There has been a mystery on our lake, unsolved these many
years. And like our discovery one recent misty morning, I shall gently unfold
its secret to you here.
We were sitting on our long dock, facing westerly towards a
silent island adorned with magnificent white pine. This has become a morning
ritual for us, coffee in hand, wonder in our eyes.
While we were still in shadow, a thin layer of mist lingering
over the water, the sun lost in the trees behind us, ahead the water danced
brilliant. The far shore was illuminated under a teal blue sky bespeckled with small
cottony clouds, white as snow.
The water was still glassy calm. A lone loon bathed in the
distance while a seagull circled overhead. From the island we noticed a
v-shaped ripple take shape and move in our direction. There was vigorous animation
in this ripple.
This was not a particularly odd occurrence however. We have
seen beaver, and an otter and even moose, deer and a bear emerge from the
sanctity of this island paradise - a right of passage to the mainland. But we
have never before beheld this creature now swimming so confidently toward us,
no not in our thirty years on this Blackwater Lake.
We sipped our coffee, watched in quietude and wondered. It
was too small for a beaver; so certainly it was no moose, deer or bear.
Weeks ago we had observed an otter swim vigorously from our
shore to the island. No doubt this had to be that very otter returning to us.
The creature continued to swim in a seemingly predetermined
direction directly toward our dock. Was it bold, or was it oblivious to our
presence there? As it came closer, there was a directness in its upward glance,
a certain cheekiness of entitlement and belonging. The look was all too
familiar. The tail stretching out behind was familiar too.
The creature climbed without hesitation onto the underbelly
of our dock and passaged quickly to the rocky shore. From there it ran to a
tall cedar and mounted its aerial pulpit from which it hurled down hellfire and
damnation upon us.
Our island friends of summer, now gone to that land below
our borders, had like us wondered at the presence of a solitary rodent on their
domain. This frisky, tree climbing, nut eating intruder had surely reached
their shores on the winter ice that covers these waters from December to April
each year. After all, squirrels may fly, but they surely do not swim.
But yes, at least one of them does. And it does it well. And
this one, no doubt deeply annoyed at having been denied access to its island
winter home by fresh mortar, had fled in indignation to our mainland sanctuary.
