This story is from my youth. It was an early spring day at our cottage on Round Lake in Northern Minnesota. I was exploring… as I often did.
Remnants of snow hid under sprawling pine branches at our cabin on Second Bay. The air was filled with the warmth of spring. The forest had awakened after its annual slumber and receding lake ice opened a channel for my first paddle of the year.
We had an old two-man Folbot Kayak. It was turned over for the winter, waiting by the beach for its summer friends. The Kayak was heavy, indestructible, but sleek and fast. It consisted of a wood frame wrapped in red Mahogany with thick padded seats and flip-up back rests for top-side cruising.
As I pushed the craft into the frigid water, Blondie, a mix of Cocker Spaniel, poodle, and I think sheepdog, eagerly joined me, leaping into her front seat look-out. It was late afternoon and a cool wind skipped off the ice. A slight ripple danced on the breezy side of the lake. The double-sided paddles propelled the stream-lined craft as I pointed the boat towards Third Bay, an undeveloped section of shoreline that held a sense of mystery.
A thirty-yard corridor allowed water-access to my retreat, Round Lake’s watery sanctuary. I maneuvered the Folbot through a network of reeds and observed several Geese paired up for the mating season. Their chatter filled the cloudless air. A Muskrat with cautious eyes swam for cover and a solitary Loon dove deep when I floated to close. I navigated across the bay as the distant shore of Many Point Scout Camp beckoned. Water ran down the oars with each graceful stroke, diverted by rubber gaskets, and trickled into the tranquil bay.
The sandy lakefront stretched on for about a mile, cluttered with dried reeds and drift-wood, the banks pushed up from years of ice erosion. The needle covered trails were soft from the snow melt. Blondie raced ahead, shaggy fur wet up to her belly and occasionally paused to look back and make sure I followed. I gradually circled back to the lake and gazed out over the icy blue water as daylight began to slip away. Shadows reached out from the western shore.
Darkness descended upon the lake as I glided to the opposite shore. Temperatures dropped. The crisp air pressed against my jacket as a flock of Mallards flew over-head, their flutter of wings disappeared in the springtime chorus. I hugged the shore as the lane narrowed. A deceitful wind had pushed the ice-flow eastward and cut off my route. I stood and pushed the Kayak through thick, tall, lake grass in several inches of water. At one point I nudged the boat forward as I ducked under low-hanging oak branches while the Kayak scrapped the rocky bottom. I debated ditching the boat in the trees and making the mile-long hike, but I pressed on. Finally, the suffocating ice jam gave way to deeper water and I skimmed over the black waters with a sense of relief.
The Kayak pushed onto our beach with a soft muffled thud. Blondie sprang out as I stepped up and heaved the lake wanderer onto the wet sand. Cabin lights glowed under the watchful Minnesota forest as I tipped the Folbot against a tree. I took a last look over my shoulder, and like a silent conspirator, the ice crept closer to the shoreline. Mom had supper ready so I left my imagination at water’s edge and headed toward the cabin. Blondie found her favorite spot and we were both happy to be back after another Round Lake adventure.