The season for paddling in the dark. In the rain. Three hours before sunrise in the cold morning air, wool gloves on if it’s a paddleboard session, pogies if it’s a kayak ride. Sea lions huff and puff in the darkness somewhere out in the middle of the Narrows, and the odd heron spooks in the shadows, its pterodactyl-like curses a reminder of whose home it is, out here. A reminder of who the intruder is, in case you are not aware.
This is winter in Cascadia. You can almost hear the mushrooms growing, feel the salmon traveling below the hull in the gray morning air. It is going to be a good day.