I'm not a huge fan of fireworks. Although fire is cool, expanding smiley faces in the sky don't impress me anymore. But when my girlfriend Nicole
proposed that we watch the world-class Boston fireworks from a two-person kayak on the Charles river, as close to the launching barge as police would allow, it seemed like the superlative fireworks experience. Besides, even if the fireworks sucked, I'd get to zip around the Charles on a kayak and take some pictures.
We started at Charles River Canoe and Kayak, whose Boston (Brighton) location is about 7 minutes away from my house. We got there kinda late, but not late enough. After waiting in line, indemnifying CRCK from responsibility for our certain deaths, and receiving a quick lesson on how to paddle, we set off into the Charles from their dock.
Kayaking requires a lot of arm and shoulder work. Unlike a canoe, your legs lie straight along the bottom of the kayak, and do nothing except anchor your butt to the plastic seat. But for these drawbacks, you get a fairly fast and maneuverable little boat. A two-person kayak sacrifices some of the speed and maneuverability of the singular variant, but in return you get help with paddling and, depending on where you sit, either the ability to hear your companion's voice or stare at the back of her head.
It's also important to paddle in a coordinated fashion. "Whoever can steer best should be in back, and the person in front sets the pace," they taught us after we selected a $1000 plastic pod to spend the next 5 hours in. After about hour 4.2, I think these lessons clicked in and we mostly went straight and didn't have any jarring paddle collisions. (It turns out the secret is to pay attention to what's going on right in front of you. That was never an issue on the single kayaks I've used before, because mostly you want to look away from the canoes you're ramming as their inhabitants may be tempted to splash you… while they still can.)
On our way to the fireworks barge, I got rather hungry and we came to a live-parking-only dock so I could get a hot dog. The dock was seething with young men and women, in little clusters mostly discernable by shared seating towels and spoken languages. I climbed over them, still wearing my silly little life vest (seriously, the water of the Charles is great stability control) and eventually found the sausage stand. I shuddered as the last tentacles of yuppiedom clasped around my neck, and paid seven dollars yes seven whole American dollars for a sausage with peppers on a bun. Oh well, at least it was a tasty sausage. And I could return to Nicole, who was sitting pretty on a kayak in front of hundreds of increasingly drunk folks ("does that thing have a V-8? heh heh heh"). On the way out, an hispanic guy offered us some seating space and vodka, and it seemed genuinely kind and friendly, harkening to a society and culture where young strangers don't need to be afraid of each other. Of course, we already had better seats planned.
Here's where we planted ourselves: video 1, 3.6MB .avi: In front of the barge.
The fireworks themselves were surreal. Closer than I'd ever been: the explosions filled my entire field of vision, and then some. Shockingly loud. And there we were, floating in the middle of hundreds of thousand of people, paddling backward so the current didn't draw us into the restricted zone. I don't have any more words for it, so instead see video 2, 14.5MB .avi: The most amazing fireworks I've ever seen.
How did it end? Two hours of strenous paddling, strapping a kayak on foam blocks to the roof of my coupe, and 5 hours of sleep before returning the boat and heading to work. In other words, a perfect urban adventure.