Rolling with the waves

It seemed that despite my paranoia about the changing weather we were condemned to yet another day filled with glassy smooth water, mild temperatures, and glorious fall foliage.

We glided past one chateaux or mansion after another, speaking to unimaginable wealth or power. When we stopped at one huge private beach for lunch (sign: “No passage or nudism”) the sun even broke out. To our right views of Mont Blanc came and went, the peaks I hiked through at the start of my adventure last June came ever more clearly into view, and then the twin peaks Tour d’Aï and Tour de Mayen above my old home village of Leysin hove into view. It all seemed a little too magnificent to believe. Next spot to get out and play tourist: St-Prex.

But just as we pulled around the point and St-Prex came into view, we both commented on a sudden drop in temperature. A few minutes later a breeze sprouted out of nowhere and the water ruffled. Pretty soon the wind was strong at our backs and the disturbed water turned choppy, then whitecaps sprouted, soon followed by rolling waves that we would have surfed on their faces had we not been so heavy, but we definitely slid a little on the backsides as water broke over the middle of the boat, swamping the spray deck so that water trickled through onto my seat.

By now our wet shirtsleeves weren’t nearly warm enough, so when a jetty offered shelter to pull out behind, we gratefully took it. Fortified with paddling jackets for dry warmth, we were soon back on the water. But by the time we passed St-Prex our thoughts were on the big side-wind crossing to Lausanne, not on stopping for sightseeing. The big fear was that the weather would deteriorate further, the waves would grow taller, and we’d not be able to reach Ouchy, where my hotel awaited (yes, I’ve gone soft since leaving the Rhine). We’d been warned by our kayak provider that if we saw flashing lights from special lighthouse-like poles on the shore to head for land immediately, as wind storms here can come out of nowhere. So our perpetual dilemma was over how far from shore to paddle – the waves seemed to break less 200 or 300 meters from shore, but more importantly we could maintain an angle to the wind and turn straight downwind when particularly large rollers swept by. If along the shore we’d be parallel to the waves, though within a better swim distance if it came to that – or more likely, escape distance if something truly nasty developed.

Soon we paddled into a cluster of sailboats going around in circles like a flock of seagulls. A power boat pulled up near us and asked if we were alright, then if we were well prepared. “The wind can get fierce,” he said. When a few minutes later a “sauvetage” boat with flashing lights came toward us fast we figured he was going to tell us to go in. Instead he wanted our help to bring a rope from his boat to one that had drifted ashore and was broadside on the beach. At first we agreed and pulled closer to shore where after several tries he managed to throw us the heavy rope. But as soon as I had it in my hands we were nearing the surf and it was clear we could go no further without swamping or beaching ourselves, so I cast off the line and we paddled back into the open water.

But by now the wind was rapidly dying. The waves continued to roll by, either remnants from the earlier blow or perhaps it was blowing hard still back toward Geneva, where it seemed to be coming from.

By the time we pulled into Ouchy on the east side of Lausanne, after six hours of paddling, we were cruising easily through rolling but inconsequential waves. It had been a magnificent day, a fitting end of Jay’s journey with me. I’ll be waiting here in Lausanne for a day until Dale Bechtel can climb into the second cockpit and take me into St-Gingolph and the end of my own journey. Until next summer, that is, when the mountains return.