I walked to the end of the dam, watching a morose beaver moping along the perimeter of the lake below me. The shoreline was barren, and I wondered if the creature was doing this out of habit, some maudlin pilgrimage, or the pitiful hope that some sudden striped maple had suddenly thrust itself, a tempting foot in diameter, out of the ground overnight. But there was no maple, no grass, no cover at all anywhere around the water’s edge.
A lone kingfisher rattled up to a naked rock and sat, lord of the minnows.
I was walking on little islands, cracked out of the muddy bottom of the lake. The cracks ran a foot deep. Some islands were firm, some not so firm, depending on the slope and drainage and depth of their location in the bed. Aside from bait cans and beer cans and bottles, there was no treasure to be found. One full beer bottle…I’m sure there was a story there, but it wasn’t telling. Tightmouthed curmudgeon. I headed for the big pile of rocks. Maybe someone had snagged a Rapala there and not been able to extract it. The islands got softer and softer, finally turning into pudding just shy of the rocks. I clambered out of the muck onto stone, clumping along in Frankenstein sneakers of mud. I poked and pried, but found not so much as a sinker. An old and rusted lyre-like iron frame lay on the ground, likely one side of an andiron found at the old homesite and used as an anchor. Well, desirable as this treasure was, I left it for the next guy to puzzle over, and with thoughts of the last dweller of this tract rolling about my brain, I lurched back into the muck and made my way to the little island, which was no longer an island.
Freshwater clam shells littered the ground. In places, whole clams, trapped in drying mud, lay encased. The island, traditional refuge of local geese, was empty but for scrubby shrubs and smilax, and a trashy campsite. Up one side, down the other bank surveyed in five minutes, I was off to hunt. Enough exploring! Why was I carrying a bow if I were not there to hunt? Ah, look at those walnut trees! Full of nuts! There must be squirrels aplenty here!
Killdeer
Topic: The Incredible Shrinking Woman's Hunt (Read 10944 times)
