kayak is the best craft for taking water (and even some food, if you like) because it has hatches and deck line.  But I don't own a sea kayak.  If I paddle my surf ski, which is a sit-on-top boat, I mount the bicycle bottle with a small bungee cord on the console between the foot braces, and I stuff the Camelback between my knees, where it balances well enough but is not all that comfortable.  Maybe one day I'll install a shock cord on the deck behind the seat and mount the Camelback there.  If I paddle my old marathon race boat, which is a more traditional kayak design (i.e., I sit inside it), I can put the Camelback behind the seat and chuck the bicycle bottle wherever I want.
     The ice cubes in the bicycle bottle have melted long before I got down to the river, so I drink that water first.  The Camelback is better insulated, so its water stays cool throughout a paddling session.  The Nalgene bottle, on the other hand, is always a problem.  It seems that no matter where I put it on the dock, it's like bath water by the end of a two-hour-plus workout.  If I'm lucky, I've remembered to stick a dollar in my bike bag so I can buy a cold gatorade drink at the nearby grocery.
     Our dock is attached to the side of a marina, and is made of treated wood planks.  The marina deck surface is a matrix of concrete panels.  Both these surfaces are exposed to direct sunlight, and become broiling hot on a mid-summer day.  I have to plan my trips between the boat rack and the locker where I keep my paddle, making sure I do all the walking I have to do before taking off my shoes.  Unless I'm wearing diaper-thick pants, which of course I'm not in the summertime, I have to find a shady spot on the dock to sit while I apply sunscreen or take off my shoes, lest I end up with toasted buns.
     Sunscreen is a necessity, even on a cloudy day.  And it is a real mess when applied to sweat-glistened skin.  I try to have a towel nearby so that when I'm finished greasing up, I can wipe my hands before I get lotion on my paddle and other things that shouldn't get greasy.
     The most intense sunlight I've ever experienced is in the American Southwest, but here in the Mid South the sun gets its point across.  I find myself pausing when I pass beneath bridges, just to get an extra 20 seconds of relief from the blazing sun.
     A typical paddling session for me involves leaving the dock and going south about a mile and a half to the mouth of the harbor, paddling onto the river and heading north (upstream) for several miles, turning around and coming back south (downstream) to the mouth of the harbor, and paddling north in the harbor until I'm back at the dock.  And so in every session, I split time between paddling into the wind and paddling away from it.  A headwind is my bitter enemy in the wintertime, but in summer it is a dear friend.  It provides a surprising amount of relief from the stifling heat and humidity, and it keeps my face dry.  Without it, sweat begins to trickle down my forehead, fogging up my sunglasses and, when mixed with a little sunscreen, delivering an excruciating sting to my eyes.
     State law requires that every boater, regardless of craft, wear a Personal Flotation Device or have one in the boat, and at one time or another I've been checked by a representative of every law enforcement agency on the river--Tennessee Wildlife Resources, Arkansas Game and Fish, the U.S. Coast Guard.  So I do my best to abide by this law.  Wearing a PFD is not so comfortable on a hot steamy day, and my friends in sea kayaks usually stick theirs under their deck lines and go shirtless.  If I'm paddling my marathon boat, I can stow the life jacket inside, but on my surf ski I just have to wear it--another good reason to put some shock cord on my stern deck someday.
     Of course, one solution to the heat problem is to paddle early in the morning or in the evening.  I'm kind of a wuss when it comes to getting out of bed early, but the times I have gotten myself down to the river at 7:00 AM or earlier, I haven't regretted it.  With the sun low, there's a lot more shade to be found, and the water is soothingly placid.  And of course, when you're finished, you've got the whole day ahead to take care of other things.  Paddling in the evening is great, except that the mosquitoes around the dock are really out for blood at that time of day.  It's all I can do to get my boat put away and run back up to the parking lot before I've been eaten alive.
     We humans can go back to our air-conditioned homes when we're done paddling, but the critters must deal with the heat around the clock.  On the Mississippi River and in Memphis Harbor, the turtles seem to relish it.  Every day I see a half-dozen or more lined up atop every floating log.  When they see me coming, they file off into the water--ploop, ploop, ploop!  I've always thought that was kind of cute.  Meanwhile, the ducks, who I see swimming vigorously throughout the winter, don't care so much for the heat, and I only see them in the shade of bridges and trees on hot summer days.  The fish might be the most active of all species, and I'm not quite sure of the reason; could be there's less oxygen in the water in summer, or maybe they're going after insects just above the surface.  In any case, fish can be seen "airing it out" all summer, and that's pretty exciting when one sails across your bow.
     I've now spent the last two summers almost entirely here in Memphis, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a real grind.  I'm looking forward to cooler weather a few weeks from now.  But in a way, there's something oddly invigorating about working and playing outdoors in the moist heat day after day.  Somehow, the little things in life seem sweeter.  Water tastes better.  Each end-of-the-day routine--showering, lounging on the sofa, going to bed and nodding off to sleep--feels a little bit nicer if you've been sweating all day.
     Unless there's a big competition coming up, summer is a good time for the paddler to slow down a little.  Work on your stroke form and posture, maybe experiment with different paddle lengths and feather angles.  But be sure, also, to take some time to explore and just enjoy the river and the wildlife.  And don't worry: a lovely Mid South autumn is on the way.