This is the first draft of Paddle with the Swell. I wrote this a few years ago before I started exploring Community Relational Storytelling.
I will share the transformational journey as I revise and edit this story.
Paddle with the Swell
by Catalina Guzman
Lost in the thick tangle of exhaustion from a night of tossing and turning, Lana rubbed her hand over her face as she walked barefoot on the dirt path toward the beach.
She knew her daughter, Paluma, would be preparing the galaide for their journey to Oropa Beach.
The morning’s warm breeze felt like a damp blanket enshrouding her from Paluma and the rest of the village.
The pounding of her heart surged to her throat as she glimpsed Paluma through the coconut trees.
Gritty sand grated her toes as her daughter leaned into the galaide and began to bail water that had accumulated from yesterday’s rain.
Kiku was the reason they were going to paddle-out. It had been a year since they lost him.
Paluma had asked to blow the kulo’, the triton shell, in memory of her father. They would place flowers on the swell and say goodbye to him like they had said goodbye to Kiku’s father.
Lana’s pounding heart calmed as she walked up to the galaide and ran her hand over the gleaming, wooden surface.
This twenty-five-foot-long and two-foot-deep canoe had been shaped and sanded by her late husband. This was the galaide he had carved with his father from a broad lemai tree trunk. Two long poles stuck out to the left of the canoe and were attached to the outrigger, which provided stability.
Lana remembered how the narrow first seat had dug into her full hips the day she and Kiku had been flipped over by a rogue wave and were swept into a rocky cliff face.
Grief over Kiku’s loss had gr gripped her entirely since then. Today, her slender hips would easily fit into the small seat. She was not the only one affected. Paluma had lost the happy glow she’d had whenever she was near her father.
“Do you see the clouds to the north?” Lana asked Paluma.
“The galaide looks like it’s in good shape,” said Paluma as she placed an oversized paddle on the back seat.
“The wind seems to be picking up.”
“I brought an extra paddle.”
“We need to check the rigging.”
“We’re ready to go.”
“Did you bring the flowers?”
“Don’t worry Mom, we’re not alone.”
Paluma’s dark eyes flashed as she lashed the extra paddle onto the pole closer to the front of the canoe.
Lana’s shoulders stooped under her loose-fitting black shirt. A surge of unrest surrounded her.
She had survived. He had not.
After the accident, she had flipped the boat back over, then paddled to the nearest beach. There she had walked up and down the rocky shore calling for him until her throat was raw. When the sun had begun to disappear behind the cliffs, she had paddled home. Alone.
Paluma picked up two kulo’ and handed one to Lana.
They stood next to the galaide and faced the ocean. Paluma raised her kulo’ to her lips and blew.
Lana’s breath caught in her throat. A rippling ache coursed through her body as she remembered Kiku blowing this kulo’ at their wedding.
As she listened, the tone grew mournful.
Paluma paused and turned toward her mother.
Lana looked to the horizon. She raised her kulo’ to her lips, inhaled, and blew.
The grief-filled notes floated over the reef for a heartful of moments.
When Lana finished, she handed the kulo’ to Paluma. She placed both shells in a palm leaf sack that she tied shut and secured to one of the poles.
Regret surged through Lana’s veins. She didn’t want to go back to Oropa Beach.
She had agreed to the paddle-out but hadn’t realized at first that Paluma wanted to go there.
The only way to get to the isolated beach was to paddle. They would have to pass the cliffs and go to the windward side of the island where the currents crossed and the swell slammed into the rocky shoreline.
Paluma placed a circlet of flowers on the nose of the canoe, an offering for Kiku. They would place the flowers on the swell and blow the kulo’ again.
They picked up the canoe and carried it to where the sand met the warm, salty water and slid the boat into the reef.
Lana hoped this trip would give Paluma the opportunity to regain the spirit she had lost when she found out he would never come home.
Paluma stepped into the galaide and took her place in the front seat. She needed to keep a consistent, steady pace to propel the galaide forward.
Lana placed one foot in the canoe and pushed off from the beach. She lifted her other foot in, sat on the back seat and picked up the steering paddle.
Rising anxiety moved from her stomach to her throat as she shifted her weight to the right and felt the slender outrigger lift slightly off the water.
Kiku had rigged this canoe. He liked the outrigger to be a bit closer to the hull than usual. He wanted to fly. It also made the boat easier to flip over.
Lana took two easy strokes forward and maneuvered the galaide to face toward the crashing waves beckoning them to the edge of the reef, which lay half a mile to the west.
“When you’re ready,” said Lana.
Two paddles sliced the water in unison. Each stroke moved Lana and Paluma farther away from the beach and into the clear, calm waters of the reef.
Lana slid her paddle into the water on the left side of the boat for a second. That was enough to make a slight directional correction to the right. The outrigger slapped the water with every stroke.
Paluma maintained a rhythm that urged the galaide forward.
As they approached the break in the reef that opened into the ocean, Lana felt her chest tighten and her stomach churn like the current.
This was the first time she’d sat in a canoe since Kiku died. She wasn’t sure she still had enough skill to steer them in the water that had claimed her husband’s life.
“It’s to the right,” said Paluma.
Lana glanced into the clear water below and saw the coral recede, a narrow channel opened up.
“I can see the channel now,” said Lana. There was no going back.
She braced her legs on the sides of the galaide. “Go!”
Two paddles gripped the water in front of them, and they pulled hard for three strokes. Together they surged toward the incoming wave.
Lana corrected to the left and then to the right. Above her daughter’s head, she saw the crest of the wave.
She held her breath as the water washed over her head.
They emerged out of the back of the wave gliding over the edge of the coral wall that separated the reef from the ocean.
Lana steered them into the wind and against the four-foot-high swell.
Paluma didn’t miss a stroke — not even when the front of the thin boat stuck out over the water and she paddled air. She kept the same consistent rhythm.
Lana knew they needed to change directions and head north. She dipped her paddle on the left. The front of the galaide swung to the right.
Now, the wind and the swell pushed against the outrigger, threatening to flip it up over their heads and drop them into the water.
Each time the outrigger lifted off the water, Paluma shifted her hip to the left.
The slap of the outrigger on the water calmed Lana a little until the next swell lifted it again a few seconds later.
It had been a long time since she had felt the tendency of the galaide to turn the way the swell pushed. Steering required constant adjustment and awareness of the power surging below.
“Paddles up,” said Lana.
Paluma lifted her paddle out of the water and rested it on the gunwales of the canoe.
Lana stuck her paddle into the water against the hull, turning the galaide into the swell to increase their stability and keep them from drifting back to the reef.
“I’m not tired,” said Paluma as she gripped her paddle fiercely.
“I didn’t say you were tired,” said Lana.
“It’s not that much farther.”
Lana struggled to keep the boat facing the swell. It wasn’t the distance that she feared, it was the wind. The constant threat of flipping over took hold of her.
“Hand me the kulo’. I want to do it here,” said Lana.
“It was a rogue wave, Mom. It wasn’t your fault,” said Paluma.
Lana knew Paluma was right. Kiku had tried to ride it out, but they’d flipped over at the base of the cliffs near Oropa Beach.
“The swell is getting bigger the longer we sit here,” said Paluma. “Make a decision.”
Paluma sat with her chin up and back straight.
Lana took a deep breath and choked down the uneasiness in her throat. “When you’re ready.”
Paluma reached out in front of her and pulled them forward toward Oropa Beach.
They continued in silence, passing several isolated beaches.
Lana relaxed a little as she began using the swell to their advantage. She steered the galaide to the shoulder of a swell and over the top.
They rounded a wall of cliffs emerging on the other side of the island. The crosswind buffeted the outrigger.
Lana watched the outrigger pop up and hang in the air a foot above the swell for a few seconds.
Paluma leaned a hand onto the pole behind her and slammed the outrigger back onto the water.
Lana panicked. She dipped her paddle on the right, causing the nose of the galaide to cut a hard angle into the growing swell and lift the outrigger up and over their heads.
The last thing Lana saw before going under the water was Paluma’s long black hair and the paddle slipping out of her hands.
Lana slid into the water on her back, seeing the outline of the boat against the sunlight as she sank.
She felt relief as she descended deeper and deeper into the dark. The swell was soothing below the surface. She gave in to the current and allowed herself to be carried away from Paluma.
But soon, her lungs began to burn for oxygen.
She remembered calling Kiku’s name until her throat was raw.
She couldn’t leave Paluma to face the long paddle home. Alone.
Lana kicked hard, pulling herself toward the light above her.
She burst out of the water on top of a swell and gasped for air, then spun in a circle looking for Paluma.
Her heart quickened. She drifted to the bottom of a swell.
Paluma cried out frantically for her mother.
Overcome with relief, Lana called, “I’m here.”
The circlet of flowers began to float away in the current.
Hesitating, Lana chose to let the flowers go and swam to her daughter instead.
“I’ve got the paddles,” said Paluma.
“I thought I lost you.” Lana took the paddles from her daughter.
“I’m still here Mom.”
Paluma put a hand on the upside-down canoe and a foot onto one of the poles, which stuck out on the right side of the galaide.
She was able to stand up and balance on the pole. She leaned over the smooth hull and held onto the gunwale, which was underwater.
When she leaned back, the outrigger lifted off the swell and arced over her head. The outrigger slapped the water.
“Get in first,” said Paluma.
Lana pulled herself into the boat. It had taken on water that reached halfway up her calves.
She began to bail out water as Paluma climbed in.
Once they had bailed enough to paddle, Lana steered them again toward Oropa Beach.
When they reached the beach, Lana stepped out of the galaide first and pulled it onto the sand.
Once it was secure, Paluma retrieved both kulo’ from the sack and handed one to her mother.
“Those are the rocks.” Lana motioned with her hand toward a large outcropping that formed a flat shelf jutting out into the ocean.
The crashing waves below reminded Lana of the fragility of life.
Paluma followed her mother to where the sand met rock.
Lana stopped, wishing she knew what to say. She hoped this would be close enough, but she knew Paluma would climb onto the treacherous rocks.
Lana couldn’t stop her daughter.
“Watch the surf,” she said, instead.
“I know.” Paluma steadily climbed up a few feet onto the rocky shelf.
“I’m not sure you really understand.”
“I understand.”
“That’s what he thought and look what happened.”
Lana wanted to grab her daughter and hold onto her and protect her. She wanted to scream at her that she missed Kiku, too.
“I’m not him,” said Paluma as she looked down at her mother.
She held out her hand. Lana grasped it, allowing her daughter to help her climb up onto the shelf.
Paluma stood on the edge of the rocky shelf. Salt spray misted over her.
Lana’s heart began to race. She looked out over the ocean and clapped a hand over her mouth.
They were not alone.
There were all types of canoes positioned a safe distance from the crashing swell. They had heard the call and come.
Lana recognized her neighbor who steered a six-seat galaide with his children paddling.
The largest canoe had a triangular sail where an elder from the village cradled her kulo’ in her lap.
Paluma waved to her cousins who paddled their canoes around the others and laid flowers on the swell.
Standing beside Paluma, Lana put the kulo’ to her lips, inhaled, and blew a long note.
As she blew, another note sounded, and another, and another.
Many different pitches filled the air, drowning out the thunderous surf below them.
The ache that gripped Lana’s heart began to weaken with the growing intensity of the music soaring over the ocean.
At last, Lana blew the final note.
Paluma turned to her mother, gazing at her with red, swollen eyes. She smiled and held her arms open.
Lana stepped into their embrace.
“We’re not alone,” whispered Lana. Paluma’s tears fell hot against her neck.
After a moment, the two women separated.
“So many people,” Lana murmured. She waved to everyone who came to bring them home.
Then, they took each other’s hands and made their way back down the rocks to the sand.
They stowed the two kulo’ in the galaide.
Paluma walked to the back of the canoe and picked up the steering paddle.
“I’ll get us home,” she said and pushed the galaide into the water.
On the way home, they paddled with the swell.
Each rise and fall brought them closer to the comfort of the village and the bond of family.
Lana sat in the front of the canoe and kept a strong and steady rhythm.
Paluma surrendered to the pull of the current and the swell and paddled them home.
Comments
One response to “Paddle with the Swell- First Draft”
So exciting & beautiful!