Frantic Fright..

A warm and sunny day in the  lowlands at the base of the Cascade Foothills in South East Thurston County.  I have the day to myself and feel driven to take a long run.  I walk down to Otter Beach to stretch and take in the beauty of The World I'm standing in.

I start running on the familiar trail at the edge of The Lake.  My body warms and settles in to the steady rhythm of my stride.  I decide to take a side trail past a pond and through a hilly neighborhood.  I feel a sense of relief as I enter the forest, thick with underbrush.  I haven't been out this way in quite some time now and the trail is marginal at best, obviously seldom used.  Arriving upon a two rut road,  hidden in the shadow of tall fir,  I run for several hundred yards and find the trail that leads down to Elbow Lake.  

The trail becomes more challenging as I descend a lush hill to the edge of this well hidden Lake.  I follow the shore in a clockwise direction, too many obstacles to be truly running.  No evidence of human encroachment at all,  this smaller section of the Lake is more of a separate Pond than anything else.  Various waterfowl sporadically inhabit the Water's surface.  

The trail becomes much less obstructed as I pass the channel that is the "elbow" of the Lake.   I find a very different environment as I run along the now well used trail.  I'm at the top of a ridge looking down upon a wide open beautiful Lake.  There's a Summer Camp at the far end and I hear the laughter of children at play.  I've been running about an hour now and I decide to turn around.  

Back at the elbow area,  I take a break and sit on an old grey log that juts out above the water.  Green and Blue surround me.  Looking across the narrow channel I can see a familiar clearing on the far side, maybe 100 feet away.  Why not make my little adventure more interesting?  I could easily swim across and run back home on a different route.  There were obviously weeds at each shoreline, but most of the middle appeared to be open water.  

I strip down and bundle up my shoes.  I figure it would be easy to keep my clothes dry on this short swim.  With not much trouble I wade and swim through the weeds out in to the open water.  Nice and easy.  The water is cool and refreshing.  

About 30 feet from my objective shore, I hit thick weeds that top out just below the Water's surface.  Hmmmm... swimming's becoming much more difficult.  My strong confidence is a wee bit shaken.  It's almost as if the weeds below are grabbing my legs and pulling me down.  In my mind, I curse.  I realize the danger I'm in.  A mere twenty feet or so to dry land, but I'm making almost no progress.  I become frantic.  I could drown here.  I take my bundle of now soaked gear and toss as far as I can toward shore.  No thought of clothing now, I am kicking and fighting my way toward shore.  I can't keep this up for very much longer, but for some reason I don't even think about passively floating on my back and taking a break.  I'm fearful that death is close at hand.  My uncontrolled and frenzied thrashing toward shore continues as I make painfully slow progress.  My breathing has become so very labored.  I can't seem to get enough air in.  At the periphery of my vision I somehow take note as a kingfisher swoops down from the trees and chatters chaotically.

I make it to shore.  I collapse and regain my breath.  I'm safe now.  A close encounter and lesson learned.

There is no bad weather...

I've always had a great love of adventure.  As a child I enjoyed playing "Army" out in the woods surrounding our house with my brother, Kirk.  Later, as a teenager, I lied to my Mom and took off on hitchhiking trips for weeks at a time.  The destinations of these ventures continually became more distant as the years went by.  The North Shore of Lake Superior,  Lake of the Woods, Winnipeg, Calgary, Banff, The Tetons.  But, of course it wasn't the destination, it was the journey that drew me.

As the years have gone by, I've become absorbed in many forms of adventure.  Some even made me a living.  I've enjoyed reading about the adventures of others, their tales always compelling me.

Now, experienced in Life, I still have a need for adventure.  The Human side of Life has reined me in somewhat, but I always manage to keep my needs met.  Adventure doesn't require large amounts of money or time.  An adventurous spirit can be fulfilled with a bike ride, a walk, or a swim.  But what makes a certain endeavor an adventure?

Overcoming obstacles and taking risks are key components of adventure.  A Run on a cold and rainy day.  Trespassing on "Public" property.  Paddling on a near frozen Lake.  Singing a song in public. Taking the long way.  Not overcoming, but moving along with Nature.  All these are examples of Frugal Adventure.

My Motto:  "There is no bad weather, only poor clothing choices."  (unknown)

Encounter with Eagle

I alternated running around The Lake on The Trail with paddling around The Lake in my red Dancer Kayak this past Thanksgiving Weekend.  Friday, the air was still and fairly warm.  I carried the Dancer the 200 paces down the steep hill to The Lake in the late morning.  I began a swift paddle heading counterclockwise along the shore.  

The shore along Clear Lake is mostly overhanging fir, alder, and madrona.  I paddled from Canoe Landing, around the point and past the Owen’s place, into the dock guarded little bay next to Otter point.  Nice.

Rounding Otter Point I spotted some intriguing waterfowl.  They promptly flew off when I   entered Turtle Cove.  I stopped under some overhang and took a little break.   

The Lake was only slightly rippled by a very gentle breeze.  I paddled to the end of Clearwood Proper and made a beeline for the Log that juts out not far from the Blue Lake outflow.

I was feeling playful so I made a tight turn around The Log.  As I approached the South East shoreline I glanced up instantly focused on a large bird soaring in from the South at tree top level.  I quickly caught sight of a second Eagle gliding in at the same height and vector... maybe 400 meters to the West.  

The Two sailed over the Lake effortlessly... they seemed to be inspecting their domain.  I watched as each Eagle took perch on trees at opposite shores on the distant end of The Lake.  

The Eagle Sighting left me exhilarated, humbled, and comfortable.

Two days later, Sunday dawn was accompanied by strong winds and rainfall ranging in intensity from drizzle to downpour.  Fortunately, I have the gear and mindset to remain comfortable in inclement weather conditions while kayaking.  I geared up, hoisted the boat, and head on down the trail.  

A strong Southerly was was kicking up whitecaps.  The rain was not torrential, but blasted down in a respectful deluge.  No stretching and warmups out of the boat, I quickly snugged in to The Dancer.  I pushed off, did a couple of stretches, and set off at a determined pace with the wind toward Windy Beach.  

I was feeling froggy!   I paddled under the little foot bridge at full speed, did a backstroke turn, and zoomed out without missing a beat.  Nice.

At the far windward side of The Lake, Windy Beach was living up to its name.  As I approached the dock, the wind was to my starboard and I was paddling at a full and steady pace.   Suddenly, a family of Otters popped up right in front of me.  They looked as if having a short discussion about my presence there and just as suddenly disappeared down under.  I laughed out loud about this brief encounter.

Paddling on, I was now on a course almost directly in to the wind.  Exhilarating.  This was going to be the most intense section to paddle today.  Maybe 2 or 3 hundred meters on this course just off the shoreline I saw a flash of white seemingly fall from the treetops.  In a matter of microseconds, I saw the deep black and recognized Eagle.  Just as instantly, Eagle’s fall changed into a beautiful and graceful swoop upward and into the wind.  I watched as Eagle made slow powerful flaps toward a tree far on the Lake’s lee side.

Me, a man often devoid of deep spiritual feelings felt a tug of tranquil power.