The winter is long and the days are short, yet to get out on the water in one of my kayaks breaks up the season.
I was kayaking along the Reach early one crisp winter morning, and just as I paddled from the calm of an inlet into the greater North Atlantic, a 14 foot aluminum boat came out of a well-hidden tickle.
It was crewed by a couple of pumpkin-skinned lads hurdled up like two snails on a piece of driftwood.
With the 9.9 Evinrude roaring full out, and a couple of 12 gauge shotguns hugging the rowlocks, it was like something you would see in the swamps of the great Mississippi.
After realizing their "near-miss" they came about face and motored back my way. I was not overly shocked, as I had heard the engine a few seconds prior to the wake of their out-spray.
As the motorman throttled back his engine with one hand, grabbed his 12 gauge with the other, the boat slowly came alongside my kayak.
I had just maneuvered the roll of their wake, and now they decided to turn around. "What now?" I thought, "Are they going to ram me, or use me for target practice?" It's funny how the mind goes! Too much TV, not enough kayaking.
Funny enough though, as we chatted about the ice moving in to the harbour, and how the ducks were on the move today, the man in the bow of the boat wondered why I would be out and about in a little kayak. He questioned its safety and what would one do if it flipped.
I just chuckled and said "I'd be more concerned about your cigarette igniting the gas, or your shotgun going off than my flipping the kayak."
"Not much chance for that happening" said the motorman, "I smoke all the time back here and ain't had a problem with the gas exploding yet."
On that note we went our own merry way, and as they sped past my starboard quarter, I was left in a cloud of smoke from the engine exhaust mixed with cheap roll your-own tobacco.
I smiled and carried on my journey down the ice-packed coast, only to be greeted by yet another seal resting on an ice-capped sunker.