My partner and I are moving to a place right by Cadboro Bay. It's only two hundred yards to the water's edge, and twice now I've put my little inflatable on my shoulder and gone for a brief solo paddle.
My partner is on my case -- no, it's better said that he is gently chiding me -- to take out my "real" boat, the Old Town Adventure XL 125, a 12-foot recreational/touring hybrid that I love. But it's just a bit too heavy for me to carry and then balance when crossing the driftwood logs above the high tide line. I'll have to get the wheels my partner modified from an old golf cart, and then when I get to the driftwood I'll just wait until some husky helpful guy walks along the beach.
You get to meet a lot of nice people when you're out kayaking.
And even in the inflatable, it's a "real" paddle. By my definition, of course, of a real paddle:
I got into a boat on the water and paddled it.
For some, the boat must be a proper boat, the time spent on the water must exceed the time spent to get there, and the paddler must break sweat. Not for me. Oh, sure, those are fun elements in determining just how good a time I had while paddling. But I got on the water four times in the last week. That racks up pretty good on any definition of having a good time.