Bahia Chamela, Costalegre

It all began and ended within seconds and in very slow motion.

 The crystal clear, turquoise, 80-degree water swirled around my legs as I stood on the golden sand beach observing the waves as they rolled in, judging their speed and crest height. Several came and went before I waded into the water dragging the kayak in one hand and the paddle in the other. I felt the weight of my iPad, a dozen eggs and three large, perfectly ripened avocados in my waterproof backpack securely against my back. The sea between me and my boat 200 yards away looked calm, the height of the waves decreasing. It was a ‘go’.

I ran in waist deep, pulled the kayak up on my right side, put one leg in and then the other and started paddling. I got in a couple of strokes when a wave broke at the tip of the kayak, turning it broadside before pushing it over on its side, rolling me into the breaker and pushing me face first into the beach. In that split second, I remember every water droplet in that wave as it broke over the kayak. I felt the force of it push me under the kayak. I was engulfed in water and felt the backpack tangled in the seat straps as I struggled to free myself. ‘So this is how it ends for me’, I thought. I broke through the surface as the wave receded and gulped air, glad to be alive. I plucked my prescription sunglasses from the surf, gators still attached, as well as my hat whose chinstrap had been securely fastened under my chin. The force of the wave from behind had ripped them off. I grabbed the backpack and the paddle, clenched the kayak’s handle and staggered up the beach past the tide line where I stopped to gather my wits.

“Do you speak English?” a young girl, maybe 12 years old asked me as two younger boys gathered around.

 “Yes, I do.”

 “Can we help you?”

I paused and looked out at the surf. “Si, la pina, la pina,” I exclaimed excitedly as I pointed to my pineapple rolling around in the surf. The youngest boy sprinted after it splashing through the water. He proudly placed it in the cubby hole in the kayak floor where I had carried it.

 “Can we help you more?” the girl asked.

 “How are you going to help me?” I wanted to know what her plan was. I didn’t want to be responsible for the drowning of three cute kids.

“OK”, she said and paused, her fingers dancing in the air as she searched for the right words.

“Hmmm…can you understand a little Spanish?”

 “Yes, I can."

“Good,” she said and continued in Spanish. “Are you missing anything else?”

"No, I have everything."

“Good,” she said and switched to English. “OK. We will carry the boat out to the water for you and hold it and you get in.”

It sounded like a good plan. The girl and I were in front, the boy kept his hand firmly on the pineapple as we marched through the surf, and the smallest boy worked as hard as he could from behind to steady the kayak in the surf.

“Not this one,” I said reading the waves.

 “Not this one,” I said again.

Just then, their dad showed up and placed his hand on the kayak. He’s a pro at this wave stuff so we waited for a couple to roll past us and then he gave me the signal to get in and I paddled like there was no tomorrow.
 
When I crossed the surf line I looked back and saw the kids jumping up and down in the water and waving their arms excitedly with the pride of a mission accomplished.