Kayaking isn’t for everybody. There just isn’t enough room. Imagine, six billion people all trying to launch at the same time.

Sure, there’s plenty of shoreline in the world, plenty of open water, plenty of Rocky Mountain springs trickling to the sea. But you line six billion people up with a paddle at the same time and fire the gun, and, next thing you know, WHAM. Head injury. A pair of broken sunglasses at the very least. “Your Honor, my client has been grievously injured by the defendant. We are seeking damages and punitive awards in the amount of —”

I don’t know if lawyers kayak. I know one who does, or did, but then he got married again, and they built a house and I haven’t heard much from him since I spilled a can of “Shiprock Sunset” latex paint on his as-yet-to-be-stained and scored concrete living room floor. That was in the old days, when I lived in a far-flung appendage of the southwest, near the Piedra River. I left town before the lawyer and his fourth wife could file suit against me, but then his fourth wife decided they were too far from an urban center, so they sold what at the time they both referred to as their “dream house” and moved to Main Street.

Speaking of Main Street, I was seeking shade in the lee of a building on Main the other day when I chanced upon a vehicle with a Montana tag and a couple of whitewater kayaks on top. Stubby things. They were plastic boats, in zenon hues of jockstrap green and cockroach cobalt, each about seven feet long. Seven feet long. Short numbers. One was called a SPAZ, the other a SPONGE. His and her surf kayaks, they were passing through town, no doubt bound for the Great Smokey Mountains, and some of the epic whitewater runs of North Georgia, South Carolina and east Tennessee, where I long to return. There’s nothing like surfing on whitewater, on a splurge of roiling wave, foam piles gathered about your crewcut and the roar of the hydro dance, milking the adrenalin right out of your soul. Magic. Anyone who’s been on a raft trip on the Ocoee or the Nantahala knows whereof I write.

It is often asked of those of us who paddle the Phatwater, “What do you do if you flip over?” We are asked this, I’ve concluded, by people whose imagination extends from viewing SPONGES and SPAZES on ESPN, being flipped while their paddlers perform tricks on whitewater waves.

“We don’t flip our boats,” I tell them. “We like to keep our hair dry.”

“But, what if it happened?” they persist.

“It doesn’t. Our boats are designed for drive through dining. We’re in rush hour boats. They’re made for going fast, getting down the river in time for the presidential debate.”

“But, they could flip, couldn’t they?”

“Yes,” I assure them. “Yes, they certainly could.”

“Well, what happens then?”

“Usually,” I say, “your hair gets wet. Unless you’re bald.”

I like the give and take to be had in conversations like this, held across the fence which separates the uninitiated from those of us who’ve had to swim to shore with a damp pate from time to time. It tends to move the sport along. It tends to generate interest. It tends toward discovery, a nascent ambition among many in this and other small communities.

If any of you fine folks would like to join the conversation, we at the Phatwater will be holding a demo day, this year, at a local lake. On Oct. 11, the seventh annual Phatwater Kayak Challenge will be in Natchez, and on the following day, which would be Oct. 12, we plan to hold a demo day at either Lake Concordia, or Natchez State Park, depending on which facility most earnestly vies for my affection. At this demo day, you, Joe Citizen, will have the opportunity to sit in and paddle a kayak, and try to keep your hair dry. But if you join us, please remember to remove your cell phone and your wallet, before getting into one of our boats. It is true that we have on occasion had a SPAZ join us, who, in his or her enthusiasm, forgot to remove his or her wallet and his or her cell phone from his or her pocket, before deciding to redefine his or her hairstyle.

As to the rest of the story, although we aren’t quite expecting 6 billion paddlers on the Phatwater this Oct. 11, our numbers will be up. Last year we crested the elusive 100 mark. This year, we’re expecting to add 25 percent, in everything from Olympic K-1 racers to Surfskis to Outrigger Canoes. If you’d like to figure out what these and other boats are like, join us during our demo day, Oct. 12.

And of course, if you’d like to be a part of the Phatwater, as either participant or volunteer, or spectator, just give us a call, 601-431-1731, or visit our Web site, which is soon to get a new hairstyle, www.kayakmississippi.com.

Sayanara.

Keith Benoist is the organizer of the Phatwater Kayak Challenge.