Three-Hour Tour

by Laurie Wells — August 6, 2007

I had never really envisioned my honeymoon as one of those tropical escapes where you lay around and have umbrella-laden drinks brought to your cabana. Don't get me wrong, I love fruity drinks, but I just new that wasn't in the cards for me. A couple of months before our wedding, we discovered that our St. Bernard had bone cancer and wouldn't be around for much longer. That immediately cemented our decision to take a trip that included our beloved Nellie. So two days after we got hitched, we hit the road in our '87 Chevy camper van. Destination: a friend's family cottage on a small lake next to Lake Michigan where Nellie could lounge in the water and nap in the shade. We would be joined by our best friends who had fortuitously gotten married just 2 weeks before.

The days passed in a blur of swimming, golfing, sailing, and a few late-night karaoke sessions. A day or two before we were set to leave, Jason and I decided to leave Nellie in the care of our friends - an easy dog sitting gig considering she pretty much slept 22 hours a day -- and enjoy a kayak around the lake. I was a bit apprehensive about going out with the wind and the choppy water, but Jason assured me that we would be fine and it would be all the more enjoyable because the conditions meant fewer speed boats on the lake and less worry of sunburn.

So we headed into the water, joking as we playfully raced kayaks out from the dock. As we turned the corner around the point just east of the cottage, I happily maneuvered the small chop and enjoyed the magical experience of kayaking through tall reeds and spotting giant swans. But the wind was starting to pick up and I started to get a little nervous. I suggested turning back, but Jason figured that paddling against the now strong current would be much more difficult than following the perimeter all the way back around to the cottage. Unsure but still trying to be a good sport, I tried to stay next to him, just a bit behind. But the waves were now whitecaps and the swells were big enough that I couldn't see Jason in between them. I started to get scared.

I guess my fear was apparent because Jason started yelling a pep talk about how strong I was and yada, yada, yada - I'm not sure exactly what came out, as I couldn't hear him over the howling wind and the pumping of my heart. We finally reached the end, and it was time to paddle across to follow the other side back around. Paddling as hard as I could, I was actually being carried backward every time I didn't have a paddle in the water pushing against the pressure. Fear turned to anger and Jason stopped the motivational speech after I shot him a cold look that clearly conveyed where I planned to put my paddle if I ever made it back to land.

Things got a bit easier once we reached the other bank, but my arms were shaky lead weights and I was soaked, chilled, and madder than ever. Tears of frustration and fear mixed with the rain drops, but I kept paddling, chanting D-I-V-O-R-C-E as my mantra. We slowly progressed west to the northern-most bank, and the weather finally started to let up a bit. When it was time to cross the last 1.5 miles to the cottage beach, I was able to coast a lot of the way, which helped me relax a bit. I don't know if it was the adrenaline or the joy at having survived, but I actually laughed when Jason started humming the Gilligan's Island theme.

When we reached the cottage beach, I let Jason drag the boats up onto the sand as I tried to steady my shaking hands enough to unzip the life jacket. Nellie and our friends ran out to meet us -- they had apparently spent the past 2 hours of our 3-hour ordeal scanning the water with binoculars and were minutes away from calling the Coast Guard. Although we all laugh about it now, they weren't too happy at the stress and worry we caused.

And that was the beginning of our marriage...