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Published: August 6th 2010
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Entry Nine: Lake Brule: Stranded! Wednesday, July 28th, 2010 The Tides They aren't a’ Changin’! Waking up early, I quickly packet the tent, and made 6 trips carrying all the camping equipment, which had been stored with Sophie the dog and me in the tent. After a careful review of what I had seen on yesterday’s paddling around, combined with what I could currently see from my illegal camp site, I thought that I had a general idea where I was. However, there was presently no way to prove or disprove it.
The wind had been blowing all night, and when I looked outside the tent towards the lake, I could see whitecaps on waves. I walked down to the water’s edge, and thought, “Was I too overzealous yesterday and had actually paddled on this?” I determined that it was too windy to leave, especially in my sleek primadonna canoe, which only cleared the water by about 10 inches. I would have to wait it out.
I waited. And waited. Breakfast. Waited. Read a whole book. Waited. In short…I waited.
Around what was probably 3:30 p.m. (I never carry a watch), the wind
had died down a bit, so, having left the stuff on the bank, I took Sophie and tested the wind by paddling westward out of the bay. It was a constant battle, and I was only inching forward by extreme pushing. I got near the edge of the lake, and it took me three tries to turn around to haul my ass back to my bootleg camp. A bit nerve-wrecking, and something that I had not anticipated (only “on paper”).
The wind was pushing me faster than going down a river I frequent south of Chicago. I did decide to check out the edge of the bay, as it looked as though there might be a creek running in or out of the eastern edge of the lake. Low and behold, just like the surrounding forest, the area was again inaccessible. Many odd-shaped rocks, covered in an impossibly-slippery green growth made walking through the water near impossible. Sophie, unprompted, remained in the boat, just watching me struggle and bruise my already-punctured feet.
Back at camp under the warm sun (one benefit: the wind kept the mosquitoes away), I read an interesting book, Westward Whoa, about the
1993 recreation of the Lewis and Clark trail. Knowing that I would later be traveling the same route, and being intrigued by the story, I had picked up a few books from the Chicago Public Library. I also read a collection of writings by John Muir, founder of the Sierra Club.
In the oft-played scenes reminiscent of many a Gilligan’s Island storylines, I knew that I wasn’t getting off the island today. I officially gave the wind the point, and unpacked and set up the tent for a second night in the space. Sure enough, an hour before dark, the wind completely subsided. The intense map studying during the day had led me to believe that I was maybe only 1 mile from the singular put-in point on Brule Lake. Finding it would be my first priority…tomorrow...
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bird id
The perching bird with yellow on the tail is a Cedar Waxwing.