In Tandum

STILL PADDLING

Over the years, couples have asked us, “What’s the secret to a long and happy marriage?”

We usually do what seasoned professionals do in moments of high risk—we stall. We look at each other… wait a beat… maybe two… hoping the other one will answer and take the fall. Eventually, one of us shrugs and offers something safely vague, like, “Well… no secrets," or "communication,” which sounds wise but covers a multitude of daily negotiations.

Truth is, giving specific marriage advice, especially when your spouse is within arm’s reach, is a bit like filing a flight plan while in a thunderstorm. Technically possible, but you’d better be careful. If you’re not sure why, I’ll just say this: you may already be cruising at an unsafe altitude. (Yes, I’m chuckling as I write this. And also checking over my shoulder.)

But one beautiful day in a tropical paradise I stumbled onto what felt like a real answer. It came from a most unlikely source—a kayak guide on a river in Hawaii.

Now, before I go any further—DISCLAIMER: What you’re about to read is not a guarantee of marital bliss. If it were, we’d bottle it and retire again, only better this time. This is simply a true story. Take it with a healthy splash of humor.

My wife and I celebrate our anniversary every year, but we’ve never been much for the traditional gifts. We were married on a Caribbean island, and I’ve learned that’s about all I’m authorized to disclose.

This particular anniversary found us on the stunning Pacific island of Kaua'i, back when “going somewhere” didn’t require a strategic briefing and a hospital mask inventory.

The plan sounded simple enough: a romantic kayak trip up the Wailua River to a beautiful waterfall spotlighted in a popular television show.

Romantic… peaceful… scenic…

And neither of us had ever paddled a tandem kayak.

“How hard can this be?” I thought. (Those words have launched more trouble than the champagne bottle that launched the Titanic.)

Well… somewhere about halfway upriver, reality introduced itself. Most of the other couples had already disappeared around the bend, presumably on their way to the falls—or possibly to counseling. Meanwhile, our kayak was making steady, deliberate progress in our own creative way.

We decided to stay close to the side of the river, away from the the strong main current flowing against us. And...well, we may not have been paddling completely straight.

About that time, our river guide paddled back to check on us. He slowed as he approached, studying our elegant navigation technique with what I can only describe as professional curiosity.

We smiled. He smiled.

Then he called out, “You know, a lot of married couples get in these tandem kayaks and end up paddling in circles—or worse, fighting each other’s strokes. You wouldn’t believe the arguments I see out here.”

He drifted a little closer, still watching us.

“I’ve learned a lot about marriages on this river,” he said. “You can tell pretty quickly how things are going at home just by how a couple handles the kayak—and each other.” He continued, "Seriously, I've come across couples screaming at each other while paddling in circles!"

Then he broke into a wide grin.

“You two? You cooperate!”

Well, that did it. We laughed so hard we nearly tipped the whole operation over—which would have been a memorable ending to a very short kayak technique lesson.

(For the record, we were already worn out—from all that… cooperation.)

If you look closely at the photo from that trip, please ignore my attempt at looking rugged and in control. My hair tells the truth. It’s doing things no approved grooming standard would ever allow.

The return trip was easier—mostly because gravity was finally on our side, and possibly because we had surrendered any illusions of Olympic performance. By the halfway point to the falls, our arms felt like warm gelatin, but my wife still managed to lift hers just high enough to offer a tired but victorious “Shaka Mahalo!”

And it occurred to me… that guide may have been onto something.

Cooperation!

Not glamorous. Not complicated. Not always easy. But steady. Intentional. Sometimes a little crooked. Occasionally exhausting. Frequently funny.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s as close to a “secret” as we’re going to get.

As for us today?

We’re still paddling.

Not perfectly.

Not always in a straight line.

But together;

and, (most days),

still cooperating.

Copyright 2022, edited 2024, 2025, June 2026 Gary Landerfelt, MyPericope.com