It floats MY BOAT
KERRE’S BIRTHDAY PRESENT IDEA IS ‘OARSOME’, BUT THE HUSBAND NEEDS TO GET ON BOARD
Imentioned in last week’s column that I’d gifted the husband and I a fishing rod each to make the most of the Hokianga where we have a holiday home.
My birthday rolls around two days after Chrismas and I’d told the husband not to worry about a present for me because I had it sorted. It was another way of making the most of the Far North. We’re not quite ready for a power boat yet, but a kayak – that was another story. I’d done a wee bit of kayaking on tropical holidays.
When Kate was a baby, we had a couple of weeks on an island in Tonga and I used to make a bed for her when it was her nap time, cover her in muslin to protect her from the mossies and paddle in the warm waters of the Pacific. It was so tranquil and a lovely way of being together without actually doing anything. What could be better for our marriage, I thought to myself?
However, I needed to know that Tom would come with me if we bought a double kayak for my birthday. I’d done my research and had found the perfect craft for two relative newbies, but it was too much money to spend without me being certain Tom would be paddling along behind me. And could there be anything sadder than a lone woman paddling a kayak built for two? It’s the maritime equivalent of Diana’s famous Taj Mahal shot.
On the morning of my birthday, I roused the husband. “I need you to come and approve my present,” I said.
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “You can have what you want. Just get it.”
It was an excellent answer and a very good start to my birthday.
“No,” I said. “It’s a bit like the fishing rods. You have to enjoy it too.”
With a sigh, he got out of bed and off we drove round Auckland’s eastern bays to a waterfront paddle sports store, where I’d already sussed the kayak I wanted. Tom looked bemused when we walked in the door, then absolutely horrified at the big reveal.
“Oh, no!” he cried, backing away, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling in his head and looking very much like a horse that was refusing to be floated. “I’m not sitting on that fecking thing! I’ll fall off! I’ll drown!”
My heart sank. To be fair, my Irishman was not used to water. There wasn’t a lot of kayaking up and down the Foyle River when he was growing up in Derry. The man at the kayak shop realised he had a job on his hands if he was going to make the sale. I gazed imploringly at him and he brought out the myriad reasons the kayak would indeed stay afloat. The husband is an intelligent man and will, most times, listen to reason.
An hour after we arrived, hands were shaken, good wishes exchanged and off we went to the Hokianga with my birthday kayak strapped on top of the ute. And do you know, he’s a convert. Admittedly, Mum almost died laughing as she watched us from the shore on our maiden voyage, my shrill voice shredding the tranquility of the harbour as I bellowed at Tom to keep in time, stop shifting around and to just follow me. Left! Right! Left!
I’ve calmed down a bit now, and it really is as tranquil and lovely as I imagined. Tom even caught a fish! I couldn’t be more proud of him for giving it a go.
‘My Irishman was not used to water. There wasn’t a lot of kayaking up and down the Foyle River’