The lake beckoned. It called us to come and paddle about its surface. It was sunny, with a slight breeze as Denise and I left camp to go fishing in the shimmering waters of Virgin Lake. The journey down Julia Creek was pleasant – no logs blocking our way – and Zagame/mosquitoes were few as Denise paddled her canoe, and I mine. Soon we arrived at the mouth of the creek. It was there that Denise set me up with a line and lure that was looped over my paddle so that it would trail behind as I went about the lake in my green Wenonah canoe.
We started out moving around the lake in a counter-clockwise direction to go with the wind. I went to deeper water, as I had a sinking lure, and Denise stayed closer to shore with her self-made floating lure.
The wave action was minimal and travel was easy. Yet, when we inevitably arrived at the far side of the lake, we discovered the wind was much stronger, because it had the full length of the body of water to build waves and gust freely.
I sought to stay out of the troughs of the waves, which made for a bit more work to keep the right heading. Denise took a different course, yet it wasn’t long before I had to turn and head out into the chaos. I set my sights on the shelter of the island where I would meet back up with Denise.
I thought I should stop trolling and focus on getting through the chop, but part way to shelter I realized that I was no longer fishing – even by accident – because I had pushed the line off my paddle as I switched from side to side as I propelled my canoe.
I was a little tired and my bum was getting sore from the long ride in my green vessel, but that was not the time to rest. Yet I did take a moment to put on my red PFD (Personal Flotation Device) during a brief moment while in the protection of the island.I then sought the refuge of the culvert at the mouth of the creek and Denise continued on to journey along the far shore.
It looked to be about a mile’s worth of churning and gusting, just shy of capping, ahead of me on the lake. So, with two strokes on the portside and three on the starboard, I set head-long out across the expanse of windswept roughness.
Out I went, stroke, stroke, switch, stroke, stroke, never letting up, eyes fixed on the waves, mind set on my destination. I grew tired but I couldn’t let up. I pressed on. The waves were relentless. The gusts were intermittent, yet strong. Concentration, holding a steady course. Reaching the shore safely. I had no other goal. Failure was not an option. I pressed on. And through it all, my wet red PFD flashed in the sunlight, contrasted by the deep blue water, signaling to Denise that I was still going.
Finally, I reached calm water and I could relax a little. I got myself over to a dead tree that was near the inlet and was able to take hold and hoist myself up and ease the discomfort from so long a sit.
Denise soon arrived and we got to experience the wonderful acoustics of the metal tube that went under the road, connecting the creek and the lake.
The trip back up the waterway was pleasant. There were many dragonflies swooping and diving, hunting – and catching – mosquitoes for a meal. The water was calm and the scenery wonderful.
In due time we got back to port and landed our vessels. As I stepped ashore, I grinned and straightened up my legs and back. That long sit was a bit much for my hip joints (maybe I need more stretches like that from time to time). After a short walk to camp, we enjoyed a lovely supper and shared about our trip. We went fishing, but unfortunately, not catching. The day was drawing to an end, so with a “Goodnight” to all, we headed off to our beds to seek – and catch – a few Zs.
Coyote 3 Feathers