Z-z-z-z-zzzzz Z-z-z-z-zzzzz Today it is the shrill, piping whistle of a wood duck that rouses me from my rest. No specific noise seems to have any specific effect whatsoever on the length of my "nap-about"; sometimes 30 minutes, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter. I think, like in other areas of life, it is the principle of an issue that is important and not just the physical activitiy alone. I stretch lazily and the breathing exercises I practice during my nap cease. The buzz-saw breathing exercises, which I do while asleep or napping, are almost legendary. Daughter 2 of 3 has hiked off to distant points along the railroad bank well out of earshot to my efforts. She rode with me on a motorcycle trip once from Louisiana, up through Arkansas, out across Kansas and Nebraska, into the Black Hills of South Dakota, zig-zagging through Wyoming, and finally up into the Beartooths of Montana for some choice camping and road riding, but that is another story.....She will share a canoe with me, but will no longer share a tent with me. She doesn't like to camp on the same side of the ridgeline as I do, and sometimes will even hike back up stream a ways to avoid another "close encounter of the worst kind" as she refers to my night-time exercises. She swears that on one occasion my snoring caused a family of late-night, industrious beaver to issue the danger slap and their pond maintenance was halted while I unknowingly exercised on. My version of the story is that the beaver family was rudely interrupted in their efforts by HER having eaten a second, hearty portion of windy Great Northern Beans and rice, ham chunk, and cornbread at the evening campfire supper !! I push off and begin to ease along with a slow, silent sculling stroke. Not a real movement at all, but more like controlled drifting. The sun is warm and a light breeze is steady from north-east. The rest of the day will be clear and fine. Perhaps a little warmer yet, before the shadows begin to grow longer. Days are high 60's and the nights are high 30's with low humidity ....Louisiana's finest. Still no clouds and the sky is a translucent baby blue all across the dome of the sky. I begin to think about staying after dark and watching the stars come out. I am fairly certain my absent companion is on ahead and will probably see me before I spot her. Quietly and steadily the canoe moves imperceptibly forward. I paddle from a sloppy trim position, kneeling forward of my regular place, looking for my paddling partner, saving her bow spot for her. I should have found her by now, having moved at least a half-mile onward. I shift forward a little more and begin to veer the boat slightly to get a good look behind. Maybe I missed her in passing. Perhaps, she has wandered off down some trail there or is following some varmit highway through the tall, tan dry winter grass away from the water's edge. I am tempted to shout for her, but do not. Time is no matter here, today. I'll turn long slow widening circles until we rendevous. I wonder what she has found to interest her so. I wonder if there is any food left in our food bag. I wish she would have .... plop-plop-splash-splash ....a huge double handful of Tupelo gumballs rain down on me and splash around the canoe like mini-mortars from an unseen muzzle-tube. Gumball missles bounce off the top of my head, off my shoulder, land and skitter across the open canoe, some splashing water with the sound of pea-gravel thrown into a pond. She has ambushed me and seems pleased with her ploy. She throws a few more like a baseball pitcher, straight and fast. They make a dull thudding noise as they bounce off the hull and drop into the water. I tell her in my most serious stage-voice, "It's a long walk back to the bus. Ohh, I think my shoulder is hurt; you may have to paddle us back." Unfazed by my attempts to turn the joke around, she says simply, "Let's go." Well warmed by the full sun and rested from a nice break, we begin to paddle in earnest. Strong, full strokes that soon have the canoe moving well toward our next destination. I want to check out the far point where the long fingers of what is called 3rd and 4th lake depart from the main bayou. These are not separate lakes at all, but rather long narrow sloughs that extend further and further into Chauvin Bottom. It is always mysterious and spooky in this area and I don't know why. I suppose it is a combination of trees closing in tightly decreasing your vision. There is more of a mixture of trees now, water oaks, pin oaks, tupelo gum, cypress, and a few evergreen pine. All except the pine are heavily draped in gray spanish moss. Perhaps it is the steep sided bank littered with deadfall and the dark narrow winding channel that adds to the tension. True, the gators are here, but I have found them to be entertainment only down through the years. Their red-coal eyes glow like ruby lasers in a strong light on a dark night. Seeing them move and keeping tabs on a large one is certainly entertainment enough. We do not see gators today and continue far up 3rd lake until it is apparent we both are wearing out. We talk about staying until after dark, but agree that we ought to get back across the stump-section before full dark. Our stroke rate drops to a lower gear and we ease our way back toward the landing. We watch long legged gangly looking birds and cranes wade the shore and shuffle the shallow water as if under direction and leadership by an unseen conductor. Blue-black or purple-black cranes and shore birds, and snow white egrets all work their alloted space for an evening meal. The ducks and geese have mostly cleared out for the day, but will probably be back at dark-thirty for another performance. We paddle. A pair of Honkers whoosh quickly overhead, obviously intent on setting down for the night. Without runway lights or marked parking space these jumbo-jets drop loudly onto the calm water like basketballs falling from the sky. Earlier this morning we had seen some blue and some speckle belly geese, but these Gray Ghosts of the North are an exhilerating sight, indeed. The sun drops lower and a golden hue magnifies, intensifies everything, even the shadows. The air cools slightly and there is an absolute absence of wind on the lake; perfectly calm, and still. The darkening tree line reflects with mirror image sharpness in the liquid plane below. We turn sharply and draw along the take-out bank just as a hint of night darkness begins to swallow the day. My bus is still the only vehicle at the take-out. We stow gear and tie off the canoe in short order and find a comfortable spot to sit. The sun is gone. Our final moments are spent sharing binoculars and verifying that the sisters are there in Pleides. We cannot keep our eyes off Orion. He looks larger than usual tonight and is helped by the jet-black velvet backdrop of eternity. The binoculars do not help much in bringing the view close enough. The golden stardust of our own galaxy will certainly be on show tonight, but Mom will probably have supper for us. And we both are ready to head home. She says, "This was great, Dad. When can we go camping ?" "Anytime, dude, anytime." Peyton (Louisiana) ___________________________________________________________________ You don't need to buy Internet access to use free Internet e-mail. Get completely free e-mail from Juno at http://www.juno.com/getjuno.html or call Juno at (800) 654-JUNO [654-5866] *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List Submissions: paddlewise_at_lists.intelenet.net Subscriptions: paddlewise-request_at_lists.intelenet.net Website: http://www.gasp-seakayak.net/paddlewise/ ***************************************************************************Received on Tue Feb 16 1999 - 12:34:14 PST
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