Wrangler Dani

Last weekend, we paddled across a lake on the Central Coast of California, and set up a tiny campsite under a live oak tree. We carried everything with us in the hulls of our kayaks, built a fire from branches and leaves, made meals with our trusty JetBoil and some freeze-dried soup. (It tasted better than it sounds.)

We fell asleep to the sound of foxes rustling in the bushes and crickets chirping under an open, silent sky. We awoke early to the honking of geese and gentle sunshine cresting the hilltops.

We made coffee, black and strong, and put our tents and sleeping bags back into our kayaks, packing everything away with precision and efficiency. As we slid our boats into the water, we watched the fog lift and felt the morning sun warming our backs. We paddled down the lake, and saw wild turkeys, geese, ducks, deer and even a black bear on the far shore.

Adam happily threw his line in the water, I laid back on my kayak and snoozed. The sun warmed our faces, the breeze kept us moving and the lake was still and silent, more like a lazy river than a true lake. My handsome husband reeled up his fishing line and grinned at me. “This is awesome,” he said. I couldn’t agree more.