Once Upon a Lake

Our cabin near Pardeeville, WI has forever been a sanctuary. Sixty acres hugging half of Columbia County’s Crystal Lake shoreline. Town folk have two additional names for the thirty-two-acre jewel, ‘One a Day Lake’ (coined for the difficulty of catching a legal bass [14 inches]) and ‘Abell Lake’ (The property owned and shared by our family for five generations since 1952.)

Waterfowl season populates the house with: chest waders, hip boots, shell boxes, shotguns, and the comradery, brotherhood, and laughs rendered by over five decades of our October gatherings.

After opening weekend, I take the opportunity to venture out by myself. My singular experience can hardly be construed as alone.

In pre-dawn, my motions are automatic. I flick off the outside lights, pull the door closed, turn on my headlamp, and stroll fifteen yards to our antique Aluma Craft Ducker Boat. This double bowed treasure is the Ferrari of our five row boat fleet. I recon my grandfather purchased this, but there’s nobody left to answer that question.

There are no traditional seats, I sit on a three-inch wooden ‘stool’, older than my seventy-four years, surrounded by  Canada goose and Mallard decoys. The stars watch my transition from pier to boat, pleased that I remained dry. With two bows (Two pointed ends), I can pull or push the oars with ease. It’s a clear morning, but a ground fog, reminiscent of the Baskervilles, leaks from the marsh behind south shore. I push so I can see my destination and watch for the Hounds.

The moon is near full. My earworm becomes the Cat Stevens song about moon shadows, I pop a smile. The second brightest heavenly body is the planet Venus. Her dazzling twinkle simply in the sky to bring me luck.

As I approach the fog bank, I know what’s coming and accelerate. I ship the oars and glide through a collection of bull rushes, whip-like aquatic plants that stand above my head and part around the bow like walrus whiskers, curious and exploring. As I pass through them, their gentle caress creates a short symphony played only for my ears the notes change pitch on each bull rush plays the boat like a violin. I celebrate how lucky I am to experience this unique music. A singular moment in nature that brings presence. A song never to be performed the same again. Until the next mornings’ score is written.

I feel blessed and grateful. The sunrise is still to come.