What floats my boat

I love nothing better than to push off from the shore of a broad, shallow lake and float out into its center--
the entire body of water around me, quiet and still.
Sitting low to its surface in my kayak, the sky above it all seems even more huge, its open space a giant dome across which birds and dragonflies course—
while I drift as a lone, small speck below.

Bald Eagle above Salt Fork Lake

Onto the quiet water in a small arm of Salt Fork Lake, a reservoir encompassing nearly 3,000 acres of water within Ohio’s largest state park, I floated with 2 friends in 3 small crafts—
Julie's 2 canoes and my kayak.

T.R. and Julie on the Lake

Fanning out from this hidden shore, we spread across the water, the entire space in this small corner ours alone.
Each carving a distinct path,
each finding his own perfect treasures to explore,


we paddled beneath the wide, arcing flight of a young eagle.

And were held in orbit around a tiny spot of color as she rested on the darkened remains of a flooded tree stump, now a pint-sized island sprouting elfin versions of the earthbound greenery along the shore.

Julie & ?

Question Mark butterfly on submerged stump

T.R. & ?

Bit by bit, we’d drift apart, pirouetting across the water to look into the face of a dancing fox hidden in weathered wood,


exchange a smile for a hand-delivered sandwich,


or paddle buoyantly--
because the freedom of water and waves feels like nothing else.



Then fall into line and speed to the opposite shore as one up ahead spotted a distant object standing motionless in the shallow water—


and knew all three would want to see.

Great Egret

As we watched the great white bird, a light rain fell across the glassy surface, and we sat in silence--
alone with the lake, but not.

My paddling companions:

Julie Zickefoose, author of Julie Zickefoose on Blogspot, writer, naturalist, NPR commentator, watercolor painter, gardener, packer of wonderful lunches, Mether to Chet Baker, fellow Ohioan,...friend,


and T.R. Ryan, author of From the Faraway, Nearby, photographer extraordinaire, talented journalist and writer, world traveler, conservationist, Oklahoman,...friend.

The Birds

I arrived at the beach mid-afternoon, in a desperate attempt to hold onto the dwindling hours of a weekend—their passing even faster, now, as the time change steals an hour of light from the end each day’s due.
The night has suddenly grown long.

American Lotus seed head

At the water’s edge, a withered leaf and seed head of the Lotus remind me of their great fields in the distance. The tall, creamy blossoms and broad, flat leaves of late summer, now faded and furled, have turned to sunlit gold.



I dabbled here with the camera as each minute of daylight escaped me, taking image after image of summer’s remnants as they rolled in the water, forward and back. The rocking of one small piece, a walnut or osage orange, sending ring after ring of ripples to dissolve into the glassy lake.

fruit of Osage Orange

Then I drove further on to the lotus fields, parked and walked to the edge.
A small dock at the bottom of a narrow, steep stair nuzzled into the bank beneath a thick stand of pine, the ground beneath them soft with needles and littered with long, pitch-spattered cones. The slant of evening sun was gentle and warm and had filled the air with the sweet and spicy piney smell. The lotus fields were brightly shining, reaching to the very shore. Oak and sycamore branches extended bright and blurry reflections across the dark water.






Several very large, brown birds lifted from the trees across the lake and, as I looked more closely, I could see hundreds still there, standing as black spots perched upon every branch, tucked into the warm wall of trees facing the strongest light. As each rose and cleared the treetops, its shape became visible—they were vultures. In great waves, they lifted and crossed the lake directly above my head, their long wings stroking strongly, the only sound, as they settled in great groups in the tall pines all around me. With each new wave to arrive, the previous would rise and resettle—the wings of the first bird to lift, noisily crashing and becoming a crescendo as another and another joined the group and swirled in a tangle of great wings overhead.

vultures across the lake

and rising to the sky

In all, over 200, both turkey vultures and black, emptied the wall of trees as I sat there, to settle at dusk in their roost around me.
Then the sun dropped into what had become an orange horizon.
A full moon rose in the fading blue sky.
I shook the chill of a clear autumn night from my shoulders.
And the lake fell into quiet stillness.

See more Skywatch here.

In the midst (SWF)

East Fork Lake
November 2008

East Fork Lake looks different now.
No longer the slumbering giant, lurking beneath last fall’s fog, left one morning as a bitter night dropped its chill onto warmer water, and hurried off toward dawn.

We paddled back, as far as the creek would allow, onto a wide gravel bar, covered densely with water-willow, side to side. The blooms now gone, the leaves stained with mud from summer rains that flood this plain. And after searching for a path across it and finding none deep enough to ride upon, sat to rest in the shade of a sycamore—leaving Red Canoe caught on the rocky bottom, waiting within view.

Across the expanse of water-willow, clear, small pools—constantly refreshed by a layer of rushing water, inches deep, dotted the field of green.
Crayfish scurried ahead of my feet, disappearing backward beneath the flat rocks, until only the scarlet tips of their pincers could be seen.
Small fish snuggled in to my sandals.
And damselflies a brilliant red, darted and dashed, waiting and chasing.
And I with my camera, stood in their midst.

American Water-willow, Justicia americana

American Rubyspot damselfy, Hetaerina americana
male above, female below

Spotted Sandpiper (?)

Double-crested Cormorant

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Making Tracks (SWF)

Sway-backed Barn, Rural Ohio

We went “out” last weekend—
not in the typical way that one might speak of a weekend’s plan.
But, rather, “out,” as in, beyond the closest places, to those yet unfound delights,
waiting further down the road.

Dillon Reservoir

Hoping to add to our growing list, another place to spend a day on the water.
A place with the promise of ragged shorelines to trace, shallow winding backwater to float upon.
A place where underwater snags and overhanging boughs bring things of all sorts within arm’s reach.
A place to which we’d soon return, when brighter skies and warmer air would be more accepting of one sitting on the open water—
barefoot, in a little red canoe.

Gull and Heron tracks along the lowered water line

Criss-crossing tracks, where something came from the water, wandered around, and returned.
Any ideas?
(see photo at end of post for scale)

Raccoon prints and
others

But, today, just making tracks.

Evening Sky at Dillon Reservoir

These tiny tracks reminded me of turtle tracks, but seem too small.
I'd love to know what made them!

See more Skywatch here.