evening paddle

Evening canoe paddle.


Jeff took me paddling a few nights ago. It's been years, but I still love watching that guy paddle. Before you all start retching, let me point out that Jeff has been paddling all his life, including lessons at summer camp and from experts like Omer Stringer.

When he paddles, it's like watching a smoothly choreographed ballet, the paddle dipping into the water, the subtle J-stroke, the graceful return with and elegance and efficiency of motion w/o the awkward splashing and jerky movement so common in movie and television depictions of canoe paddling. When he solos on calm water, he leans the canoe over until the edge of the canoe is nearly level with the surface of the water, the bow cutting through the lake with barely a ripple.

Ok, I'll stop gushing now.



Me, trying to keep warm in the morning.
Jeff said I looked cute in my hat, but I know he really meant goofy.
I let him take a picture anyway. :-)
I am wearing about a bazillion layers of clothing.


Anyway, because I can't paddle right now, Jeff set me up in the front of the canoe, comfortably propped up with pillows and a small folding wicker chair and a red wool blanket. While he paddled, I tried unsuccessfully to look regal and bored, though I was neither. I trailed my fingers in the water like the heroines in Victorian era movies do, but my fingers turned numb with cold within a few seconds.

We went to our favorite hang out on the lake, Adaskin's Bay. It was perfectly silent when we first set out, but by around 8:00 p.m., the air was filled with the enthusiastic mating cries of tree frogs. VERY enthusiastic-I think that some of them were pretty desperate to find love. Jeff tried imitating them once with a whistle, but his attempt shocked them briefly into near-silence, like a cocktail party where some tactless boor has told a tasteless joke. They recovered quickly, however, and continued their deafening serenade of love.

Partway through the performance, a beaver swam across the pond. I wonder how he sleeps at night? I imagine him cursing the racket when he goes home to his wife every night.

"Stupid tree frogs," he would mutter. "Do they really think they're going to attract any self-respecting female with that yammering?"



Forecast this week according to Environment Canada.


When the light was starting to fade, we headed home. The lake was mirror smooth, and looking it down at the reflection of the dark silhouettes of the trees above was a vaguely unsettling experience; the reflection was so perfect that I could almost imagine that I was lying on the ground and looking up at the trees instead of down.

The loons were calling to each other across the lake, and as we neared the cottage we saw a lone otter swimming pass the dock to the near shore. Not a bad way to end the evening.

There is supposed to be a lunar eclipse on Thursday night; I hope it clears up by then, despite the forecast.

(This entry was written with ViaVoice, a voice recognition program, which sometimes has its own sense of humor. Please forgive any spelling or grammar quirks which Debbie has missed while editing. Thank you. )

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