When Linda Met Tony

Two women, seven children, paddling down the Delaware in two rented canoes. I spent the day paddling from left shore to right for fourteen miles on a seven-mile trip. That was my total canoeing experience as a single mother of three boys. It did not sell me on the sport.

But eventually the boys became men, and in my late forty's paddling came to my attention in the form of a single man I was fixed up with by my match-making friends.

In the beginning of any relationship there is a period of time when you walk on eggs. I knew he was looking for a companion who liked to paddle, and he knew how mismatched paddlers could have a very strained relationship. About the time we both decided "this person has potential", he resolved to put the relationship to a test and asked if I would like to canoe down the Delaware over Labor Day weekend. My mouth said "sure" my brain said, "what are you saying? You are no athlete, AND you don೷im!"

As a disciple of all the famous lovers, he decided to pull off a romantic weekend while trying very hard to make me like canoeing. First he chose to paddle his stripper (score him extra points because he made the boat). It was like cruising Main Street in a red Cadillac with the top down. Many words of admiration were spoken as we went by. On the night we camped, he carried the canoe up the bank so he could serve the shrimp cocktail, filet mignon and wine on a tablecloth spread over the canoe. Spending time canoeing was beginning to look more positive.

Before it got too cold that year, we paddled a few more trips but he was very careful to not let anything happen that would make me be reluctant to accompany him. Most of all, he avoided conflict by not trying to teach me how to be a canoeist. Our relationship made it into spring and he recommended that I learn the basics from the experts at NOC and from the Danielsens.

The first night at the three-day beginners class at NOC, they showed me my first training video. Fear started up my spine, I kept thinking "He is in another class and there is nobody to help. How do I get out of this one!"

As the only true beginner in the class, I arrived at breakfast the next morning looking like Minnie Pearl, with price tags hanging off my newly purchased PFD, gear bag, and assorted apparel. I made sure I told everyone right away that I do not swim. So襹 took us to a nice calm lake for basics and made us turn the canoe over. Metamorphosis. Stomach sank, and then hatched a brood of butterflies; heart moved to throat and did gymnastics. Knees melted and ears roared.

Training on sections of the Tuckasegee and Nantahala over the three days, everyone takes their turn at dumping at least once (anyone who has paddled with NOC knows their idea of flat water is our Class II). I made it to the last day before my number came up. Heading toward a drop (looked like Niagara to me) I got turned sideways just in time to wedge bow and stern between the rocks at the top. I grabbed the gunwale and found myself clinging to the boat on the upstream side while it was upside down and out of the water. It looked more like a bridge than a canoe. This was my introduction to the support always ready from fellow canoeists, they got me out and kept me smiling.

With the adrenaline still high I started the Danielsens Fundamentals class a week later. Still uneasy about my poor swimming ability, again I made it high priority to inform my tandem partner (a well over 6⵳sian Rutger೴udent) who laughed and said the water level was only to his knees, not to worry. The several classes in the next two weeks not only added to my skill and taught me self rescue (not too much time spent on this at NOC) but also gave me a severe case of poison ivy.

By this time a year had passed and Cupidࡲrow was firmly planted, and I was addicted. Addicted to the "ahhhhhh" of putting on dry sox at the end of the day. Addicted to the challenge of figuring out where I am going when I am the shuttle bunny. Addicted to the spirit of all of our canoeing companions. Addicted to the nature I wouldn೥e otherwise. Addicted to the pulse increase when you hear certain water sounds around the bend. And addicted to the freedom of being away from what I usually do five days a week.

That was six years ago. I still don't swim well and have a lot to learn about bow sweeps and stern prys. The romance continues. We paddled the Delaware with his kids and mine on our crowded honeymoon and have happily settled in a home only �e from the South Branch of the Raritan River. Ahhh, the romance of canoeing.