According to the calendar, tomorrow is the first day of Autumn. And the season is definitely changing. I noticed a real change when I went paddling yesterday. Two things have changed. The days are getting shorter, which means that the sun is coming up later. Although I started well before sunrise, I took a leisurely paddle and by the time I got home and showered and got into the office it was 8:30 a.m. I just can’t launch onto the lake at 5:30 a.m. when the sun doesn’t come up until 6:30. Technically, I need lights on my boat to paddle after dark and before sunrise, but I know the lake very well and I am very careful about other boats, so I push the edges a little bit, but there are limits.
The second big change was the temperature. It was cold. It was 45 degrees when I left home, but it was 29 at the lake. There was frost on the grass as I carried my boat down to the lakeshore. It was my first day with my “winter” shoes and paddling pants, and I was beginning to wish I had worn long johns under the paddling pants. My feet were toasty warm, however, and you can paddle quite a bit if you keep your fingers and toes warm. Wrapped in my paddling jacket and gloves, I decided to paddle in a wool watch cap instead of my usual summer cap.
From the first paddle stroke, however, I was paddling in a wonderland. The full moon was setting and the lake was filled with fog. The combination made a beauty that is impossible to describe in words and the camera captures only imperfectly. Trust me, it was far more than the pictures capture. Fog can be a problem for boaters, but I go slowly and I have been on the lake more than 30 times in the past few months, so I was never disoriented. Things are, however, different in the fog. The geese have plenty of forward vision, but less vision below as they fly through the fog. They are in autumn mood and even a small group of birds will form a V as they fly. They passed overhead at about 10 feet above me. The first thing I notice when they come from behind is the sound of their wings flapping. With that sound, one can imagine what it might sound like to be in the midst of the flock as they make their long autumn journey.
All of the birds are starting to gather in groups. They are beginning to sense that it is time to travel. Like the snowbirds who travel in their RV’s the birds are trying to cram a few more provisions inside before they take off for the big trip.
The cattails are spreading the seed for next year’s plants. The banks that were brown and yellow in the spring have now gone through their lush green phase and now are back to brown and yellow, the puffy seeds spilling out remind me of the insulation that is blown into attics. It is hard to remind myself that it contains the stuff of life and that it soon will be saturated with water and will sink to the mud at the bottom of the lake and wait until next year’s warmth before germinating and producing new plants.
The beaver is grumpy most of the time and he likes to slap his tail in warning whenever I approach too closely. But in the foggy chill of yesterday morning he seemed less aggressive, his tail slaps almost a greeting instead of a warning. I know it is only my imagination, but it seems like he can sense that I belong to the surface and that like the water birds, I’ll be elsewhere when the ice begins to form at the edges of the lake. He’ll spend most of the winter in his lodge and under the ice, and won’t be entertaining human visitors once the lake freezes over.
He’ll have plenty of fish under there with him. The fish were amazing yesterday as I paddled. I would be moving along silently when suddenly the water would erupt with a great splash, as a fish would come 8 or 10 inches out of the water. It is a different kind of surfacing than when they are harvesting insects from above the lake surface. I’m not sure what it is all about, but I think that they may be feeding on minnows or small aquatic creatures that are swimming near the surface. As opposed to when they eat airborne insects and suddenly lurch to reach above the water. When hunting on the surface, they lurk in the deep water and with powerful strokes rush to reach peak speed as they gulp down their pray. They breach the surface of the water from momentum, not from a desire to get something that is above. A competent biologist might correct my theory, but no one would argue that the fish were being lethargic on the chilly and foggy morning. Of course the fish don’t feel the chill in the air. The water temperature is fairly consistent and at 29 degrees, the water is warmer than the air.
Sunrise in the fog is a display of miniature rainbows. The water droplets in the air serve as prisms to break the light up into colors. As the sun rises above the horizon, if you get the right angle, it looks as if it is surrounded by a full rainbow circle. Like the moon set, a camera in my amateur hands fails to produce a picture that looks like what my eyes and brain perceive. I think that everything is over exposed in order to make the image. Whatever happens, the colors are different and the depth of field is different. Still I keep taking pictures, convinced that if I make a small adjustment, I might come up with something better. The urge to capture the moment and take it home to share is strong.
I spent a bit too much time trying to make pictures on the lake as I paddled yesterday and had to rush to get the boat out of the water and onto the car and head back to town for work. By the parking lot, I was out of the fog and into the bright of a glorious Black Hills day.
The calm and peace of the lake stayed with me and served me well all day long.
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