Sea cares not one little bit, so prepare very carefully

Maybe you read the story last week.

The one about the three kayakers whose lives were likely saved by Brian Armstrong and his wife, Laurie Turner.

The kayakers were struggling in the waters off of Jetty Island when they just happened to be seen and quickly rescued by Mr. Armstrong and his wife who both deserve a “well done” for their timely actions.

If you missed the story, one salient point was that on a cloudy, windy evening, in (very) cold water, none of the kayakers were wearing PFD’s (Personal Floatation Devices).

How do you even begin to explain this ending?

Good luck would be a start. Possibly, there just happened to be a gathering of guardian angels nearby. Maybe it just wasn’t their time.

Whatever the explanation, and even though it all ended well, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I read the story.

I’ve written about the sea many times. Humorous stories. Stories about people. Stories about weather and sunsets and routines. What I haven’t spent much time on is just how harsh a mistress the sea (or any body of water) can be.

It’s sobering when you finally realize that the ocean (lake, river, stream, sound, bay, pond) you’re on just doesn’t care that you’re there. It doesn’t care that you’re young, old, rich, poor, prominent, or unknown. It’s simply an enchanting, fascinating, and completely implacable environment.

Thus, whenever you’re out on the water, you want all the cards you can find stacked in your favor. And, even then, it can all go wrong.

You need to know what the weather is and what it’s going to be. You need to know tides and currents, shoals and bars, snags and rocks, anchorages and safe havens.

You need others to know where you are, where you’re going, who and how many are with you, when you’re leaving, and when you plan to arrive.

You need all of the gear that you know you’ll need, think you’ll need, and — most especially — might need when everything goes, as it inevitably will, sideways.

Far more importantly, you need to have that gear with you because it doesn’t matter who made it, how well it was made, or how much it may have cost. If it’s somewhere else when you need it, it’s useless.

You need to know your limits. You need to ask yourself, “Can I do this?” Not “Do I want to do this?” Not “Will I look weak-kneed for not doing it?”

Nope. Here, you need to be brutally honest because you might be betting your life on what you’re about to do and, again, the sea just doesn’t care.

If you’re not up to it. If you don’t have the experience. If you don’t know the area or if the weather’s ugly. If you don’t have the gear. If the margin of time is too tight. If any of the above, then do yourself (and others who may be with you) a favor and don’t go.

I’ll be the first to admit that being on the water is fun. You’d be hard -ressed to find someone who enjoyed being out there more than I did. You’d also be hard-pressed to find someone who’s felt more fear than I have when some of the things that can happen out there happen.

On the water, the span of time between calm and calamity can be very short. And, yes, nine times out of a 10, you’ll likely get away with whatever foolishness, thoughtlessness, imprudence, rashness, lack of planning, or recklessness you started the day with.

But, then, there’s that 10th time. The time when calm departs for regions unknown and you’re left to deal with whatever calamity you’re facing.

And, maybe, that’ll be the time you decided that you didn’t need any or all of the above. The time when Mr. Armstrong and Ms. Turner decided not to stay on their boat that evening. The time when the Coast Guard wouldn’t be around and no one knew where you were going or when you’d be back.

And, right then, good luck to you because you’re going to find out just how harsh a mistress the water can be.

Pray that — in the end and, like those kayakers — you’ll be able to look back on it as a hard lesson learned the hard way.

Because the other alternative isn’t pretty at all.

Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Send comments to: larrysim@comcast.net