It was a rainy, gloomy morning at camp. We had all arrived at different times the night before. My trip from New York to Maine by air was the most direct. Harv came by bus via Albany and Arnie and Bob drove 700 plus miles from western New York. Our first day at camp looked downright crappy. All our pent-up expectations of fishing and hiking during our short stay were weighed down under a cloud of dense fog.
Being the optimist that I am, I went ahead and organized, with Greg’s help, a cookout at Baskahegan Lake — and some fishing if the weather permitted. I could not let those Harry Hots, Don and Bob’s Hot Sauce and Genessee beer–all our teenage favorites transported direct from Rochester in the back of the car on that 700-mile ride–go to waste. With intermittent rain predicted throughout the day, we bundled up for wet conditions and headed off late morning. We followed in the Bronco as Greg led the way, trailering his boat loaded down with cooking supplies, fishing gear and of course our luncheon special.
The boat launch at Baskahegan is nonexistent – one wades into the water to embark. Wet in the feet already, I felt a mix of regret and foreboding that I had talked everyone into spending the day on the water. Greg had a campsite in mind for lunch and found his way across the broad reaches of the lake without GPS or a compass. As we approached the shore in a light fog, a couple of kayaks appeared—one a traditional yellow fiberglass and the other an unusual handmade one of varnished wood—and they just as quickly disappeared.
After we landed, some campers on shore, senior fellows like us, approached with friendly greetings. We chatted and learned they were from Massachusetts and, also like us, had known each other since high school. They were settled in at the campsite for an overnight, having rigged up tents spread between the trees. Underneath was cooking gear and hammocks for sleeping and, unexpectedly, a wooden harp, propped up against a small bench.
One of the campers picked up the harp and began to play for us. The gentle notes were delightful and so incongruous to the surroundings I suddenly felt transported back to a chamber music concert at Boscobel House on the Hudson. Yet here we were out in the middle of nowhere enjoying classical music with some new friends. Miraculously, the weather completely cleared up after lunch. We fished at a former dam, one of Greg’s secret fishing holes, and the guys got into a slew of fish. I caught a small mouth bass and they had their fill of sunfish, bass and carp. All in all, it was a grand day of boating, fishing, lunching and music on Lake Baskahegan.
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