| One man, not in a boat |
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David Whitley learns the hard way what the difference between a kayak and a canoe is at one of Orlando’s lesser-known escapes
I’m sure the phrase “it doesn’t really make any difference, they’re pretty much the same thing” is engraved on many a tombstone. It’s certainly one I’ll never again be uttering in a kayak rental shop. “Would you like a canoe or a kayak?” said the lady. As far as I was concerned, the difference between the two is roughly the same as the difference between the interchangeably tasteless cheeses Americans offer on burgers and sandwiches.
It would be fair to say that I wasn’t expecting what may as well have been a big, long bathtub to go adventuring in. Kayaks, it seems, are at least partially enclosed – and they’re generally steered with a double-ended paddle. Canoes are open, and are usually shunted along with single-ended paddles. Still – that’s not a huge difference, is it? How hard can it be?
The Wekiwa Springs State Park isn’t exactly what springs to mind when you think of Orlando. It’s about as far away as you can get from vermin-worshipping theme parks and hyperactive kids having buckets of fizzy drink thrown down their gullets. It’s a gorgeous spot, where nature wins out over development and the trees, grasses and lily pads gleam in the sun. Paddle along the Wekiwa River, and you’ll spot birds standing to attention on the banks or freshwater turtles scuttling along in the water. That is, of course, if you manage to stay in the canoe.
I’d been told to sit on the small wooden bench at the back of the canoe and work it from there. Alas, doing this causes something of a weight imbalance – rather like a fat kid sitting on the end of a seesaw whilst a feather is perched on the other. So as I desperately tried to paddle on one side, then the other, the wind and the current were intent on sending the front of the canoe round in circles. After a few minutes of game struggling, I ended up with the canoe stuck in thick foliage, trying to hack, splash and wriggle my way out. Maybe a slight redistribution of bodyweight would help...
Splash. It most certainly didn’t help. Instead of sat in a canoe stuck in reeds, I was now chest deep in the river, with the canoe doing its best impression of that aforementioned bathtub. A full bathtub.
A passing kayaker with a fishing rod called out to see if I was OK. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked, rightly surmising that he had encountered a hapless simpleton.
Have you any idea how difficult it is to get the water out of a canoe when you’re floundering in a river? The answer is that it’s very difficult. With no discernable banks to run the canoe up, I had to somehow lift the thing clean out of the water, turn it upside down, and then get it the right way up again without any more water sliding over the lip and getting back in.
With the good Samaritan kayaker holding one end - terrified of being pulled into a capsize himself - and me trying to balance on a submerged tree trunk, we tried out just about every theory. He almost rolled over, I continually fell off the branch, praying that the plastic camera wallet in my shirt pocket would do its job. We heaved. And heaved. And heaved.
Eventually, we managed to get the canoe in at least a passable state. There was still water in it, but it was like sitting in a puddle rather a pond. “Sit in the middle,” my hero advised. “Use it as a kayak if you have to.
“Oh – and be careful where you go. There’s a cut-off over there with a big alligator in it. You don’t want to flip that thing again.”
A big WHAT? Hoping he was joking, I set out to complete the adventure. Sat in the middle rather than on the bench at the end, the canoe was a hell of a lot easier to control, and the trip downriver happily peaceful.
I never did see the gator though. Upon returning the canoe, I decide to omit the falling in story. “Do any alligators actually live in the river?” I asked the girl behind the counter.
“Oh yeah,” she replied matter-of-factly. “About 200 or so.”
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