Early Morning on the Lake

The six foot tall piles of snow outside our bedroom window have now melted enough to allow the early morning light to stream into the windows affording me a view of the kayaks and sailboat sticking out of the snow in the yard. This, naturally, reminds me that the boats and car roof racks will need some work before we can take advantage of the incredibly short boating season here in Vermont. The melting snow also reminds me it is Springtime and I need to get started on my to-do list which was put on hold due to weather conditions.

I have plenty of home improvement projects which need to get done too but getting the boats ready for summer is always the first priority. I have learned that if I delay getting the boats ready, it will be too late in the short season to even try to get the boats ready and then we never get out on the boats at all.  My focus is on getting the boats ready for use for the start of summer in June... and that gets me thinking about getting back out on Lake Groton as well as all of our memories of boating in past seasons.

Whenever the conditions are right, I am out and about on my kayak around sunrise everyday while we are at the lake. This is perhaps my most favorite time of day for kayaking as well as for photography. 

If I awaken to sunshine with visibility clear across the lake this means I either overslept or the weather conditions are just not right for interesting early morning photography. If it is raining, I just go back to bed and hope the rain stops soon! If I can't safely use my photography gear while out on the lake, I don't want to go out. Using my digital photography gear which is filled with moisture-sensitive electronics out in the rain is not safe nor desirable. Also, being someone whom has worn eyeglasses for almost all of my life, I am one who despises being out in the rain because it gets my eyeglasses wet which then makes seeing difficult and frustrating. Quite simply, I don't like rain. In my perfect world, it would only rain between midnight and 3:00am every night. Unfortunately, my world is far from perfect and I must deal with rainy days like everyone else.

On those many mornings when I awaken to pre-dawn light and see the lake obscured by early morning fog, this is when I get excited and can't seem to get out on the lake quickly enough.

The sun hasn't come up over the mountaintops yet and there is a nice thick layer of dewy fog covering the entire lake. The house is silent with the exception of the floor creaking under my feet and doors squeaking as I try to quietly open and close them. Even the constantly warbling loons are quiet this time of day...

I grab my sports-pack of medications and get my morning dose of medications out of the way first. I then start the morning coffee so that it will be ready when I arrive back at the house after an hour or two on the lake. The morning fog will begin to lift within the next hour as the sun rises above the mountaintops and quickly burns off the fog.

I then turn on our radio base station and quickly test my walkie-talkie so I can communicate, if necessary, with the family back at the house... I grab my life vest, my pack of medications and the appropriate photography gear... then head out to the beach where my kayak awaits...

As I stand in the warm lake water and carefully place my gear into my kayak, I notice there are insects gliding across the placid surface of the lake like skaters on ice and little minnows swimming around my ankles... I hear an occasional bass break the surface of the lake while gobbling up one of those insects and then noisily splash down into the lake again...

I push off from shore with my gear safely stowed between my legs and under the forward deck of my kayak. My cameras are placed carefully with my gear... one with a long telephoto lens, one with a wide telephoto lens... ready to be grabbed in an instant. The only audible sounds are the sound of the lake gently lapping at the shore as a result of my kayak displacing and disrupting its smooth surface... this quietness won't last long though because the moment the sun rises above the mountaintops and begins to illuminate the fog, the lake will come alive with wildlife... birds will begin chirping... loons will awaken and start warbling... ducks will start quacking... bass and trout will be gobbling up insects and splashing all around my kayak. I will begin to hear signs of human life as well... a distant boat... the faint sound of a car driving around the lake... a pet barking in the distance... all echoing across the lake... 

This time of day always reminds me of mornings on Brant Lake in the Adirondack Mountains while growing up. I was always up this early at Brant Lake as well. Donned in a cold, damp bathing suit and a heavy sweatshirt, I would stand thigh-deep in the warm lake water, minnows swimming around my legs... cool, damp fog enveloping me... watching the sunshine light up the crystal clear blue sky as it quickly appeared through the rising fog. As the sun quickly burned off the cold morning fog, the lake would come alive... rays of sunshine would sparkle off the lake and warm me... I could smell bacon frying which was a sign my father was almost ready to start making french toast or pancakes... These foggy mornings on Lake Groton are very much the same and evoke memories of Brant Lake and those emotionally warm beginnings to each day. These mornings were almost like a symphony orchestra performing softly, barely audible, coming to life through a very gradual crescendo, awakening nature.

As I paddle through the fog... never losing sight of the shore to guide my way through the fog... the lake looks different this time of day and in these conditions... almost moody... the light is so different than during the day... so soft that I feel as though I am paddling, wedging and pushing my way through the light... it feels as though the light and fog have a physical consistency of warm butter...

I begin to hear wildlife come alive for another day on the lake... a lone loon passes overhead... flying the length of the lake while calling out as if to say, "Hey everyone, it's morning... get up!" I briefly wonder which loon, and how this particular loon, is chosen for this duty every morning.

As the sun warms the cool morning air and burns off the fog, I slowly paddle back to the house with another hundred or so photos. An hour or two has passed since I quietly left the house. As I approach the house, I look for signs of life... I quietly glide onto the beach next to the house... still silence in the house and no signs of consiousness, but I do smell that coffee I started before I left the house...  

Within the next hour, the household slowly comes to life as I start cooking breakfast and the distinct aroma of bacon fills the house...

And they are all unaware of what they missed out on the lake...

A symphony of life gradually awakening for another day...