13 Life Lessons from the Seat of a Kayak (Part 1)

by Annie Yorty ©2022

Last fall I discovered kayaking down a creek is a great metaphor for life. Add a couple dozen inexperienced teens to the mix and it gets even more educational. That’s why over the next few weeks I will share 13 life lessons from the seat of a kayak.

“Sounds like fun. Why not?” Those were my famous last words the fateful day I agreed to chaperone a group of teenagers paddling the Antietam Creek in Maryland. What could possibly go wrong?

A week later on a chilly (who am I kidding—it was freezing!) October morning, I embarked on a journey filled with thrills, spills, chills, and shrills. Little did I know I would emerge downstream able to share 13 life lessons learned from the hard seat of a blue plastic kayak.

The First 4 Lessons

1. Beginnings can be scary.

Most of the teens in the group had limited kayaking experience. When the outfitter directed them to set their kayaks next to a rock at the edge of the creek and hop on, they looked as if they were being asked to jump into a portal to another world. Gingerly they placed a toe onto the kayak deck, squealing and wobbling precariously as the boat rocked under the added weight. But as soon as they plopped down on their bottom, the rock-and-roll ride settled.

It went better for those in the group who shared double kayaks. One person could help steady the kayak for other.

Lesson learned? Once you make a decision to begin, don’t hesitate. Just jump in quickly. While we sometimes need to go it alone, remember it’s easier to begin with a friend by your side.

2. Don’t give up if you get stuck early.

I wouldn’t call myself a kayaking expert, but I have enough experience to handle a bit of whitewater. Maybe not class five, but the Antietam Creek in Maryland is hardly Big Drop Rapids on the Colorado River. I knew what to do when, just after putting in, I saw a bank of rocks stretching clear across the creek with only a small, curved opening at one end to pass through. Point the tip of the boat toward the opening. Go through one at a time. The problem? While I was furiously back paddling to keep my nose in the right direction and wait my turn, some of the teens didn’t know these rules. Or else they couldn’t control their kayaks in the rushing water.

The wind snatched instructions shouted to the novices. And sure enough, a girl accidentally broadsided my kayak and bumped me off course. I wound up perched horizontally across the table of rock as momentum popped the teen’s kayak backward over the edge. Thanking God she stayed afloat, I set about getting myself off the ledge without taking a bath. Using my paddle, I struggled and strained against the rocks to push off before the flood dislodged and rolled me.

I’m going to risk being real about my thoughts during those eternal fifteen minutes:

Why did I even come? I could be shopping at the outlets while these kids do what kids do.

I’m never going to get off this rock.

I’m too old for this.

Dear Jesus, I don’t want to go in.

This is going to be humiliating (if I survive).

Lord, help me get off these rocks without drowning!

Desperate, I finally threw down the paddle next to my legs and reached over the edge of the kayak into the icy water. Gasping in shock, I shoved hard against the rock with my instantly-numb hands. The kayak budged, just a bit. Hopeful, I risked leaning over even further to push again. This time I managed to turn the kayak’s back tip a bit downstream.

After much frantic supplication and two more soakings up to my shoulders, my kayak began to descend over the rock ledge, in a strange sort of slow motion. Heart racing, I prepared myself to be rolled by the creek’s force even as I prayed to stay upright. Against my will, the flow carried me backwards, but still right side up, over the rock face. I soon joined the waiting group downstream.

I must say, if I could have put out of the creek right then and there, I would have. But that wasn’t an option. So, teeth chattering, I praised God for deliverance and carried on into the unknown, wondering how I was going to make it through the remaining eight miles planned for the day.

Lesson learned? When you’re sitting high and (not so) dry, cry out to God and don’t give up. And when He saves you from the flood, don’t forget to thank God.

3. When you hear a scary sound up ahead, don’t let fear get the best of you.

With my “on the rocks” experience indelibly imprinted all over my brain, I began paddling downstream, shying away from the bad kayak drivers around me. As I approached a broad bend in the creek, the sound of rushing water conjured flashbacks. Anxiety spiking, I slowed, delaying the inevitable. I wasn’t ready to do battle again. I saw my fear mirrored on the faces of the teens floating around me trying to avoid moving toward the menacing sound.

But I couldn’t just sit there in fear, avoiding the future. I was the adult, for Pete’s sake! Eventually, I took a deep breath and allowed the water to push me toward the roar of doom. You’ll never believe what happened next.

Nothing.

The roar was all show and no flow—literally. The sound came from water running over a wide expanse of smaller rocks. Not a dreaded waterfall. Our fear was for naught.

Lesson learned? Don’t waste time and energy worrying. It’s easy to misperceive threats. Keep paddling and trust God to show the way.

4. Preparation is good.

As a chaperone on the kayak trip, I was just supposed to provide transportation and show up. Just be the obligatory warm body that created a proper adult to child ratio. But I’m a planner, so I asked questions. Questions that led to preparation. No, I did not want to go into the drink, but I considered how many layers I could reasonably wear to stay warm yet not sink like a box of rocks if I capsized. I also packed a waterproof bag with other essentials such as snacks, drinks, and a towel. That certainly came in handy. That, and a bag of homemade cookies to pacify hangry teens.

Lesson learned? While we can’t prepare for everything, we should prepare for what we reasonably can think of.

To be Continued. . .

These are the first four of 13 life lessons from the seat of a kayak. Please come back for next week’s installment to vicariously experience more of my thrills, spills, chills, and shrills on the creek.

Join the conversation:

Can you think of any life lessons God has taught you through an activity or adventure? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

Happy paddling!