Aaron, Lane, Brooks, Owen, and I piled into the blue subaru. Five drybags, three coolers, two tents, and six paddles were all stuffed in with us. On top we had two canoes tied down by rope that seemed far too thin to hold such a large load. Brooks had no chance of seeing out his rearview mirror and in the backseat, Lane, Owen, and I had no chance of stretching out our legs for another three hours.
It was the start of the annual Summit Lake canoe-camping trip. Every year five of us would drive twenty miles into the woods east of Oakridge and spend the weekend before Labor Day burning hotdogs over a campfire, playing king of the hill on inflatable kayaks, and hiking around the Chesapeake National Forest. Upon arrival at the lake we were a bit discouraged to see that the weather was not as nice as we were hoping for. We could see the sky getting darker and heard thunder coming in from the west. The weather radio station on the way up mentioned that a cold front was expected to pass through but none of us really considered that a reason to cancel our annual trip. We rushed to unpack the car and repack the bags into the canoes. Aaron stuffed the last drybag into the bow of our boat, locked the subaru, and announced to me, Brooks, Lane, and Owen “Let’s get a move on you hooligans”. All of us could see the weather was turning fast and we wanted to get across the lake and safely into our warm, waterproof tents before it did. Aaron, Lane, and I were in the bigger green canoe with the more important gear: food, drybag of portable phone chargers, and Lil Hotties hand-warmers. Owen and Brooks were in the heavy metal one carrying our tents, tarps, and sleeping bags. They had a heavier load and a slower boat, but all of us had done this paddle hundreds of times which made us feel comfortable enough to spread apart and go at our own pace. Aaron, Lane, and I launched first. About thirty minutes after launching, Aaron steered us around the peninsula and we could see the tiny red spec that was our version of a territory flag. Eleven years ago when we first found this camping spot, we wanted to leave a little mark to remind us where it was. When you’re out on the lake, all the potential docking areas look the same. Same amount of sand on the beach, same treeline, and same rock formations. To make sure we’d always be able to see our precious campsite, our first year at this lake we left Brooks’ t-shirt tied around one of the foremost trees. We powered forward and increased our pace, motivated by the rain starting to fall down on us. The whereabouts of Owen and Brooks and the metal canoe didn’t seem to cross our minds. All I could think about was a hot cup of powder mix cocoa. Just as we were reaching the halfway point of the lake, it started to snow. I couldn’t believe it! It was mid-August and our camping trip was getting interrupted by a snowstorm! We had been so focused on getting to our campsite that none of us had noticed the thick layer of fog that had rolled over the lake or the small white flakes of snow starting to land in our hair and on the sides of the boat. And more importantly, none of us had realized that Owen and Brooks weren’t behind us, or even within our view at all. We hadn’t seen them since they pushed off our boat back at the dock, maybe an hour ago. My mind immediately jumped to the worse case scenario. They had flipped. I’m sure it couldn’t be true, but they have a heavy, unstable boat and the weather conditions aren’t ideal. By the looks on Lane and Aaron’s faces, they were thinking the same thing. We sat in the boat, in the middle of the lake, in a snowstorm, arguing about what to do for fifteen minutes. Lane wanted to go back to where the car was parked and wait out the weather there, Aaron wanted to paddle around and look for them right now, and I wanted to just get to our campsite and wait for them to come in. Finally we came to the conclusion that we should go to our campsite, check if they had already gotten there and if not, drop off our gear and go back out to look for them. It was a miserable paddle to the shore. There was no longer the buzz of excitement that came from being at Summit Lake in our boat. It was now a feeling of dread, no buzz. We docked the boat and started to unload our gear. I picked up my red drybag and was headed into camp towards the firepit when I noticed there was already lit fire in it. I called over Lane and Aaron and both of them were just as surprised. There were no other cars in the lot when we had pulled in and we saw no other boats out on the lake during our paddle. Then, we heard very faint voices coming from the other side of the peninsula we were setting up camp on. Aaron started running towards them. Lane and I glanced at each other then followed directly behind Aaron. We sprinted over the hill and saw Owen and Brooks, in the lake, pushing each other off a flipped over blow-up kayak. All we could do was laugh. Laugh at the fact that we thought they were dead at the bottom of the lake when really they were playing king of the hill at the back inlet of our campground. Owen spotted us and swam in to come greet us. He explained that after we launched he and Brooks saw the storm picking up so they portaged around the lake rather than paddle across it. They made quick time. When they arrived, they figured since the water temperature was much warmer than the air temperature they should get in a swim fearing that it might be the only one of the weekend. After Owen explained everything and Aaron, Lane, and I moved past our moments of folly, all there was left to do was enjoy the weekend at Summit Lake.
0 Comments
|
Categories |
Photo used under Creative Commons from jjhasse