Return to Water - Jul 2026

For three summers my kayaks sat quietly in the barn. Between bike tours, weddings, home renovation projects, and everything else life had thrown my way, I hadn’t made time to paddle. Often I would think, I should get those out. And they stayed where they were. This Fourth of July, it was finally time to return to the water.

Dramatic Sky view from the Sea Kayak

Our boat club has celebrated Independence Day together for years. We gather at Kershaw Park on the north end of Canandaigua Lake, reserve a boat from the club, fill coolers with food and drinks, and spend the day moving between the lakeshore picnic, the boat, and the sandy beach.

Usually I load everything into Serge's truck and then ride my bike or to the park. This year I decided to arrive by kayak.

Earlier in the week Serge cleaned both kayaks and moved them from the barn to the front garage. I tried each one and chose the easier recreational kayak, then invited my friend Jamie to paddle with me from Lisa's beach to Kershaw Park, about two miles down the east shore of the lake.

The morning began in the kitchen. I made broccoli slaw, chicken salad sliders, and a fresh fruit salad while everyone else finished gathering supplies for the picnic. Around nine o'clock Serge loaded both kayaks into the pickup and dropped us at Lisa's beach.

I wasn't quite sure how that first paddle would feel after three years away, but within a few minutes the rhythm came back. Jamie paddled my long yellow-and-blue sea kayak while I settled into the wider recreational kayak. We hugged the shoreline because the lake was already filling with boats and jet skis. On the Fourth of July, with heavy boat traffic and rain threatening, staying close to shore seemed best.

Jamie on the Sea Kayak, under cloudy skies.

The sky was covered with heavy gray clouds that softened the light. The water had just enough chop to remind us we were on a busy lake, but it was an easy paddle. About an hour and a half later we reached Kershaw Park.

We tied the kayaks beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree, climbed across the slippery shoreline boulders, and found the picnic already in full swing. The younger crowd had built their own little camp with hammocks hanging between the trees, blankets spread across the grass, and folding chairs gathered around overflowing coolers. Most of our group, however, was on the boat. Jamie and I dropped our gear, stopped for frozen mango margaritas on the way to the dock, and climbed aboard with Joe, Sally, John, and Shri.

The north end of Canandaigua Lake was alive with boats. Everywhere we looked, pontoons, ski boats, cruisers, and runabouts were anchored together in the shallow water, creating one giant floating Fourth of July neighborhood. Music drifted across the lake from every direction. Swimmers floated between boats while paddleboards and kayaks threaded quietly through the crowd. After weeks of near one-hundred-degree temperatures, the cloudy afternoon felt like a gift.

Back at the picnic, John fired up the grill while the rest of us unpacked salads and side dishes. We spent several hours eating, talking, laughing, and catching up with friends we hadn't seen in months. A brief sprinkle of rain passed over us, but no one seemed to mind.

After lunch—and one of Joanne's absolutely perfect walnut brownies I launched the kayak again and paddled over to the floating boat party. Lisa wanted to come along, but she preferred to swim rather than paddle. When we crossed the steamboat channel, I had her hold onto the back of the kayak and towed her across the channel to the shallow water on the other side. Then we spent nearly an hour swimming, floating, and weaving quietly among the anchored boats before returning to shore. By the time we got back to the picnic area, the wind had picked up and everyone had begun packing up.

Floating Party

Jamie had already gone home, leaving her Kayak tied to the willows. We hadn’t really decided on how to get the kayaks back home, but they don’t both fit into Serge’s truck with the picnic supplies already taking up a lot of space in the truck bed. The simplest solution was for Serge to take the recreational kayak home in the truck while I paddled the sea kayak back alone. The Sea Kayak is longer, narrower, heavier, and far less forgiving than the recreational boat. Its built to handle a grown adult plus camping gear. After three years away from kayaking—and carrying more weight than I used to—I wasn't convinced I was ready for it. But it was the practical solution. So I climbed in and pushed away from shore, leaving Serge and Lisa to load the little kayak into the truck.

Almost immediately I realized I had underestimated both the kayak and myself. The long hull tracked beautifully through the water. The boat felt fast, smooth, and stable. Stroke after stroke, the shoreline slipped by until Lisa's beach came into view about ninety minutes later. Serge was already there waiting with the truck.

Reflecting on the day I've noticed a pattern. Every adventure contains something unexpected. The plan changes. I have to adapt. And hidden inside that unexpected turn is usually the most rewarding part of the day. This time, it was the sea kayak.

For three years my kayaks had waited patiently in the barn. It turned out I didn't need to learn how to paddle again, I just needed to get back on the water.