Sea Kayak Trips Bulletin Board

Foreshadowings

Posted By: Wes Boyd
Date: Friday, 3 September 1999, at 9:31 a.m.

It was still out on the lake this evening. In a few spots, there were some tiny ripples, showing that there had to be some air moving somewhere, but I could not feel any evidence of it on my skin. Everything seems to be in a hush, awaiting what is to come.

It's the first of September. Labor Day is not far off, and the kids are already back in school. Early goose hunting season started today, and there are a couple of blinds that have flocks of decoys strung about, and hunters hidden in the bushs, but there are no geese to be seen, and it's so quiet that I can hear the hunters complaining about it. I will not tell them of the place where I paddled within shotgun range of half a dozen geese earlier this evening; it's up at the other end of the lake, and they'll have to find out for themselves. The geese have been mostly absent for the last month, though; the big flock that was so prominent earlier in the year hasn't been seen for nearly a months, although occasionally a singleton or duo will show up, and sometimes, rarely, a flock of a half dozen or dozen honkers. They seem to know that men with guns are waiting, and have found some place far away to wait them out.

Though the calendar says that summer will linger for three weeks yet, there's no doubt that it's gone. It was a warm evening, over 80 when I got on the water, and hardly less at sunset when I put the boat back on the trailer. A muskie fisherman told me that the water temperature is still 76 degrees, but there was no one at the beach tonight. Too much homework for the kids, or perhaps the season says to people that it's not time for the beach. If it stays warm over the weekend, some bikinis might be spotted on some of the jetski lakes, but that'll be about the end of it. Docks and boats are already coming in there, and many more will disappear over the coming weekend. In a month the majority of the pontoons and skiboats and jetskis will be wearing their winter garb, keels dry until next spring.

There are plenty of other signs foreshadowing what is to come. Even the trees with the most brilliant green are starting to show signs that the end of the leaf season is in sight. The popples are losing their green, and definite signs of yellow are there. Here and there on some of the other trees there's a branch or an area that's already starting to change color, and a vine wrapped around a dead tree at one end of the lake is already a brilliant red. The colors add some contrast to what had been the various shades of green that have surrounded my regular paddling lake for months.

The turkey vultures are beginning to flock together, too. One night earlier in the week I saw a flock that had to be over a hundred birds circling gracefully in the updraft created by a strong breeze flowing over a treecovered point, but this evening, it's so still and warm that when I paddled by their normal hangout, I saw several birds sitting on the limbs of dead trees, wings half-spread to cool themselves.

The sky is a cool blue as the sun heads for its hiding place in the trees along the far shore. Not long ago, or so it seems, I wouldn't be thinking about getting off the lake in the gathering dusk until nine or nine-thirty; now, at eight, the sun is setting, and I have to push too hard to get six miles in after supper, so it's time to be thinking about cutting back to four. In a month, I'll have to switch over to coming out here before supper, then eating late. Still, the low sun provides some warmth to a day that seems cooler than it really is.

The water is getting its late-summer ugliness. The warmth of the water the last few weeks has caused the annual explosion of algae. Long strings of algae lie upon the water like the chocolate in a marble cake, and here and there are floating pads of coalesced algae that reminds me of something that shouldn't be there at all. It's all part of the annual cycle; as the water cools off, it will clear up, and I won't have to wash a green stripe off of my boat after a session on the water.

There'll be some good days to come, I know; days with the riot of fall color, under a brilliant blue sky. There'll be deer to see, fall ducks and geese, and much else. The days will be bracing and comfortable, instead of being hot and sweaty. Soon, I'll be paddling with a flannel shirt, rather than a t-shirt, and fleece won't be far behind. The wet suit is in the future, and not all that far off. In three months -- maybe a little more, if the weatherman is nice to us -- the kayak will be up on its winter rack in the garage, and I'll be watching the snow blow by the window and wishing for a day as nice as this one was.

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