THE CANOE

Waikiki, Hawaii
1988

Anyone who has seen the tv show Hawaii 5-0 has seen that great shot of an outrigger canoe plunging through the waves of the Pacific Ocean. What makes this style of canoe so useful in turbulent water is that wonderful arm stretching out from one side. This arm, called an Ama, stabilizes the craft so well that it is hard to tip the canoe over – though certainly not impossible. Still, the outrigger canoe is so relatively safe that there are numerous canoe clubs in Hawaii for all levels of experience, including a canoe club for blind people.
I, like many human beings, didn’t know about dealing with blindness until a friend of mine actually went blind. The way she handled it inspires me to this day. Instead of shrinking, as I might have, she expanded…she wanted to do everything she could find. And then she found the blind canoe club. The Outrigger Canoe Club of Hawaii had graciously allowed a group of blind paddlers to use a canoe once a week. They paddled in the Ala Wai Canal that borders beautiful Waikiki, a lovely canal that led to the ocean. It was usually a peaceful place, but the right combination of wind and tide could make for a rougher ride at times.
Between her schooling for the sight-impaired and her white cane, my friend, Fran, had very little trouble getting to where she wanted to go, but that wasn’t true for this canoe club. They shoved off at a difficult location, with many turns and vegetation, and potholes in the dirt parking lot. So she asked for my help to get her there and back. Of course I was happy to help; Saturdays became a regular thing for us, I would help her get there and back, and she would buy me lunch.
It was then that I met the club; sure enough, everyone was blind expect for the Steersman, a nice man who actually belonged to the main club and volunteered his time for this endeavor. The canoe they used was an eight-seater, and gorgeous. They would spend an hour going up and down this canal, and gaining respectable speeds at times. I learned the people’s names and I often was of use helping people in and out. It was great for everyone.
And then it was announced that the Steersman would soon be leaving for a few weeks, to visit family in Japan, and that a replacement had not be found. Sadly he told them that after one more week the blind canoe club would be cancelled for a month, maybe more. Expecting to hear groans and protest I was surprised instead to hear my name from multiple sources. They were claiming that I could take the Steersman’s place.
I’m glad that most of them could not see my face, because I’m sure it would have revealed my thoughts, “Are you effing crazy?!” Besides the fact that I had only been in Hawaii four years, I was not exactly fond of the ocean sports. I immediately began my protesting and then suddenly the group took on a new atmosphere…an attitude I had not seen before. They didn’t beg, or cajole me, try to bribe me or even cry – they went straight to guilt. How dare I even consider saying no to them when this was the single most awesome event of their week? How could I be so cold to the war vets and retired nurses that were in the club? What could I say? What would you have said?
So, I learned how to be a steersman for a eight-seater outrigger canoe. I’m happy to report that they are indeed as easy to maneuver as I had hoped, and after some practice I was tolerable at the cadence (it is the steersman that calls out when the paddle should switch hands). I was honored to do this for them, and I even enjoyed doing it, except for that one day. Suddenly a man in the front position stood up, screaming that something had bit him, which made almost everyone else stand up. I can’t say that I blame them, they couldn’t see what danger might be lurking at their feet, but the canoe was now moving erratically and I wasn’t sure what would happen first, we would tip over or hit the canal’s wall and then tip over.
I yelled for them to sit and be still, but I could tell they didn’t hear me. I screamed: “Sit down or I will jump out of the canoe!” I don’t think I would have done that, but just the image of trying to round them up from the salt water was making me feel close to panick. But, as scared as they were, the idea of being without a steersman scared them more and, gratefully, all sat. I told them to hold their feet in the air and I quickly crawled under, looking for what had hurt the front man. It was a fish, about five inches long, that had jumped into the canoe. The fin had cut the man’s foot, just at the heel. The wound did not look deep but it was still bleeding. We called it a day and got the canoe back to the landing.
I don’t know what I was expecting back on shore, but it is always foolish to underestimate the handicapped. Without skipping a beat they acted as if nothing happened, changed to their street shoes and we scheduled for next week. The lead man brushed me away when I tried to help him with his shoes and warned me that if I ever yelled at him again he would ignore me completely. I believed him completely.
But then Fran took me out to lunch and bragged to anyone who listened how I had just saved seven blind outrigger canoe paddlers, and that made my day.

I love you for that, Fran.