As the afternoon warmed and the mosquitos came out in droves, we headed by out to the water.  This time with two poles.  The wind had kicked up a bit and I wondered if the fish were even going to bite.  I started my steady rowing rhythm towards the east side.  The dog was anxiously looking over the stern to see if the fish from this morning were still there.  Confused she gave us this look as if to say "Please don't disappoint me." Within minutes it seemed I had lost a fish.  Yes it had taken the hook with it, right off the flat fish lure.  A bit of jerry rigging and we were in business once again.  Both the dog and I now looking towards John with anticipation.  




We had fish again that evening, each time getting better at the meal.  Pan fried trout and perfect nectarines replaced the meal I had originally decided upon.  Each morning we woke early to fish, spending our time on the water.  Flapping wings of birds rising into the air, the knocking of woodpeckers for their breakfast, crickets serenading us from the banks and the steady movement of oars dipping in and out of the water.  We were alone in the mornings as the others had not even risen for their morning coffee.  There was a sense of freedom, of slowness, and thoughts.  Each morning I wore my sweatshirt until I became warm from the rowing and the day.  We sat mostly still wrapped in our thoughts and dreams wondering if we could do this more than just a few days of the year, wondering if we could continue to catch almost the limit each day.  The dog had learned that fish came from the bending poles and she eagerly wanted to help bring them into the boat.  Only once did she fall overboard but that was trying to bring the fish on the stringer back into the boat. She learned quickly after that.  She is a wading dog NOT a swimming dog.  By the end of three days our schedule was set.  Wake early for coffee and cheese filled croissants, row the boat out to the lake and start our trolling path.  Place the poles in the water and fish until it warmed and the fish weren't rising.  Back to the cabin for a nap, lunch an outing and maybe back on the lake in the evening.  

 

“There’s nothing––absolutely nothing––half so much worth doing as messing about in boats.”

― Kenneth Grahame, The Wind In The Willows

The dog so unsure of this wobbly contraption surrounded by water.  Gingerly after lots of coaxing she hopped in with her tail between her legs.  As John pushed off from the dock, he took the oars and guided us out to the fish stocked lake.  We traded seats, me taking the oars and John setting the lines in the water.  Slowly I dipped the oars into the lake, finding my rhythm, learning the song of the water.  We had hardly gone a bit when the pole bent. Springing into action, John swiftly jerked the line and I scrambled for my camera.  The oars were stowed, the dog frantic, John reeling in the line. 

"The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope."  -John Buchan

An unexpected surprise, dinner.  I hadn't planned on it.  Actually I betted against having fish.  Who actually catches their dinner expect maybe my mother who is a fishing expert.  John strung the fish onto his stringer and slipped it back into the water casting out his pole again.  The dog had other ideas.  She couldn't get the thought out of her head that there was this wiggling thing following the boat.  Sitting at the stern she hung her head over the water whining.  It didn't' take her long to realize that all she needed to do was pull the stringer in and the fish would be back in the boat where she could smear her neck with the scales and bite the wiggling squirming slippery toy. She was sure we had caught it just for her and by keeping it in the water we had developed a new bit of torture for her.  We continued to troll, me on the oars, John manning the pole, the dog losing what marbles she had. We stopped at the island letting the dog try her paw at swimming.  It wasn't her thing.  It wasn't solid and the bottom wasn't where she thought it should be.  

Then towards the east side of the lake, we dropped the dog off so she could spend a bit on land, while we rowed.  As we slipped down the bank 10 feet or so and the dog was busy sniffy, a strike on our line had us scrambling once more.  

"I think I fish, in part, because it's an anti-social, bohemian business that, when gone about properly, puts you forever outside the mainstream culture without actually landing you in an institution." -John Gierach

Another fish on our stringer and the dog eagerly made it back into the boat just to be tormented by not one but two fish trailing in the water. It was nearing time for lunch and I could tell by the "rumbly in my tummy" and the fish on the stringer were on the menu.

 The Clubhouse Fun Center is exactly that a fun center.  We pulled into a parking lot wondering if we were in the right place.  However once on the other side of the fence we knew we were in the right place. We received our clubs and started the course.  However, there was a summer group of about 50 middle schoolers who were not well chaperoned since many of the chaperones were high schoolers and didn't seem to care. The staff were high schoolers as well and didn't care either. My camera was hit once when the group in front of us decided to use their clubs as bats instead.  Then they almost hit my head with the golf club.  Other kids were climbing all over the landscape features.  I was disappointed because I felt like I was becoming a cranky old woman. We putted our way under bridges and through tunnels but the course didn't really have any crazy obstacles.  The front 18 was crowded because of the kids but the back 18 were calm.  The back 18 also had hills and so the obstacles were more difficult.  The grounds were pretty and the greens were well taken care of despite the lack of respect from both the customers and crew. Because of that I had to give a satisfaction of 2 out 5.  

Pirate Hideout in Waterford, New York was our next stop on our tour.  






One other note, the bathrooms were not well marked.  

 

We start off our Mini Golf Series with Pirates Cove in Bar Harbor.  We dressed our part and roped Job's roommate Ben M. into joining us and wearing a Hawaiian shirt and golf glove.  He was a good sport I have to say.  We even met a Veteran while on the course and had a nice chat with him.   

I'm not sure how many years it's been since I was on skis.  Too many. When Issac originally asked, I thought I would just snowshoe into the lodge and meet him for lunch and then snowshoe around the area.  I love snowshoeing when it's a nice day.  If it's cold and windy, I'd rather read by the fire.  However, Issac gently pressured me into skiing instead.  I should have realized the day would be full of "gentle" pressure to ski harder and harder runs.  I remember pressuring him to get out of his comfort zone and now the shoe is on the other foot.  For the most part, he was content to just ski with me the runs I was comfortable with.  Occasionally he would ski a harder area and I would meet him at the bottom to ride the chair again.  It was the middle of the week and we could practically ski onto the chair.  It was wonderful not to have to wait in line.  The morning was beautiful, clear skies, bright snow, a little more than a gentle breeze but not bad. Then after lunch a storm rolled in.  We skied until about 2:30 and then headed for home.  A perfect day.