I spent this weekend visiting my other friend Jason in Houston, Texas. One of the many items on my to-do list while in the area was to see the Gulf of Mexico. The drive to Surfside Beach takes about two hours from Houston, but is well worth the investment.
After paying the parking fee, we drove out onto the white, sandy, seaweed-covered beach to find a decent parking spot. I say that seaweed covered, but in truth there was only a rim of seaweed on the shore.
My first look at the waters of the Gulf was a little surprising. The water was a sandy color, as opposed to the tropical blue, which I had envisioned. The waves seemed to continually crest and roll into the shore. The sea is untiring.
I couldn't resist the chance to ride these small white caps. They were small, but a few of them swelled past five feet tall. I ventured out into the salty abyss, wandering about a hundred feed from the shoreline. There is an amazing difference in the water level between two waves, when the water level is near my knees contrasted to the wave itself when, I am lifted several feet off of the bottom.
The waves did not seem to diminish in either frequency or strength during the two or so hours that we spend there. However, there is something to be said for letting the ocean have its way with you. The sense of something greater than yourself is ever-present. As I allowed the waves to carry me, several of them struck me with such force as to allow the undercurrent to pull me under. One particularly strong wave had me doing flips under the water. The experience is exhausting.
I made my way to the shore in order to dry off and soak up some rays. I was surprised to see tiny clams digging back down into the sand after each wave uprooted them from their homes. Life is everywhere here.
After drying off it was time to head back to Jason’s house. Alas, my wave-riding adventures had come to an end.
As this was my first time in a kayak, I was understandably timid. My friend Jason who was accompanying me on this little expedition had taken his boat out onto the waters of the Sparks Marina the week before. He informed me of how unstable the long, narrow craft seemed at first. After a pleasant and uneventful drive to the lake, which is about 35 miles North of Reno, we arrived at the tribal police station and each purchased a recreational pass for the day
We first put in at a nice, calm beach that I had discovered the year before. I put my life jacket on, put the paddle together, and proceeded to carry the forty pound boat out to the chillingly cold water. While the air temperature on this beautiful, sunny day was in the low seventies, the water had barely risen above the memory of its long winter freeze.
As I committed my body weight to my sleek, red kayak, I found that Jason was indeed correct about the stability. The slightest lean could have catastrophic effects. I thought about how unpleasurable falling into that frigid water would be and assured myself that it would not happen.
Maneuvering a kayak is quite challenging at first. . It almost seems that the paddle is more of a hindrance than a help, but after a short time one begins to realize that the boat, the paddle and the paddler must become a unified being, if control and stability are to be established. That is not to say that I have achieved this level, only that I realize that I will need to.
We paddled around this area on the Southwest corner of the lake for an hour or so, never going more than a quarter of a mile or so from shore. As I was beginning to feel a bit more confident in my ability to keep from capsizing, I suggested that we reload the boats onto the rack I had fashioned in the bed of my truck and drive around to the other side of the lake. There we could paddle out to Anaho Island and the actual pyramid for which the lake had been named.
The acceleration of these man-powered boats is amazing. In no time we were back on the shore, loaded up, and on the sandy dirt road leading down to the Eastern shore. The road was challenging for my two-wheel drive and seemed to be about ten miles long. This area around the Eastern shore is true desert with practically zero vegetation. Finally, we traversed a rocky section of the road, moving as slowly and carefully as my truck would go, which seemed to herald the last hurdle before reaching the shoreline.
This side of the lake is muddier and more a home for algae than the other side. After doing my best to walk on the steep roads and slimy shoreline, we got the boats in the water and we were off.
On the calm waters of Pyramid Lake, distance is somewhat deceiving. We paddled at least a half-mile out to the stone pyramid. As we discovered, the stone pyramid is not stone at all, but instead a five-story tall mineral deposit. It smells of sulfur and feels like salt on a margarita glass to the touch. A fellow kayaker, who was trying his luck with a fishing pole, informed us of a water-level hot-spring on the far side of the feature.
Upon his recommendation, we traveled around to see the wonder. In comparison to the massive pyramid, the small human-arm sized outreach was barely noticeable. It appeared as white outcropping just an inch or so above the surface of the lake water. We took care approaching it. I first ran my hand under the surface of the lake directly under the hot water spout. The surrounding water had been significantly warmed by the spring. I was almost afraid of actually touching the spring water itself, but couldn’t resist. Ouch! That water had to be near boiling. What an amazing thing this is.
We made our way completely around the pyramid and then decided to make the now apparent, long trek to Anaho Island. It seemed like the thought, “we’re almost there” crept into my mind countless times before reaching the island’s ancient shore. In truth, it was about two miles from the pyramid and about a mile and a half from where we had left my truck, which now appeared only as a spec.
The shore of the large island was littered with tiny creatures’ shells, broken avian bones, and a hodge-podge of mineral-encased, fossilized rocks. I thought to myself, “when was the last time someone had stood upon this shore? Who were they? And, did they have the same wonder for the majesty surrounding them?” In the distance, I could hear seagulls sound the approach of dusk. It was time to paddle back and return home. As I loaded the boats back onto my truck and drove away, I thought and whispered to myself about returning.
