Fog

Today, I write as I paddle.
There is a thick fog where I put in.
The heron is where it usually is and it flies off even though it has no reason on account of me, but it always does that.
Nearly all of the bark is off of a birch to my right, the beaver has been busy. I have paddled 50 yards.
I cut between the workbench and the big lodge to see if there are beaver tracks. I have plaster with me today. Beaver seldom leave paw prints.
Fog Changes the view. It is almost like a new place to me.
I use my compass to steer a straight course across the bay.
Even in this little bay I am out of sight of house and road for some time.
Ducks are just barely visible. Their safe distance is almost the same as my visible distance.
I put my wool gloves on. A slight breeze makes just enough difference.
I stop in mid bay to drift for awhile.
A duck surfaces in front of me. It seems to be 200 yards off, which means that it is 3 feet tall.
Fog confuses time and space.
I find shore at the point where the eagles and hawks perch.
My only chore today is to check on the carcass of the dead swan. It is as it was.
As I near the lunch counter, I hear the swans before seeing them. I drift and let them swim away.
Both eagles are perched on the little island near the lunch counter.
One eagle flies off after some ducks and they all quickly disappear, the outcome is a secret.
The ducks are very near shore today, something they would not do if it was clear.
The eagle returns and the two of them chirp at each other.
I am shooting lots of photos today in directions that I normally would not. The bay appears the way I like to think of it.
Paddling by the west islands, I startle the three immature swans.
I recover an Amazing Spiderman rod and reel from the depths. Actually, only 18 inches. The water is very cold. As long as my hand is freezing, I pick up some golf balls.