During the mid–90s, while on a golfing trip with some redneck Alabama coal miners, I got an opportunity to go sailing in Pensacola Bay with an old acquaintance. Prince was not your typical southern working man. He was a quiet, thoughtful, well–read kind of guy who demanded intelligent conversation.

He owned a 24–foot boat with a small cabin below deck. The only unnatural power was a trolling motor he rarely used. I had been out with him before and fell in love with gliding across the water without making a sound. There was something natural and fulfilling about co–operating with Mother Nature rather than beating her into submission like we usually do. (I grew up in the 60s. What do you expect?)

I invited my two younger sons along. They were living in Pensacola with their momma, and I figured they would enjoy sailing as much as I did. The boat needed someone to maintain the sail and someone to steer. Nothing else was required except enjoying the experience.

I was doing just that early on when I noticed the looks being exchanged by my sons. They were waiting on the fun to start. Then it dawned on me; two typical boys in their early 20s weren’t going to be impressed by anything that didn’t offer high speed, powerful noise, or a heaving bosom. I like those things too, but not exclusively. To this day they make fun of me for thinking they would enjoy sailing.

Lately, I’ve discovered another activity my sons wouldn’t appreciate. Kayaking. My oldest visited for a week of golf in April and was offered the opportunity to go out in a kayak. He declined without so much as a second thought. Some things just aren’t interesting to some people.

The first time I stuck a paddle in the water was from a homemade wooden boat on the Cahaba River in Central Alabama. We graduated to aluminum boats and eventually canoes. Paddling down a moving stream is an exceptional experience. It is especially memorable in places like the Cahaba where you might not encounter another human for eight hours.

Paddling on a lake is a bit more strenuous but equally as satisfying. The sound a paddle makes sliding through water cleanses the soul for a long time.

I’ve seen rainbow trout in a quiet pool so clear you could see to China. I’ve watched deer and raccoon drink undisturbed as I drifted by. I’ve felt the wind in my face as we cut through the ocean powered by only the wind where the only sound was a strange singing the bow made as it cut through waves. I’ve been in the marshes around Hilton Head, one of the most congested places in South Carolina, and watched a dolphin from five feet away.

And last weekend Suzy (the woman whose garbage I am responsible for) and I were heading back to the dock, finished for the day, when we saw a bald eagle. He was soaring above us, curious about what we were doing, undisturbed by our presence.

Even my sons would have been impressed.