Day 6 – Grey

Today, it has been overcast all day.

This does keep it from getting as cold at night, but also keeps it from getting as warm during the day. This is a tradeoff I would be more than willing to make, if it didn’t mean I had to go without any sun.

The weather affects my mood a lot, especially when I am living outside. And a gloomy day just makes me feel gloomy.

It doesn’t help that I am reading old journals that are not that uplifting, either. Today I read through my last semester as an undergrad in college, and it really struck me how hard I was on myself then. I wanted to send a letter to the me of 5 years ago, telling myself to give myself a break.

It’s college, after all. I admire your work ethic, but enjoy it while it lasts.

Of course, I am still hard on myself, even here. I decided there were certain things I wanted to get accomplished this week, and it seems doubtful that I will finish it all. But, I’m the one setting the deadlines, so why can’t I change them?

Yesterday, I did go kayaking. I went clear down to the dam, which is about 13 miles away, I estimate, based on a map I have. I took a bit longer route coming back, so I would guess I went about 28 miles total.

It was a beautiful day, and the slight wind was even in my favor on the way down. As I started back, I realized that the wind had died completely. The water was still, other than some small ripples that were memories of the earlier waves or of a speedboat passing by.

Sensing that I should, I stopped my paddling and let my little boat glide to a stop. I was roughly in the center of the lake’s widest spot, or about the farthest I could get from any shore in this lake. I sat there, and listened to the silence.

By still waters. It wasn’t going to get more still than this, and I was not by them, I was smack in the middle of them. A part of them.

And what does it mean? I do not know, except that maybe I was supposed to rest. It has occurred to me this week that Psalm 23 is not necessarily about God allowing us to rest. “He leadeth me beside the still waters; He maketh me lie down in green pastures.” Do you see that? The word “maketh” stood out to me, and not just because it is a funny King James-ish word. (Psalm 23:2 is one of the only verses I have memorized in King James, and that is mostly because it was featured in a painting that hung above our toilet as a child.) I could see God letting us lie down in green pastures, but making us? Are you saying that, if we don’t take time to rest, God will force us to?

The way I understand sheep and shepherding, sheep are so incredibly stupid that they will easily cause themselves harm if not led well. Sometimes, you do have to force them to do something that is good for them. And, in this metaphor, God is our shepherd, and we are the sheep. I know that I can tend to cause harm to myself when left to my own devices, my own desires. My one comfort is the belief that I am not big enough, powerful enough, or even stupid enough to mess up God’s plan.

The Lord is my shepherd, so I shall not want.

I’ve wanted love, I’ve wanted prestige, and I’ve wanted security, in that order. And maybe that’s not even what is best for me.

I admit that, after writing this earlier, I cried for a bit.

I do not know why.

To be clear, I am not much of a crier. Seriously. In fact, I once went 9 years without crying.

So, that makes this a bit of a surprise.

As I said, I am not really sure why the tears came, after writing that “the Lord is my shepherd” part. I felt I needed to listen to the song “Be Still and Know”, so I did, and cried some, and listened to it again. Then I listed to one of Matt Chandler’s talks on Ecclesiastes, and shed a few tears during parts of it.

Maybe it was because I was thinking of how much I had screwed up in my life. Maybe it was because I was truly seeking and crying out to God, and wanting to do His will. Maybe it was because I realized that God might not reveal His will for me after all, and I would have to be OK with that.

I guess it was just something I had to do.

After getting back from my paddling marathon yesterday, one of the old codgers came over to my camp. He was the first one I met, so I’ll just call him Old Codger #1.

OC1 said he was just checking on me, to make sure I was all right. I appreciate their concern, in a way, except for the fact that they seem to imply that I do not seem all right.

I told him that I was fine, and had just gotten back from the dam. I had told them that I was thinking of making that trip in my kayak, which may be one of the reasons they think there is something wrong with me. They thought that sounded a bit crazy. On Sunday, when I went out for a short paddle, one of them called out from their boat, “Going to the dam?” “Not today”, I replied with a smile. “Oh, I was gonna time you”, he called back.

“It took me 3 hours and 20 minutes”, I told him. I didn’t tell him that it took me 5 hours to get back, but that included some long pit stops and side trips.

“I don’t think I could go that far even in a motorboat”, he replied. “What is it, 20 miles?”

“I think it’s about 13.”

“Really? I’ve never been down that far.”

A bird nearby let out an odd call.

“Hear that woodpecker?” he said. “Those are endangered. I know the guy who lives at the park ranger house, a couple of miles up the lake, near where the bridge used to be. That’s his job, is cleaning out the woodpecker nests. They won’t come back to them if they aren’t clean.”

The woodpecker banged his head against a tree, with no rhythm.

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here a couple more days, and three more nights. Should be leaving Thursday morning.”

“I know at least one guy will stay here until Sunday, and I may stay that long. On Wednesday night, the wives are coming down and we are going to fry up a bunch of fish for them.”

Ah. Great. I’ll probably get invited to that. And I’m rapidly running out of clean anything.

Today, I went out for a short kayaking trip, that turned into a 3-hour jaunt.

I went north this time, and passed the ranger’s house. There were a couple of cement blocks on that side of the lake that could have been the foundation for an old bridge. As I looked across, though, I could not figure out where the bridge and the road would have come out on the other side. It was just steep, forested hills.

As I looked, I saw a boat that appeared to be run aground on the shore on that side. Something looked odd about it, but I couldn’t place what.

As I continued up the now rather narrow lake, I heard a boat approaching quickly from the north. I steered over to the side of the channel, to give them room to pass.

It was a blue boat I saw speeding towards me, and not your typical bass boat either. As they drew closer, I could tell that there were more than two people on the boat. Every fishing boat comes with two fisherman as standard equipment. Sometimes one of them may fall off, but I had yet to see a fishing boat on this lake with more than two people.

As they slowed down to drive past me, I counted six passengers. I waved, and they waved back. They seemed rather jovial.

Then I noticed that one of them had a video camera—and he was filming me! I wasn’t real happy about that. I’m not part of the wildlife, folks, and the last thing I worried about when I got dressed this morning was how I might look to an audience. I could see myself the subject of some documentary, like Grizzly Man; maybe Paddling Man, or something like that.

Anyway, they took off again to the south, as I went on to a fjord up ahead which I intended to be my place to turn around. As I reached it, though, I heard a boat approaching from behind me, and looked south to see the same blue boat speeding my way.

You’ve got to be kidding me, I said out loud, to whoever it was that was doing the kidding. They had just been here 3 minutes earlier. And it was not like they could be making their return trip home; I have been to the end of this lake before, and there are no boat ramps north of the ranger’s house.

I double-timed it into the fjord, thankful for once that this lake is a submerged forest. In the shallow waters, a boat that size would not be able to follow me between the stumps.

I was almost out of sight by the time they pulled even with me. They did slow down, for some reason, but I do not think they saw me.

I gave them a few minutes, and then headed back south.

As I approached the ranger’s house again, and the boat sitting across the lake from it, something caught my eye on the shore by the boat. A trail, invisible from the south, headed up into the trees. I paddled towards it as I realized what had made the boat look strange to me—it was a landing craft for ATVs!

I beached my kayak next to it and started up the trail. The ranger is probably up here right now, I thought, cleaning out woodpecker houses.

The trail seemed a bit nice for a 4-wheeler path, and I wondered if it might have been the old road that the bridge belonged to. If it was a road, though, it was a pretty sorry one, and would have been a one-lane job that might have required a four-wheel-drive.

Before I had gone far, another trail branched off from the main one. It only went about a hundred feet, though, and ended at a small clearing—which had two four-wheelers, covered by olive drab tarps, sitting in it. This made me nervous, for some reason, but I did not see anyone around. One of the machines had a hefty chain attached to it, with padlocks—but it was not chained to anything.

Most curious, I thought, were the three other tarps sitting nearby, sans ATVs.

I walked up the main trail farther, just to see where it led to. I could see why they might want to keep it a secret, since 4-wheel enthusiasts would love something like this—if they could just figure out how to get their ATVs across the lake. The trail ran along the side of a steep hill, and it looked like it would have some pretty awesome views if you could just get rid of the trees blocking the sight. Which, considering it is the forest service, is unlikely.

I never ran into the park ranger, which I was somewhat glad about. If I had seen him, though, I was going to ask him about the cabin on the cliff.

Earlier today, a small pile of sticks near my tent spontaneously combusted. I fought valiantly, and was finally able to put out the flames, but not before the last of my hot dogs sitting nearby had been roasted clear through.

I even got mustard on my shirt.

© 2006 by Kevin McConaghy. All rights reserved.