So. The waves are going to either tip us over or smash us into the rocks. We're not visible from the shore, and nobody knows we're here. We're not wearing lifejackets. I'm a poor swimmer and Lyn's a panicky one. And neither of us knows the first thing about ocean kayaking.
It's not that I'm afraid of dying; that happens to everybody. I'm afraid of dying a fool.
But we have no choice, so we paddle harder. I lean back into the harness to put my back into the strokes, causing the harness to snap. My forearms are burning. With the current against us, hard strokes count for little but weak strokes count for nothing at all.
We round the point and the waves subside as we paddle up to the shore on the other side. Staggering out, we pull the kayak up on to the rocks, well clear of the tide. It's not a very good beach.
And we've still got to get home.