Deeply nestled in the inlet, all was calm. Too calm in fact.
My map told the story of two lakes joined by a narrows. A long sinuous shallow affair connecting two mostly independent bodies of water; easily traversed by a canoe, an impenetrable wall for a regular motorboat, not quite impossible for a shallow fisherman’s skiff, and… what of me? Impassible? Impossible? Improbable?
Fuck it, I sailed right into the narrows.
The wind died to nothing. I slowed to a walk, then a saunter, then a bar crawl. No worries, I enjoyed soaking up the sun. I peeked over the edge looking for fish. I had a snack, drank some water. I kept fiddling with the sail and gaining ground a foot or two at a time.
Then losing a foot or two at a time. Damn.
A heron landed not 20’ off my bow. I thought about my fishing poles. They were still packed away. I was tangled in sailing lines and the boat was drifting more or less randomly. Nah, better not risk it. The heron nailed a minnow and gulped it down. It eyed me as if to mock my undeployed fishing rod.
I tried for an hour or more. Sailing wasn’t doing it. Finally I hoisted the sail (double reefed) over my head, and tried to row. Rowing with all the sailing shit (“rigging”) in the way is a fuckin’ mess. Lifting it over my head is better but only if the wind is absolutely not a single molecule of air. Meanwhile the rudder keeps flapping around and screwing up everything. To row I need it to point straight. I’ll eventually figure out a better approach.
Finally, I stepped out into the shallow water. It was maybe 6” deep. I paid out some line and kicked the boat back. Then I led it like a cow on a leash around some shallow spots. There was no current. Wind had no effect. It was dead calm. Walking the boat (“the walk of shame”) is a muddy annoying clumsy way to go… but it’s not stupid, because it works.
Splashing thought the mud and rocks I covered about 100 yards in less time than I’d spent trying to sail and half assed row to cover 40 yards. I’m probably a punchline in a heron’s story.
The new lake was long and narrow and looked both deeper and colder. The wind was whipping down the length of the lake. I don’t know how I got the vibe “cold” but I did. It was still early spring I guess. The lake just had “hypothermia” written all over it for unknowable reasons.
There were a few campsites on the opposite shore; accessible by water or possibly by a dotted line I interpreted as a hiking trail. They were maybe a couple mile’s hike from a dirt road. I have considered building a second cart for my boat. It’s pretty light, just unwieldy. My first cart never made it to the lakes. It was killed right on my lawn. So sad. That’s a story for a different time. Maybe I’d check out the “cart-ability” of the dotted line?
So I pushed off shore with the sail double reefed and lowered to its proper height. I had plenty of trepidation. Indeed, the lake was like a wind tunnel. This wasn’t particularly fun but the boat could handle it and I knew what to do. It felt like I’d dipped that mast directly into the goddamn jet stream but the forces were at least predictable in direction and force. I went straight for the middle of the scattered campsites and progressed fast. One was occupied so I veered away. One wasn’t in accordance with the wind. One had a little sheltered cove and after an hour of beating through wind and waves it looked like a marina to me. I scooted in to land like a boss.
I retracted the rudder & daggerboard, dropped the sail, tied it down stoutly, and went to the campsite. (About 50’ distant and well above lake level.)
I’d been afloat for many hours. I was tired. Surprisingly, the campsite had a nice big picnic table. I’d brought food and water but first I stretched out on top of the picnic table and promptly fell asleep. It had been both good fun and hard work getting there.