I know that the paddling season is coming. Yes, winter is unpredictable in the Black Hills. Yes, we get more moisture from spring blizzards than we do from winter ones. Yes, I was here for the May blizzard. But from here out, we get these periods of nice weather between the storms. The ten day forecast calls for highs above freezing every day for more than a week. We could see highs in the sixties early next week. It will take quite a few days of sustained warmth at the lake for the ice to go out of the lake, but it is coming up on the time of year when I start to pay attention. Even when there is some ice in the lake, there can be some shallow paddling around the edges. It is the time when a durable plastic boat can be fun in the what open water there is, playing with the edges of the ice as it breaks up. Plenty of other factors, such as wind, make a difference as well.

I suppose that anticipation is part of every adventure. I’m one who enjoys the sensation of thinking about things to come. And I’m particularly susceptible to spring fever. The germans call it "Frühjahrsmüdigkeit" which means spring tiredness, but I don’t experience it as tiredness at all. I tend to be more lethargic and tired in the winter. When spring comes, I feel like my energy is renewed. If we need to change our clocks, a phenomenon whose necessity I’m not sure I see, at least we do so in the right direction. In the spring, I’m itching to get up in the mornings and the early rise this Sunday won’t bother me at all.

I’m pretty much one for rising in the dark year round. Sunrise is couple of hours after my normal rising time at present, so I can take the three-hour wait Sunday morning without a problem. For a little while, I’ll be driving to work into a sunrise again instead of the brilliant low-angle sun right in my face. Predawn and early sunrise are exceptionally beautiful heading east from our home, so I get treated to that twice each spring as we move our clocks and invest the hour that will pay off with longer evenings when we get to mid summer.

I guess I should be an evening paddler, but that isn’t likely to happen. I don’t mind paddling in the evening, but morning is my time at the lake and my preferred time to be on the water.

For now, however, there is a bit of waiting that needs to take place. My kayak building project is on hold, waiting for warmer weather before mixing epoxy in my unheated garage. There is a partially-rigged canoe in my storage unit, just itching to get into the water for a few water trials before gluing down the knee and ankle pads and making the final adjustments. Those glues need several hours of warm to dry as well.

And it is good that the lake has ice and the weather is a bit cold for a few days, because Lent is not exactly a calm time in terms of work and the preparation for a major capital funds drive is a big effort that consumes my days. Having to spend a chunk of time getting an old computer cleaned up to continue to do its work for a bit longer ate up a few of my hours yesterday as well. There is always something. And the “something” is usually different than the day before. That’s good. My job doesn't threaten to ever become boring.

I confess, however, that my mind does turn to the lake and to the rivers and to the waters of the Puget Sound, near our son’s home. When your passion includes human paddled boats, you begin to evaluate every puddle or creek or big body of water in terms of its potential for paddling. Over the years I’ve acquired quite a few boats, so there is one for almost any kind of water, from a tiny creek playboat to an expedition kayak. Although there are big waters that extend far beyond my abilities in an open canoe, I can paddle almost anywhere that there is water. And when the water is frozen solid, I can dream about paddling.

One of the joys of being the age that I am is that there is a fair body of collected memories. I feel attached and connected to the past. Since I spend many days studying ideas whose origins come from long before I was born, I have a sense of being connected to the past. But when I have a few spare moments, I find my mind wandering to the future. I think of things that are yet to come - of visits with my children and grandchildren - of lakes and rivers I have yet to paddle - of the adventures that will take place long after my time on this earth has passed.

I don’t know if such a sense of being a part of time that is far longer than the span between birth and death is unique to humans. I don’t even know if other humans spend much time in similar memory and anticipation. What I do know is that being rooted in a long line of history and anticipating an exciting and challenging future leaves me in a good place in the present.

Unlike the fear mongers and doomsayers that seem to occupy prominent places in popular media, I seem to be quite content to turn off the television and sit back and imagine a brighter future than they proclaim. Unlike the revisionists who spend large amounts of energy reinterpreting history to convince themselves that their opinions were shared by their forebears, I find it exciting to do real historical research and to be surprised by what I discover.

While I wait, I can grasp the grip and throat of a paddle and imagine the feel of plunging it into the water. I can run my hands over the rocker of a boat and imagine its performance under my knees. I can read stories of the great adventures of Inuit, Aleut, Iñupiat, and Yupik peoples and wonder if I would have the mettle for such journeys.

It isn’t just that spring is coming. Visions of paddles dance in my head and they made the cold morning bearable and the desk work worth the effort.

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