After a day of rain, temperature in the 40s, and heavy wind from the northeast, I awoke to calm waters, a bit of sun breaking through the dark clouds and weather in the high 50s. Enough reading by the fire. After lunch, Darci drove my 1950 motorboat up to the dock and off we went, Kara, Peter and I, to explore the shoreline of East Grand Lake. A lot of trouble with maneuvering in and out of gear—there were a few bangs into the rocks. Eventually, I figured out reverse was too difficult, so we paddled off into the open water, then used only forward gear around Greenwood Island, watchful for the large boulders now submerged by the recent rainfall. The afternoon sun created a mirror-like reflection of the island in the water off to the east. The effect was like a magnificent, panoramic painting.
The camps along the shoreline were mostly unoccupied, the occasional American flag whipping in the breeze to indicate someone was home. We passed a motorboat tied to a dock, awaiting the owner for the weekend, and a few chimneys with smoke. It was a quiet lake day. I was in the driver’s seat and the kids sat in the back. The motor made a loud hum, but I could hear the kids’ conversation and it was about me: Why is he so quiet at camp? He is not his usual talkative self? He seems to be in a quiet mood? Yes – I am all those things. Being away from the office, my cell phone, the computer screen, all the everyday noise, allows me the space to be more contemplative.
The next day was Father’s Day. I had planned a day of fishing at Wheaton’s with Andy and the weather forecast was encouraging: a slight chance of rain in the morning and clearing in the afternoon. Up early, before the sun. Eager to be on the water, I hustled the kids into the truck by 8:15 a.m. Andy was already launched. The kids had a new guide – Butch. Andy and I pushed off at Spudnick launch at 9:15 a.m. The water was calm. Andy gave me some rain pants. I am the optimist when it comes to fishing weather – “It will be fine!” All bundled up we sped off to one of Andy’s coves where the bass are drawn to the rocky shallows. Itching to cast, I stood up in the canoe and threw a fly to the hungry fish. I envisioned that they were awaiting my arrival. Right away a fish rose to the bait. By lunchtime I had hooked and set a dozen bass. Andy was relieved–no rain and plenty of catch. I am always amazed at how stressed he becomes if I don’t reel in my fair share before lunch. We landed for a picnic at Birch Trees, a public campsite – a bucket for a toilet makes it a campsite. Lunch was my four-pound salmon which was caught and frozen two weeks ago, grilled chicken and of course, lemon meringue pie. The perfect menu for an ideal Father’s Day.
