Indian summer began with a morning of fog.
The lake lay still as glass. Fall colours from the birches and
red maple mingled with the grey fog, rich hues of yellow,
orange and red reached across my view. I had to cross the lake
that morning for the weekly trip to town. Visibility was pretty
good, considering the fog. I could see the shoreline at least
100 yards away.
I took off in the boat, up the middle of the
bay with both right and left shorelines clearly in view.
Suddenly they disappeared. The density of the fog doubled, or
maybe quadrupled.
It was thick. I raced along in a circle of
grey. All I could see was the water in front of me, and the
fog.
With six kilometres of lake to cross, I knew
I'd get lost, or worse, hit a shoal, if I didn't keep some bit
of land in view.
I swerved to the right and waited for the
small cliff at the end of the bay to come into view. What I
found instead
was a low, rocky shoreline.
Could I have passed the cliff already? That
sure didn't look like the shoreline past the cliff. Ah, I
thought. I'm still well within the bay. I hadn't travelled half
as far as it felt in the fog.
Following the shore now, out the bay, inside
the low boulder islands, I lost sight of the right shore while
I ventured out toward the middle of the lake.
I should catch sight of Gull Island, then
Blueberry Island, within a minute. Or maybe two minutes? There!
Keeping them in sight as long as I could, I had to let go to
get to the next island.
Oops! The island appeared on the left! I had
veered too much to the right, and had to turn sharply to get
back on course. Next came Hallow Island. Yes I could see the
dock. Bearing more to the left, I had to get around Gauthier's
Island, where I would then cross over to the left shore. With
just the fog all around me now, all I could see were tiny
ripples in the water from the southern wind. I tried to keep a
bearing based on those little waves.
Did I have a compass? No. Of course I didn't
have a compass. It wouldn't do a thing to keep me off the
rocks.
Suddenly the shore appeared on my right.
"Gauthier's Island? Hmm. Doesn't look like it. Yikes! There's
shoreline on the left too! Ah, now I see. I'd already crossed
to the left shore and was heading into Blueberry Bay.
Correcting my course once more, I continued
my journey north. Following the left shoreline wasn't as easy
as I
thought it would be. I'd lose sight of land
when the little bays tucked far in, then get jolted back when
the island that sat well off shore appeared suddenly in front
of me. Often I travelled north with only the ripples of the
water to guide me. Sensory deprivation had taken away my
ability to judge how fast and how far I had traveled. There was
nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel, but the cold
in the air.
At last I turned the corner around the top of
the peninsula, and could make the straight shot over to the big
island. Curving around its south side, it was another straight
course over to our little dock. As I tied the boat, I gazed
once again with wonder. Wonder of the land, the lake, the
water, and the colours of the fall mingling with the
quiet
beauty of the fog.
