“She is tall…”
“I know. She gets it from my mom’s side. I’ve always been the runt of the litter in my family.”
“It must be such a challenge for you,” I offered, with a mock sad face. “If I had my guitar, I’d play you a mournful song.”
“Oh, shut up,” she retorted, splashing a little water on me with her paddle, making me duck.
We continued our easy paddling, enjoying the stillness. After a while, remembering the directions, I kept my eyes peeled for the opening that led to the channel through the mangroves. Eventually I spotted it and steered toward it. At the mouth, it was nine or ten feet wide, but it narrowed quickly, making it difficult for us to paddle side by side.
“Do you want to go first or should I?”
She hesitated. “Normally I’d ask you to go first, in case there’s a bear or a giant python or whatever. But I might want you in the back in case I tip over. So you don’t leave me behind.”
“I wouldn’t leave you behind,” I protested. “Besides, I don’t think there are any bears here. And you’re probably not heavy enough to tip over the kayak even if you tried.”
“Which only leaves me worried about giant pythons.”
“I’m pretty sure that won’t be an issue, either. But just so you know, it’s usually the second or third person in line that gets attacked by a snake. The first one is already past the snake by the time it realizes what’s happening and gets ready to strike.”
“Then by all means, I’ll lead the way.”
I smiled, following a few feet behind her. Within a minute, the channel had narrowed even more and the branches above us formed something akin to a tunnel. The water was as smooth as a tabletop, the air cooled by the shade. Watching Morgan paddle, I noted that she moved with the unbroken ease of the dancer she was. In the trees on either side of us, crabs scurried on the branches. I was watching one of them when I heard her calling out to me.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m right behind you.”
“Just making sure.”
I don’t know how long the channel was, but we remained beneath the tunneled canopy of branches for ten or fifteen minutes. Occasionally she would point to something she’d seen—usually a crab or cluster of crabs—and call out to check if I was still behind her, which struck me as silly, because it would have been nearly impossible to turn around even if I wanted to. Mostly, though, we paddled in silence in what seemed to be another world, both eerie and serene.
In time, the channel began to widen, more sunlight broke through the canopy, and, with a few more strokes, we emerged into a large estuary.
“That was awesome,” Morgan said, her eyes wide. “For a few minutes there, it felt like I was lost in time.”
“I had the same feeling.”
“Where are we?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“Do you know how to get back?”
“Same way we got here, I guess.”
The sun had risen in the sky, and the sudden lack of shade made it feel even more intense. Morgan rested her paddle in her lap and continued taking in the scenery while I did my best not to stare at her exposed skin, glistening with a delicate sheen of sweat.
The current was weak but enough to allow our kayaks to drift farther apart. When I dipped my paddle into the water to close the gap, I noticed a shadow in the water maybe six feet behind Morgan. From my angle, it looked like a log or a rock, but strangely it also seemed to be moving.
A few quick strokes and I zipped past her. As soon as I peered over the side of my kayak into the water, I realized what I was seeing.
“What are you doing?” Morgan asked, rotating her kayak.
“It’s a manatee,” I responded in a hushed voice.
The top of it was maybe a yard below the surface, and I watched its huge, wide flippers paddle almost in slow motion. By then Morgan was approaching, excitement and apprehension in her expression.
“Are they dangerous?”
“No, but it’s probably illegal to get too close. I don’t know for sure, though.”
“I want to see,” she said, paddling in my direction. I leaned over and grabbed her kayak, slowing it until it stopped. Morgan stared into the water.
“It’s huge!” she whispered.
I had no idea how big manatees generally were, but it seemed to be only a little shorter in length than our kayak, maybe the size of a small hippo. Though they sometimes appeared in North Carolina, sightings were rare, and I’d never been that lucky. As I watched, Morgan found her phone and started to take photos. Examining them, she frowned.