Drifting across waters less traveled

By Dana Zions

At the beginning of my two week institute in Reno, Nevada, I had overheard a local comparing her experience at Lake Tahoe to numerous trips to other lakes and parks. She said she found herself always saying, “Yeah, it’s pretty here… but Tahoe is better.”

I was determined to then to see this Tahoe.

On a Sunday I ended up at a little shop called Adrift Tahoe that was nestled among towering pine trees. I noticed plenty of bright orange kayaks and a variety of paddleboards, all of different colors and sizes, most of which looked brand new.

I had done some simple kayaking numerous times along the Chicago River back home and all over Lake Michigan near New Buffalo Beach and was comfortable with it.

Another teacher that was with my group, Kekama Amona, insisted that I ditch it this time. “You gotta do the stand-up paddleboard,” he said. “It’s just really cool. When you get out there on the water, you’ll love it.”

Floating away. Adrift Tahoe, a surf shop on Kings Beach, displays a prized paddleboard. “You just feel less stressed here,” says owner Marc Tingle.

I wasn’t too sure about how well I would move with the board, but I remembered that I had wanted an adventure. I am pretty open-minded and I figured I probably wouldn’t get the chance to do something new at this Lake Tahoe again anytime soon.

So four of us headed out on the water, first riding the paddleboards out in a sitting position. I had never been surfing before but I sort of felt like that was what I was about to do. I had nothing with me but a life vest and a bottle of water strapped to the board. I felt a little off.

Amona, the only one with boarding experience, guided us through the beginning. I hopped up from my knees to balance on all fours. I lifted my hands very slowly and rose to a standing position.

Trying to concentrate on all of the techniques being shared with me, I dipped the oar into the water. I began pushing myself to the right. I kept my knees slightly bent and stayed as perpendicular as I could with the movement of the water.

This isn’t so tough afterall, I thought. I can do this.

I saw the others getting situated, and I figured since I was already moving, I could keep practicing on my own. I started gliding across the water, making faster, bigger strokes with the oar. Then I started to lose my balance.

My right foot moved backwards quickly, and I panicked a little. I dropped to my hands and knees before I had a chance to topple overboard.

I glanced behind me and felt anxiety hit. My friends were much further away from me now, and I was stuck.

I realized that I had to do something. Only I could move myself. I had to get back up. And toppling overboard would also not mean sudden death.

I actually smiled to myself, and as I brushed off the fall I thought about how to regain my balance. I hopped up from my knees again, strategically, so that my feet straddled parallel to the handle in the center of the board.

Gradually, I stood tall.

Even as I tried to concentrate on technique, I awed, mesmerized almost, at the clarity of the water beneath my feet.

I continued to consider my movements and stumbled slightly until I remembered what Amona had said was one of the most important tips for paddleboarding: “Don’t look down; look up!”

I brought my eyes ahead of me, and I saw that amid my boarding attempts, I had almost forgotten where I was.

Before me there was what looked like a perfect photograph, a postcard even, for this place called Lake Tahoe. The cerulean waters sparkled into the distance.

It was instinctual for me to want to grab my phone or my camera, but I didn’t have the storage of a kayak out here. I bitterly regretted that I wouldn’t be able to share this with my family and friends back home.

Photography has always been a passion of mine but it had been a pursuit for me for the past few months. I am constantly trying to take better photos, understand the camera, adjust for lighting, create interesting angles, match aperture and shutter speed, and just focus.

But I had no camera. There was just me, 2,000 miles from home.

I thought about home. I thought about how I constantly pushed myself there physically too, to run further. I had said that with asthma and a lousy back it had been the single hardest thing I had done in my life. I ran mile after mile across flat city streets, tracking my progress on my phone.

I didn’t like to run with others because I didn’t like to feel pressured. There were times I had to stop with a tight chest and an angry mind. I set small goals for myself, and I felt ecstatic when I reached them. I knew I could push myself.

I kept telling myself to row further across the lake to the point jutting out. Don’t give up, I told myself. Just a little further.

I felt the muscles in my stomach crunching with each stroke. And I looked up and down at all the natural beauty in front of me, and I stopped thinking so much. I realized how much open space and fresh air was around me, and how alone and little I really was in this place.

The warmth of the sun was seeping into my back, beads of sweat were sliding down my head and arms, the cool water was spilling occasionally over my feet, and I was standing on the surface of a lake so vast, encompassed by massive, desert mountains.

As a young, urban Midwesterner, I had never known much about Lake Tahoe’s existence, nor much about standup paddleboarding. I paddled a few miles that Sunday, on my own.

The photographs I took are only those in my memory. Instead, I captured an emotion in myself. I felt grateful for the places and the people in my life who pushed me, and I felt reassured and empowered through my own accomplishments.

Graffiti with guidance

By Dana Zions

 

Graffiti.

A threatening word to the public.

Water Under the Bridge. A bridge on Keystone Street, painted by artist Pan Pantoja and local high school students, portrays a mural dedicated to “forgiveness and moving on.”

 Business owners and city workers condemn it, are left feeling violated as the properties they own are imposed with selfish acts of graffitists.

 The crime, however, has become a desirable art form for many, one that attracts young people everywhere for its liberating power of expression.

The “menaces” performing these acts feel empowered in their rebellion to authorities, free to share their thoughts and their talents on whatever neighborhood wall seems suitable.

Conduct a search on Instagram as simple as #renograffiti to view the latest and greatest graffiti work from local artists.

Users commend each other in comments on the excellence of their art, question where to find the best walls or spots in the area to target, and notify about graffiti pieces that have been buffed out.

Among the graffiti admirers, there is criticism. “Nice to see someone piecing instead of just bombing around here,” one local comments on a photo of some art under a bridge on the Truckee River.

“Piecing” refers to art, many times text, that has multiple paint colors used within it. “Bombing” or “tagging” is the quick act of single color text, often the signature or logo of an artist.

Another user comments on a post of an image of spray paint script next to a face. “This is the kind of (graffiti) I’m ok with. Not pointless gang related doodles,” she writes.

As lovers of the art differentiate the art from the nonsensical pieces of graffiti, so too do leaders of youth groups.

A recreational specialist of the city, Sandy Brown, agrees that, “There is a difference between tagging and what is considered to be art.” Part of the problem seems to be guiding youth to comprehend that.

Last year, for example, artist Pan Pantoja led a youth group in painting a mural across the length of the Keystone Bridge across from the McKinley Arts & Culture Center in Reno.

Projects such as this have tried to encourage high school students that art does not have to be illegal to be influential. The city of Reno, in union, has promoted for more public art to integrate with the Reno is Artown celebration and a variety of sculptures and painted pieces throughout the downtown area.

One might argue, however, that certain illicit postings might still be treasured. On the UNR campus, a seemingly innocent “have a beautiful day” has been inked in dark, permanent marker on the white wall outside the College of Business building.

An ignorant scribble? Or a thoughtful reminder?

All of the names, territorial markings, gang postings, and “f*ck you”s cannot be buffed away. Schools and community projects that encourage strong artistic ability and embed kids with literacy skills in art, however, might get them excited to pursue it in a way that is cultivating and less detrimental to the people around them.