1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3.

• Lauren Eskin, Grade 12, Brigidine College Randwick -
• Short Story
• 2018

Excellence Award in the 'Write Along 2018' competition

Our group of kayaks were the only splash of colour in the bay. The dawn air came with a brisk bite, shoving the water playfully. My senses were so overwhelmed with this unfamiliar environment, yet I quickly numbed to it as we continued to paddle. I watched with fascination at the experienced kayakers. Their technique formed a rhythm which cleanly sliced the water, allowing for an effortless glide forward: 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. With my own stroke I tried to replicate the brief instructions from that morning- keep the body aligned, push the paddle deep, and cut the water fast and steady. It was harder now that the wind had become rougher and pushed through the bay, creating growing ripples which required more drive to cut through. Yet, I was determined to keep up and pushed myself hard.

The bay was finally beginning to grow light, a kind of naked glare created by the grey coating above. This was my first of a 6 week sea-kayaking program, which I realise now was very much a summer fantasy. Standing on the beach that morning, at 5am, in the dark, welcomed by unfamiliar faces and an abrupt wind, was not what I had pictured. But it was an adventure that I had set and was determined to tackle.

I tracked the now visible journey we had accomplished that morning- hugging close to the northern coves, we had been protected from the wind and had the advantage of the current. Our group formed a cluster and were briefed about the final length back- a straight diagonal cut across the most exposed area of the bay, towards the southern sand corner. I watched curiously as the group aligned their kayaks directly behind one other, like a flock of birds. As they began to paddle in synchronisation, I joined the end of the line.

As we began to paddle, their stamina became deceiving and my efforts worsened. Slicing strokes were replaced with sloppy, shallow dips of the paddle. I knew I could do it, I just had to push myself harder and be independent. I dropped from the pack and paddled, 1, 2, 3. 1, 2… My arms were aching from the journey out and I skipped a paddle for a breath. Abruptly I was pulled back by the current and lost ground. Finally gaining the rhythm I paddled again, head down. 1, 2, 3. 1… Looking up, eyes stinging from the salty wind, panic shot through me. The group were so far ahead, more than halfway back to the bay. They had left me behind.

Looking around at the open water around me, the shore looked impossibly far away. Every paddle was exhausting and I took breaths between each push. The current denied me moving forward, and I denied myself giving up altogether. There was nowhere to go. Why did I think I could do this on my own?

As much damage that the wind had caused, it did one good deed for me. It carried an insistent female voice which made me squint to see a bright red kayak amongst the grey. "Get your kayak right behind me, and don't drop off! Keep paddling." I positioned myself, and set my concentration on mirroring her paces instead of my exhaustion. It didn't feel like we were moving, but I was determined to hold my position and didn't want her to leave me behind- 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3…

My kayak hit hard sand and jolted to a stop. The rest of the group had dragged their kayaks up the beach, so I lifted shaky legs out one at a time. I thanked the woman breathlessly as we carried ours out of the water. Sitting down on the sticky sand, I looked out to the open water. It didn't look so rough from here, especially now I was back the group. Next week I'll try again- and stick with the group.