The entrance to our campsite was an inlet that was only noticeable when we were already coming in to get out of the water. Like the rest of the Sound, it was wooded and rocky, but a small path was visible from several meters away. We floated in and my eyes stayed fixed on each new section of the path, hoping to see something to help explain the ferry.
“So, how much kayaking have you done?”
“Enough to sign up for this trip. I live near a lot of rivers and I always mean to kayak more.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Um, probably because I work too much. On the weekends, I don’t have much energy for anything except the housework I didn’t do during the week. BUT, I’m changing that. This trip is the first step in that process.”
I did have a quick flash of what it would be like to try to reach anyone back home if I would happen to capsize my kayak and hit my head on a rock or something. It involved a helicopter and an industrial-strength walkie talkie that would reach Queenstown and relay my mother’s name and cell phone number seven THOUSAND miles away while I was receiving CPR and a tourniquet around my head.