Nancy's Photos

It started with a boat. I was on my way to pick up stuff for my next renovation project but my car somehow steered me down to Jersey Paddler and I found myself driving home with a nine foot kayak strapped to my roof racks mumbling "Oh no...Now I have to actually do this". I'm afraid of fish. I'm afraid of tipping over... But I'm more afraid of sitting safely in a rocker when I'm 90.

So I stood on the beach at Memorial Park trying to talk my friend Diana into getting into the boat first (out of politeness of course). Got nowhere with that and quickly found myself floating. Surprisingly, I didn't tip over and no fish jumped into the kayak. In fact it felt safe and relaxing, like swinging in a hammock even though at first every distant bird and buoy looked like a dorsal fin.

That was the first of hundreds of mini vacations out on the water through four seasons of change, each trip unique... Never the same place twice as the light changed, the way the water moved under my boat shifted and the tourists went home leaving me with the whole place to myself. Well, just me and the coming and going of migrating birds and critters and tall grass constantly renewing itself and that sunset that felt like I was in the middle of a Monet painting and black skimmers fishing by moonlight and...

In the Fall as I paddled over to the East End Ave. bridge, I met a charming family of five... Two adult swans, their gray offspring and two graylag geese traveled together faithfully, finding shelter behind a small dock and food among the grass at the edge of the bay. They were much tamer than their relatives on the other side of the bay, allowing me to come within five feet of them... Close enough to see into their eyes and when winter came, saw frozen droplets on their pure white feathers.

Winter came late. I was able to get out up until January 8th when, under a full moon, I slid down a bank of ice, shot out into the water and got stuck in floating slabs of clear ice. I used my paddle to break them apart and stroked out into the open water. The only sounds were the calls of the birds, the water lapping along the beach and drops of salt water falling from my blades. I could hear the birds, but couldn't see them as the moon ducked in and out of the clouds. I could have done the reasonable thing and stayed home and watched TV that night. When given the choice, take the road that you'll remember.

After being grounded for about six weeks, I ventured out again, adding a digital camera to the equation. The photos you'll see here were all taken from my bobbing, twisting kayak. If you care to throw a boat into the water you'll get to see similar things, but as I said, it's never the same place twice.

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