l o o n d o w n

Sunday morning Barry and I spent paddling around Kezar Lake where the autumn colors are just beginning. We put in our kayaks at Pleasant Point where there’s a sandy beach available only for Lovell taxpayers and their friends and family. A sign reads: “No dogs and other domestic animals.” Curious about the history behind that rule. My mind immediately goes to the different pet trends of the last 15 years: pot belly pigs, sugar gliders, hedgehogs, ferrits.

No?

We meandered around to the left gliding near shoreline camps that reflect the architectural styles of past vacationers’ aesthetics. My favorite, of course, are the the older buildings going back to the late 1800s when Lovell was first discovered by people from away as an ideal vacation spot. Top of the list? The boathouses straddling the water with canoes and kayaks protected beneath. Some have rooms above with kitchens, bedrooms, bathrooms and all other comforts including much needed screened porches. Though Kezar isn’t an overly crowded lake, it surprised me to see how many camps line the shores.

Continuing South we came across four loons that hardly noticed us while they continued fishing and grooming, making small noises to each other as small black and white feathers floated our way. I just couldn’t let the downy feathers pass. There’s something so tender about coming across the innermost fluff of a wild bird.

We skirted around a large group of noisy teenage canoers, avoided a boat carrying three generations of weekend fishermen, and then glidded under the Narrows Bridge where I tried to see hints of all the failed bridges that stood there before. Just a little further on we floated amongst a large community of water lilies in their almost plastic perfection. And then the narrow passage opened up to Kezar’s lower bay and more of the White Mountains. They’re a softer mountain range than what I grew up with in the Puget Sound. A quieter drama. Older.

But then there’s Mount Washington with it’s record-breaking weather breaking its own records yearly.

We promised ourselves to come back and survey this part of the lake and its southern outlet deciding that using the boat launch at the marina would be a better start. (Well, I decided this.) And so we turned around just in time to enjoy the small rollers began by a Boston Whaler carrying a grandfather and his four grandsons. Right as the boat slowed down at the markers, the boys started to yell and run around the slowly moving craft. They jumped in and out of the water, daring themselves to jump further, but close enough to still get back to the boat before it moved too far. The grandfather sat still and sure as these boys scrambled all over the boat and water like little monkeys. This group was well practiced in this boating adventure. All were assured how the system worked. Just as the other marker came close the boys all returned to their places and the grandfather hit the motor.

As we rounded the corner I saw the promised danger of hijinks as three of the boys began spitting contests over the side of the bridge. The grandfather was moored at the marina and out of earshot.

I planned my route.