Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily...

Recently, Paul and I learned about a moonlight / sunset paddle offered through CSU, Chico’s aquatic center. The program included kayak rental and a guided tour of the Lake Oroville Forebay. For some reason, this resonated within our hearts. We were eager to enjoy the experience and recruited two other couples to join us.

The excursion did not disappoint us. The weather was perfect and the kayaks were easy to maneuver. We enjoyed the sunset and an up-close view of a beaver lodge. We slipped along merrily singing, laughing, chatting, and having a wonderful time. We were soaked when we finished and our arms ached slightly from the 2 ½ miles of paddling. The trip was so wonderful that it sparked an intense desire in our hearts to own a canoe and make paddling around a regular event.

Paul and I both share the same romantic notions about canoe trips. We can envision ourselves putting in somewhere in the mountains and paddling noiselessly through glassy waters surrounded by tall pines under puffy white clouds amid a clear blue sky. Somewhere along the shoreline a pristine beach would beckon us ashore where we might spy on a family of beavers or watch eagles soar overhead. In such a setting we would be compelled to overlook our petty squabbles and idiosyncrasies and be swept up in a romantic reverie. Ah, the canoe, it appeared the ideal vehicle for marital bliss.

Fueled by such notions we decided to buy a canoe. Craigslist was consulted and we identified several potential craft by the following afternoon. A 1976 Sears Model # 61032 captured our attention. It was advertised as seating three and having a capacity of 425 lbs. Constructed of fiberglass, this canoe weighed 55 # dry. We called the seller and he agreed to show us the canoe the following day.

The drive to the seller’s location was filled with plans for our summer canoe excursions. We thrilled with the anticipation of discovering nearby lakes, boat-in camping, and having adventures together. Occasionally, a snippet of reason crept into the conversation.

“Maybe he’ll have a pond and we can try it out?”

Any such moment of lucidity was swept away with the next round of “Then we could go to …” Caught up in excitement, we lost all uncertainty and were ready to hurl wads of cash at the seller the minute he appeared in his driveway. We tumbled out of the truck, glanced at the canoe, and asked the seller if he knew how to strap it to the top of our vehicle. He produced a handy set of foam blocks and proceeded to school us in the art of canoe hoisting and securing. We shook hands and counted out the cash, while wriggling with excitement to begin the paddling stage of our lives.
The seller tried to slip in a word of advice as we bounded into our seats.

“Take it slow and careful, y’know – no sudden moves.”

“Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. We’ll take it nice and slow. We’re very cautious.” We reassured him as the gravel flew from under our wheels and we sped off to purchase paddles and outfit our rig.

The ride home was filled with more of the same magic. We vowed to launch our canoe on Ellis Lake, the jewel of Marysville, that very evening. In the same conversation we planned and discussed our next three outings. So far, being a boat owner was one of the best things that ever happened to us.

Ellis Lake is the centerpiece of Marysville. One might instantly think of the many recreation opportunities available at this sparkling man-made lagoon surrounded by lush greenery, flocks of geese, and a variety of other birds. One might have memories of paddle boat rentals, the annual catfish derby, the Fourth of July fireworks shows, or watching mini jet boat races. One might think of the lighted fountain that runs every night filling the sky with color and beauty.

But Ellis Lake’s appearance waxes and wanes with the Marysville’s park maintenance budget. When we moved to Marysville in 1989, the lake was in terrible shape. It had been taken over by a strange weed and efforts to eradicate it included lowering the water level and scrubbing the concrete shoreline. Several summers have passed without paddle boat rentals and an overabundance of fowl leave slippery deposits all along the concrete pathways. Several years ago a tragic rocket accident caused the cancellation of the annual fireworks display.

As we hauled our craft to launch it on its maiden voyage, our enthusiasm for canoeing caused us to repress the involuntary shudder that accompanies any serious contemplation of the muddy waters of Ellis Lake. Despite its rich and varied history, most residents of our area associate Ellis Lake with just one thing – the discovery that was made there on October 20, 2002. On that date a car and intact skeleton were found in just 7 feet of murky water. A crowd gathered to watch the vehicle as it was pulled from the water. A strange blend of horror and fascination accompanied each detail of the investigation – especially the revelation that the car had rested there for more than twenty years. A missing person case was resolved, and I along with thousands of other area residents rejoiced in the knowledge that we had never consumed anything caught at Ellis Lake.

Yet, there we were sliding our canoe off the truck and into the waters alongside steps cut into the concrete shoreline. I took my place in the bow and Paul gently lowered himself into his position in the stern. The canoe rapidly rocked back and forth snapping us to attention. Our reverie began to drain.

“It’s wobbly,” I noted.

“Really tippy,” Paul agreed.

Try as we may, the wobbling continued. My heart raced and my knees began to shake. This increased the wobbling. I took deep breaths and steadied myself. Gradually, we felt confident enough to dip our paddles into the water and we began to move. We glided along staying close to shore. If I stayed really still it barely wobbled.

“It’s more stable than it feels.” Paul reassured me “Just because it’s wobbling, it doesn’t mean it’s going to tip.”

My confidence grew a tiny bit. We passed under the footbridges and neared the Gold Sox Stadium. Children waved at us and I was pretty sure a young couple looked wistfully at us enjoying our romantic evening. As we rounded the picnic island at the north end of the lake a dreadful premonition settled upon me. I imagined that someone we knew might recognize us from the shore and call out to us. What if, in responding to them, I made a quick move and we capsized. I shared this concern with Paul and together we dismissed it, laughing it off. We were really getting the hang of it now. We began to discuss our next outing.

Without any warning, the boat overturned. My dream of never experiencing the depths of Ellis Lake was instantly wrecked. I sputtered and bobbed to the surface, spitting out water, gasping, and treading water violently. Together we pulled the canoe towards the shore where we once again saw the young couple their eyes reflecting more terror than romanticism. My feet found the bottom of the lake, and my hand grasped at a slimy cobblestone. The young man offered his hand to steady me and helped us right our canoe. Being far from the truck, we reluctantly climbed in and resumed our voyage.

We quickly applied a new strategy. I would sit perfectly still while Paul paddled. The only problem was that my entire body was now shivering violently. I forced myself to sit as still as possible to minimize the wobbling. We hugged the shoreline but occasionally veered into open water to make better time. In the open water, time stood still as I replayed the incident over and over again and constantly calculated the shortest route to shore. The capsize had completely surprised us. The only “sudden move” could have been an extra deep breath. We had rushed into buying a tippy canoe.

We made it home where I showered and shot off an email to the Craigslist seller. He agreed to refund our money. We strapped it on today and concluded our 2 days of being boat owners. Our enthusiasm has been dampened, but we still plan on buying a canoe – or maybe a kayak. We’ll be sure to test drive it first though – but maybe not at Ellis Lake.