I orginally posted this last holiday season, but I thought the Paddlewisers who've joined the family since then might get a chuckle from it:
The Night Before Christmas - The Kayaker's Version
by Philip Torrens
'Twas the night before Christmas, and throughout the boathouse,
Not a creature was stirring, no, not a sea-louse.
The sea-socks were hung by the Coleman with care,
in hopes that Saint Neptune soon would be there.
Our "minnows" were hammocked within the boat sheds,
while visions of paddle-floats danced in their heads.
And mama in her sprayskirt and I in my Nordkapp,
had just settled down for some long-overdue slap
(and tickle!)
When out in the cove there arose such a splashing,
I slipped from my cockpit to see who could be thrashing.
And what should my night-vision goggles define
but an over-sized umiak, towed by sea-lions.
With a little old pilot, so drippy and wet,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nep.
More rapid than tide-rips his swimmers they sailored
And he whistled and shouted and sternly loud-hailered;
"Now, Randell! Now Washbourne! Now Nigel and Vixen!
On Derrick! On Winters! -No dirty tricks, Nixon!
To the side of the dock! To the base of the ramps!
Now stroke away! Stroke away! Stroke away tramps!"
As he cracked with a bull kelp, they swam even more.
They first beached the boat, then tugged it further on shore.
And although they'd resent the name I'm afraid,
it was a seal landing those sea-lions made.
He was dressed in a wetsuit, from his toes to his bean!
Where on Earth did he find all that red neoprene?
A drybag of goodies he had flung on his back.
And he looked like a portager just heading on track.
He was chubby and plump - 'twould have been an annoyancy,
for an amphibious deity to lack positive buoyancy;
His hull shape was round and "softer" in chine,
and the beard of his chin was white with dried brine.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his chore,
And filled all the sea-socks; (and dripped on the floor)
And laying a pogie atop of his lid,
And giving a nod, down the launch ramp he slid.
He sprang to his boat, blew a Fox-40 whistle
and away they all sailed, like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere they did skidaddle:
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good Paddle!"
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