It is gray and breezy and the lake beckons as a place where the thoughts that fight for space in my mind can find room to leave, or rearrange themselves.
Enough coots are now on the lake that I can say that there is a flock, although many more are to come. The ones that are here are barely enough to keep the bald eagles fed during the coming winter. A male wood duck shows that the ducks have now regained their colors and I look forward to the many migratory ducks that will come to the bay.
To my left, a bee moves in and out of the last of the lily blossoms. Soon the lilies will brown and sink away and soon I will be able to paddle up close to the cattails.
A homeless guy who has been living out of his rowboat eases up. We talk and talk and talk. He does much the same down here as I do, he watches nature. He eats a lot of fish, which I don't do. While we chat, a great blue heron catches a large bluegill. It takes a few seconds for the bird to get its head back out of the water. The fish is a bit bigger than my hand. It takes a few minutes for the heron to kill or stun the fish, then it takes a couple more to maneuver it into its mouth, at which point it looks ridiculously large, but it goes in, and from 70 yards away we can see it pass down the throat. Amazing.
Historic Paddle Photo: 1907 - With Gun and Guide
7 hours ago