Chilling On The Hague

Yesterday I drove up to Virginia to meet the heaviest snowfall there in a quarter century, kayak atop my new ride. As they say in the theatre, if you bring a cannon onstage, you'd better fire it. So fast forward to today: 30 degrees, 30-mph wind, and me sliding into my kayak seat and paddling down the Hague--a residential tributary that leads to the Elizabeth River, the Chesapeake Bay, Atlantic Ocean, Indian Ocean and, theoretically, to China.

This happened not without protest from my youngest brother, who told me, among other things, "I'd rather hear about your death than see it in person." True, if I'd fallen in, all bets would be off, but I was actually warmer in the kayak than I've been for two days. It was significantly more cold in Colorado. I didn't even attract all that much attention. Apparently, dragging a blue kayak down the middle of Olney Rd. isn't that out of the ordinary.

I steered through a congregation of bewildered seagulls with beautiful, arctic-looking plumage. The water was choppy but quite manageable. I did hit a stiff headwind on the way back, but at no time did I feel out of control. As I've mentioned before, I can get in and out of a kayak like a trained monkey at this point.


This place--where I grew up and learned to paddle--is rife with kayaking options. I plan to hit at least three of them while I'm here. At the very least I want to see how the swamps compare to the ones in Florida. Bring it on.