Above me, a Norway pine hangs on the edge of a sandstone cliff and it looks like it might fall into the lake at any moment, its trunk at the very tip of the rock, its branches leaning over the water. My hands are clenched tightly around the paddles, while Lake Superior slowly rocks the kayak back and forth, back and forth. The body of water surrounding me resembles the warm ocean. It's turquoise blue like the waters near a tropical beach, but it's not clear and it's certainly not warm. Instead of palm trees, I see pines above layers of rock. Ripples of turquoise water flow in and out with the sunlight, but I can't see the bottom. When I look down into the deep water, my long time fear of sharks starts to consume me. I laugh at myself and think, "This is freshwater." But the deep murky water surrounding me, the idea of no escape to lane, only caves and deep lake help my fear return. I turn my attention to paddling, as my kayaking partner, my mother, grows tired of paddling alone. She is in front of the kayak, directing us along the shores.
People come from all over to kayak through the sea caves on Lake Superior. Two men from Missouri were in the kayak in front of us. A couple from Minneapolis was in front of them. The line of kayaks, red, blue and yellow, create a rainbow reflection as we follow the expert instructor into the first sea cave.
The inside of the cave is quiet, except for the sound of the waves hitting the bottom of our kayak and drumming against the wall of the cave. It's profound the way this experience silences all of us. The same impressed expression is found on all of our faces. Paddles rest on our laps as we float through like we are mutes. We are floating through a geological phenomenon; eroded sandstone formed into cliffs and caves.
The cave smells the way the air does after days of rain, musty and heavy. We can see the crack ahead of us, long and crooked. The sunlight peaks through the entrance of the cave and through the crack, giving us just enough light to view the cave's insides. There are no animals, just damp, shimmering sandstone.
All kayaks wait patiently, floating in an open body of water beneath stone to enter the crack. The instructor goes first, showing us precisely how to enter the crack. He tells us to slowly direct the kayak into the crack. Once we start going in, paddles go up and turn sideways. Then, he tells us to just float in until we're almost stuck. After a few seconds, he shows us how to get out. Push against the walls with our hands or our paddles until we reverse our kayak out. After two blue, and one yellow kayak enter the crack, it's finally red's turn. That's us. I grasp my paddle, and so does my mother, and we approach the crack.
Maneuvering a blunt, fat kayak into the space where two cliffs meet takes concentration. We turn our paddles vertically and set them on the sides of the kayak as we wedge ourselves into the stone. The kayak moans when it rubs against the side of the cave, and we stop. Our kayak will go no further. Above us we see a thin line of sky and a glimpse of bushes and trees. A hiker on the trail above peers down the crack and waves at us in our red kayak, wedged in. After we wave back and laugh, we float silently in the crack of the sandstone and I think about how connected I feel with nature. Not everyone can say they wedged themselves into the crack of a sea cave. I was in the middle of history, glaciers pushed through, years of erosion and movement. The only way to visit the crack is by kayaking through them in the summer or snowshoeing to them on ice in the winter.
I reached out and felt the slimy, wet wall of the cave, taking in the feeling, the smells, and the sounds. Once again I felt vulnerable and a little scared, stuck between two stones in a deep body of water, but this time I liked it.
Here's a picture of "the crack" but it's not my own photo. I couldn't find the pictures we took on our trip! Anyway, if you haven't gone kayaking through these, you need to do it at least once. It's amazing. Living Adventure gives great tour guides. :) Check them out here: www.livingadventure.com
