Visiting the Lake

My thanks to michchick98 for assistance with editing, and patience with my double spaces. A few words of explanation, I grew up within walking distance of one of the Great Lakes. I love the Lake in all its moods, from calm, quiet lady to furious angry tiger, and everything in between. The following is from my imagination pulling on memories of storms I have watched. If the storms aren't like that on the Lake you know, visit another, there are after all 5 major, and several smaller, lakes.

Second explanation, when I was a child the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) had a channel on local cable TV. It was simply a solid screen with a title logo identifying the branch office and the forecast area. An announcer was looped giving current weather, sunrise, sunset, hunting/fishing conditions, and any warnings. Across the bottom was a continuous scroll, giving the same information as the announcer, but updated more quickly.

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Pulling into my parking spot, I watch the wind whipping the tree leaves for a bit. I turn off the engine and head for the house. It's been an awful day, but there's a chance it could get better. As soon as I'm in, I turn on the TV, grab the remote and tune to NOAA's channel. I anxiously watch the scroll on the bottom of the TV screen. Then I hear it! The announcer just warned of a small craft advisory, waves eight feet!

I race to the bedroom, throwing my work clothes off as fast as I can. There I quickly pull on a pair of cut-off shorts, an old tee shirt, thick socks, and my boot.... Where are my boots? A fast scan of the room reveals nothing. The laundry room! I left them drying in the laundry room! I laugh and run for them. Outside tree branches scrape against the walls and roof, urging me to hurry. I pull on my boots, grab a rain coat and my keys, and race out the door.

From her kitchen window, a neighbor smiles and waves as I walk by, clearly thinking I'm nuts to be outside in the approaching storm. I laugh softly as I watch leaves torn from their branches dancing down the street. As I near the end of the block, my pace picks up, almost running now.

Ah, there's the path, I slip through a small copse of trees to the farmer's access road beyond. I watch the huge lotus trees bend before the storm's fury. Maybe this storm is too bad? I pause, listening and looking. Should I turn back? Faintly, I hear the roar of the waves calling me, luring me on. I cross the dirt road and walk on the far edge, laughing at myself. I'm scared of the tree branches, as if they could reach down, grab me and fling me into the storm.

There! There's the wood post that marks the old walk to the beach. I dart into the trees and start down the walk. I reach the last remaining step and slow down. I grab tree branches and boulders as I climb down to the stream. It's swollen over its bank, the lake already flowing upstream. I hear the waves even louder here. I climb up the last hill, just around that corner I'll see the lake!

At the top I stop. A tree has fallen and is blocking my way. I can hear the lake roaring it's anger, but I can't see it! Slowly and carefully, I examine the tree. I don't want the tree to fall further when I'm under it or over it. The top seems to be firmly wedged between two trees on the other creek bank. The bottom of the trunk is on the ground. It shouldn't go anywhere. Carefully, I climb on the trunk and freeze!

The waves surge towards the beach, angrily tossing their white hair. They crash against the cliff, and roar. The wind carries the smell of rotting fish off the lake, overpowering the green wood smell of the tree I'm sitting on. Each wave storms in, crashes over the non-existent beach, and retreats. A blood red sun, sitting low in the sky watches quietly.

A small block of clay breaks off the cliff and falls. A wave greedily pulls it towards the lake. The next wave screams and grabs the clay, flinging it back against the cliff. The scene resembles two little kids squabbling over a toy.

A quick scan of the skies shows no looming storm clouds. A large wave rewards my inattention by sending up a fine mist. I laugh as the spray hits my face, safe on my perch high above the beach. Each wave takes away my tension as it gives up its assault on the cliff.

A seagull calls. I'm surprised, they don't like to fly in high winds. Looking for the gull, I notice the waves are smaller. The storm is ending. There! There's the gull. It struggles against the wood, scanning the foamy waves, hoping for a meal. I watch the wind push the gull backward and the wings beat frantically to move forward.

Suddenly, the gull dives. For a long moment I watch anxiously. Did the gull catch something? Did it misjudge and get caught by a wave? There it is, a huge fish in its beak. The gull turns, using the wind to glide home. The roar is noticeably quieter. Glancing down I see the waves no longer beat against the cliff. A few inches of beach are visible. The sun dips into the lake and turns the waves rosy. I slide off the log away from the lake, wincing as the rough bark scrapes my calf. I begin the long, slippery climb back up the cliff and head home.