The ten, fat, white, wriggling little round
worms packed close together in two groups of five near their mossy logs as we
nibbled and poked at them. Curious little beings, they unflinchingly repelled
our advances, with their calloused exoskeletal armor. They were unyielding and
unimpressed by the considerable numbers in our school. Superfluous to our
existence they congregated in their little groups.
Suddenly they were lifted up clinging to
the massive mossy log that arched out of the water and came crashing down
again. Then the other log with the other five worms in tow took its turn
alternatively arching into the sun and crashing down again on the surface of
the previously placid lake. We for our part swam away in panic and shock frightened
by this sudden unexpected display from the pair of logs floating around the
serene Adirondack Lake on a quiet weekday afternoon, that had come to life!
Mr. Turtle was quite unimpressed by this
nonsense and unsightly hullabaloo, having warned the school to stay away from
the fat white worms and the round black doughnut that had at some point earlier
waded into our quiet backwater home. He smirked at us now laughing quietly to
himself at our inexperience and naïveté, knowing from personal
encounters how dangerous and evil the humans could be. “Why just for fun the
small ones might roll you on your back,” he said to himself. It was a shame but
they would learn the hard way, after their numbers were thinned out by the malevolent
human. He had become hardened by a long life and now curled up into his shell
to bask in the sun and wait to say his “I told you-so’s.”
Long white worms now combed through the
water as if they were looking for something, pushing the water away while the
logs kicked up and down and the doughnut moved away at a rapid pace through the
cerulean blue water piling up on itself and swirling in little whirlpools of
white water. The air smelled of pine cones which inhabited the many trees
encroaching on the lake bending towards the water as if to take a drink. Needles
floated in the water but they were not good to eat.
It was a beautiful quiet early afternoon
on Indian Lake, and I was glad that I had inflated the old truck innertube in
town after picking up some supplies at the local General Store.Lashing a six
pack of Budweiser Tall Boys over the right side of the comfortable innertube through
the clear plastic rings and down into the deep cool waters below the surface which
would serve as a refrigeration system and a covered bucket for fish over the
left side, I waded away from shore. Dead soldiers would be returned to their round
plastic berths when empty. A pack of cigars sat basking in the sun on the left
surface of the vessel with a book of matches tucked into the plastic box
covering to avoid getting them wet like a small child tucked into bed for the night.
An old Dixie cup, a quarter filled with water served as a weighted ashtray on
my right front side. Occasionally a Dining Needle, one of those prehistoric aviators
of the distant past, would fly reconnaissance over me then dart away. Fish were
nibbling at my toes and it tickled. This reminded me that it was time to pull
out my drop line and moisten the bread I had brought for the purpose, rolling
the bread into small balls and threading one on my hook and dropping it over
the side to procure my dinner.
With hardly a cloud in the sky, a breeze
would occasionally push me along using my back as a sail, and delivering me to unseen
lands around the next turn in the lake. Geese and Cranes flew overhead. Finally
annoyed at the school fish, I kicked my legs up and down to scare them away
thereby calling for a recess. I felt a tug on the line and what turned out to
be a Yellow Perch took my line and proceeded to tow me through the lake for a
little while until his burden became too much for him. Fighting and splattering
me with water he protested as he was dropped into the covered pail of water as
I would have if our roles were reversed. It was a curious experience to be
towed around by one’s dinner. A Rock Bass was the next challenger who fought
for a while trying to cut the line on the course rocks that he called home. He
also eventually succumbed covered in his camouflage that he used to hide in
plain sight. He was introduced to the Perch and they swam around each other
unhappy with the accommodations. A few fat sunfish were also harvested to make
small but tasty fillets.
The lake that day was a picture perfect
postcard. With a tasty cigar to my lips and a thirst quenching ice cold beer in
my hand floating around a lake that I had all to myself, aimlessly drifting at
the mercy of the four winds on a beautiful weekday afternoon this was truly a
time and place that I would regret leaving and an experience I did not want to
end.
Jim
July 2021
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