vituperation

May 27, 2003

Every year over the Memorial Day weekend, the Alabama Jubilee is held at Point Mallard Park in Decatur. The high point of the Jubilee is the hot-air balloon launch, wherein some 60 balloons take off and fly around the area. I remember watching these balloons many a year as I was growing up in Decatur.

This year I had a brilliant idea: take the kayak to the backwaters and put in, then paddle over to Point Mallard and watch the balloons from the water.

The biggest launch occurs on Saturday morning, but according to my apparently holey memory, balloons would also go up on Sunday morning. Since I was otherwise occupied on Saturday with getting groceries, birthday cake, and seeing the spud off to California (can I have an amen?), I was unable to go watch then. Sunday morning, I headed Decatur-way at about 4:45 with the kayak tied down on top of my Jeep.

There was no balloon launch Sunday, dammit, so all I have to offer is some pictures of the area I was paddling in. It was an ugly, overcast day, and it kept sprinkling on me. I was concerned at one point that a storm was coming, but thankfully it blew by. I’m thinking that parked on my ass in a 9.5-foot kayak without a spray skirt in the middle of the river is not the place I want to be in a thunderstorm.

Note the creepy way the growth just comes
right up out of the water.

My view.

The water was smooth and glassy most of the time.

Another of the numerous islands dotting the backwaters.

I approach a field of infinitely creepy lilypads.
At one point, I flipped a pad up onto my arm (accidentally)
with the paddle, and nearly squealed like a little girl.
Fortunately, I maintained my composure.

The enemy.

Fish (gar, mostly. These things have teeth)
like to hang out under the pads and splash loudly when you
get near them. Fortunately, things like that don’t bother me.
No, really.

Pads, pads, everywhere.

It was a very peaceful morning, all in all.
I was home by 7:30.

My sexy old-man fishbelly-white legs.
Maybe if I keep working out they’ll look better in no time.

I note that my legs look just like the legs I imagine on that dead bloated
person waiting for me down at the bottom, twining gently
in the lilies beneath the glassy surface.

Waiting to reach out for me if I ever fall out of the kayak.