We Did It Wrong (And We'd Do It Again)
The event was cancelled.
Aransas Pathways had planned a sunset paddle across Copano Bay — three miles, community celebration at Murph Park, live music at the end. We had been looking forward to it. Then the email came a few hours before: inclement weather, possible storm, event cancelled.
That didn’t sit well with Tortuga.
So we did it anyway.
We called in Ca-Caw — our daughter, named for the crow call we use on trail to locate each other — and suddenly what was supposed to be a relaxing community paddle became a family expedition. Two kayaks became three. Plans shifted. Equipment was reloaded. Ca-Caw, it should be noted, was not originally part of the plan and did not get the full briefing on what she was signing up for.
None of us really did.
We scouted the launch point at the Copano Bridge Boat Ramp and checked conditions at Murph Park. There were whitecaps in the middle of the bay, but staying close to shore looked manageable. We gave it the green light. Then we went home to eat dinner first, because even expeditions require dinner.
This is where the timeline started going wrong — though we didn’t know it yet.
Somewhere between reading the event flyer and loading the kayaks, Tortuga and I had both convinced ourselves that the original paddle departed at 8pm. It did not. It departed at 6:30pm, to be completed by 8.
We launched at ten minutes to eight.
The first part was everything I wanted it to be. The wind was at our backs, the bay was calm close to shore, and the light was still golden and beautiful. Paddle, paddle, watch the sun. Paddle, paddle, take a selfie. I was relaxed. Ca-Caw was relaxed. Tortuga was doing math.
He wasn’t wrong to be doing math, as it turned out.
We rounded Rattlesnake Point at about the halfway mark — 8:15pm, the sun beginning to dip — and turned for the final stretch to Murph Park.
That’s when the wind changed.
Head wind. Thirteen miles an hour coming straight at us. The same breeze that had been pushing us effortlessly across the bay was now something we had to fight through, stroke by stroke. The golden light that had been so pretty was now actively setting and not slowing down to wait for us.
Tortuga looked at me and said we needed to push.
I had been pushing. I had been pushing since before we left. I told him so. My hands were blistering. My shoulders were burning. He kept thinking out loud — we can’t lose the keys, we don’t have enough flashlights, if the wind kicks up more we’re screwed — and I kept paddling and trying not to let my mind go to the dark places his was already visiting.
It went from paddle paddle watch the sun to paddle paddle DON’T breathe paddle paddle.
Ca-Caw, to her credit — or possibly out of pure fear — was magnificent. She got out ahead of us. A quarter mile, maybe more. She was moving. She disappeared into the dark before we could close the gap, and then we could only occasionally see the flash of her light turning back to check on us.
I watched her light vanish under the glow of a fishing pier and then disappear completely into the dark water.
Tortuga held position beside me. We paddled. The wind was actually easing slightly, which helped. We could see the landing point. We just had to get there.
And we did. Ca-Caw was already on the beach, light flashing, signaling us in.
I heard her voice across the water before we landed.
Hurry.
There are mosquitoes, and then there is what was waiting for us on that beach.
It had rained heavily earlier in the week. Standing water everywhere. And the mosquitoes had organized.
When Ca-Caw said hurry, she was not commenting on the darkness. She was at war. I could hear them before I could see them — a sound like a swarm of bees, thick and immediate. Tortuga had packed baggy clothes and a mosquito net for his face. He had suggested we all do the same before we left.
We had been busy thinking about swimsuits.
Ca-Caw got into the truck. Tortuga pulled on his net and loaded the kayaks. I helped as long as I could and then I also got into the truck. The mosquitoes had followed us in. Ca-Caw was photographing the interior swarm, which seemed approximately as thick as what was happening outside.
We drove home with the windows down. We are not sure it helped.
The next morning, Ca-Caw showed us her arms and legs.
If you have seen chicken pox — actually chicken pox, the full version — you have a reasonable approximation of what she showed us. She had bites everywhere. She had earned them. She had also paddled a dark bay in a headwind without a headlamp and beaten us to shore, so I think she earned more than the bites.
We laughed.
We had paddled three miles across Copano Bay in the dark, with insufficient flashlights, into a headwind, and landed on a beach that was actively hostile to human life. We had done it together. Nobody fell in. Nobody got lost. We made memories Ca-Caw will be talking about for years — possibly every time she sees a mosquito.
And then, over coffee, Tortuga read the flyer again.
Departure 6:30pm. Complete by 8.
Not departure at 8. Complete by 8.
We had launched at ten minutes to eight.
No wonder we were paddling like it was a race. We had read the whole thing wrong from the beginning. The miscalculation that had been creating urgency since before dinner, the math that wasn’t adding up in Tortuga’s head, the reason I had blisters — all of it traced back to one misread line on an event flyer.
It is life. It is fun. Danger lurks around every corner no matter how prepared you are, and the thrill is real.
Next time, we leave at 6:30.
Copano Bay runs along the Texas coast near Rockport. The launch point is the Copano Bridge Boat Ramp off Highway 35. Murph Park is at 4701 Loop 1781, Rockport TX 78382. Aransas Pathways hosts regular community outdoor events — find them at AransasPathways.com.
Bring a headlamp. Bring bug spray. Bring baggy clothes. Don’t ask questions, just do it.
— Polly
Think you’ve earned a Night Paddle badge? We made one for you.
