{"id":36974,"date":"2025-10-08T00:00:06","date_gmt":"2025-10-08T07:00:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=36974"},"modified":"2025-10-08T13:02:22","modified_gmt":"2025-10-08T20:02:22","slug":"guiding-in-the-dark","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2025\/10\/08\/guiding-in-the-dark\/","title":{"rendered":"Guiding in the Dark"},"content":{"rendered":"

It\u2019s not that I\u2019m <\/span>not<\/span><\/i> afraid of the dark. For a long time, I measured how my life was going by whether or not I knew the current phase of the moon, a check to see how often I was sleeping under the stars or hiking home after sunset, sucking the marrow of each day in through my teeth.<\/span><\/p>\n

But something about paddling after sunset always felt a little unhinged. Raft guides used to rally for full moon runs back in the day. It always sounded beautiful, just enough eerie light to guide you to the smooth V-wave passages between cresting waves and crashing holes. I never joined. The excitement around the runs felt like the wrong kind of wild, almost frenetic. It was party energy, and it wasn\u2019t for me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Years later, a pandemic-era move to Maine delivered me to a wee seaside shanty of a guide shack stocked with star maps and glow-in-the-dark souvenir t-shirts\u2014home to Castine Kayaks. I\u2019d been looking for guidance, a way to explore Maine\u2019s frigid waters, colossal tides and broken, confusing coastline. Karen Francoeur, the owner of the shop and a local fairy guide mother, offered a solution. Her annual sea kayak guiding course started the next day, and I signed up on the spot.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n