It seems an eternity since last I plied the local waters in my kayak. I think it was sometime in early August the last time I launched at Pushaw Lake. I know the last time I paddled anywhere was on Aug. 16 when my wife, Kathy, and I ventured out on Narraguagus Bay, paddling to the end of Tom Leighton Point.

I’m so sure, you see, because that was during my first week of a two-week vacation. Extreme Makeover was up the road getting ready to start the “Ray-Smith Family Project,” and that weekend, Saturday morning, I fell and broke my ankle.

Last weekend I decided enough already with the cautionary stuff, I needed some fresh air, something a whole lot fresher than airport fumes and Union Street traffic effluent. I’d been entertaining the thought of getting back in my boat, but stiff winds Saturday and Sunday made me chicken out. A land-based outing would have to suffice.

When friend and former “Baron of the Bunny Hutch” Robert Causey called on Sunday to ask if I’d be interested in a jaunt in the University Forest I practically jumped. (No, jumping isn’t yet on my list of things I can do yet) at the opportunity. Kathy and I met Robert and his two dogs at College Avenue extension and we drove up to the Sewall Road that passes through the 2,000-acre Dwight B. Demeritt forest. You may recall we’ve done a few outings there. If you haven’t visited, put it on your list of places to go when you want a close-to-home quiet walk in the woods. A map is available online or through the Maine Bound office.

We had a delightful walk in the woods, going the length of the dirt road that took us out to Stillwater Avenue near the Old Town YMCA, then followed a couple of loops back through the woods to the Sewall Road and back to the car. I’d guess we walked a few miles, enough to make my newly healed ankle complain – and the other one, too! It has amazed me how quickly I’ve fallen out of shape with the inactivity caused by this bum ankle!

Just to ensure I would be totally trashed, I raked leaves when I got home. Bed Sunday night was welcome.

Monday morning, like the few before it, was sunny and clear. Better yet there was no wind. And although the temperature hovered in the low 20s, the forecast was for something a bit warmer. I was determined to head out for a paddle, to break my long paddling drought.

Around mid-day I began the archaeological dig in the garage to find my buried paddling gear. The kayaks were high and dry as were the skirts and life jackets and dry-wear. But it took a little searching to dig up the neoprene high-top boots and gloves that have languished since late last spring. The racks fell into place on the roof. I struggled with my Valley Argonaut. It seemed to have gained more weight than I had in the past three months! We came to an agreement and I cinched it onto the racks.

The nine-mile drive to the lake provided me enough time to go over my mental checklist. I had Gould Landing to myself, actually the whole lake. I took my time outfitting the boat and pulling on the dry top and dry pants, making sure I had everything. (When you’ve been away for a few months, the pre-trip preparation takes a bit more thought.)

Convinced that all was right I eased into the cockpit and wrestled with my spray skirt. I didn’t remember it being so cantankerous, nor had it been so difficult reaching around behind me to slip the bungee over the cockpit rim. The extra clothing and pounds provided the challenge. (I took a mental note to begin a regimen of exercise and fewer bites.)

The Werner paddle felt good beneath my gloved hands as I began a medium-paced, deliberate cadence. No use getting all winded and sweaty. I concentrated on proper paddling form and watched my bow wake drift outward. The crunch of skim ice being pushed aside by the hull sounded decibels louder in the stillness of the afternoon. I pierced two or three floating patches before I cleared the cove and set course for Moose Island to the east.

Hardly a ripple disturbed the mirrored surface as I passed the halfway point. A pair of loons watched nervously then went about gathering lunch as I passed. I half expected to see my eagle friend, Eddie. No such luck. As I ducked into northern shadow of the beach cove, the glistening of ice on bush branches near the water caught my eye like glittering baubles of a chandelier. Sunlight filtering through the trees caught them just right.

They were formed over the past few days, no doubt, by the wind-driven waves splashing over the rocks and onto the bushes. Their icy beauty was also a reminder that the season for fresh-water paddling is fast coming to a close.

My right leg talked to me in its sleep, saying a stop at the nearby beach was necessary. The stretch and walkabout on dry land felt good after a few minutes. (There’s this awkward period when you wonder if your foot’s still connected to your leg, right?) Earlier in the year, this stop wouldn’t have been necessary, but not this day. I would have loved to stay longer, but lengthening shadows spurred me back to the boat. Midafternoon and it was already feeling like evening! I’m beginning to think there’s something enticing about southern latitudes.

My challenge for this day would be to circumnavigate the island, then set course for the car. The eastern side of Moose was quiet, save for a dozen or so mergansers. All but one flew off on my approach. The lone sentinel and I exchanged glances as I passed. On the southern side my loon buddies were all that disturbed the water’s surface.

With about a mile left, I was beginning to feel the effects of inactivity over the past few months. This three-mile paddle that I’ve done numerous times before in an hour seemed to be taking hours!

But it’s a start. I’ve vowed to get back into an exercise regimen, take off some of this spare tire and get back out now that I can. It’ll take a while, but it’s going to happen.

Jeff Strout’s column on outdoor recreation is published on Saturday. He can be reached at 990-8202 or by e-mail at jstrout@bangordailynews.net.