Unanchored

It was the hottest day of the year, what we call a scorcher. Even the lake water at the shoreline was like bathwater. The trees offered shade, but the air was so still that it made little difference. The heat was intense making everything shimmer in the sun.

The cabin had no air conditioning, and none of the usual remedies, such as ice water, fans, or cold compresses, were working to cool me off. I tried pressing a cold soda can against my neck and to my wrist, but it warmed up faster than my patience was exhausted. I decided to head to the lake for a swim, but I needed to get to deeper water.

Grabbing the boat keys, I headed to the pontoon. The dock planks felt like burning coals as I dashed to the boat on tiptoes. Somewhere across the lake, a jet ski hummed like a mosquito. It was a perfect day for a swim in the lake.

The familiar smell of gasoline mixed with lake water drifted up from the motor as I turned the ignition key. I let the motor idle while I untied the dock lines and brought the fenders on board. There was a spot in the middle of the lake I knew, where the water was deep and clear of weeds, an ideal place to enjoy the lake.

An escape from today's blistering heat was just beyond the cove, and I couldn’t wait to jump into the cool water of Big Indian Lake. Despite the heat, or maybe because of it, the lake was curiously quiet today. There were few boats out on the water. That one jet ski was still screaming off in the distance, but I couldn't see it.

Usually, the boat making headway and bouncing over the chop created a nice breeze. Today the air moved, but it didn't cool.

I throttled up and enjoyed the view of the lake, focusing on navigating the open water ahead. When I was right about where I wanted to be, I cut back the motor to idle.

No other boats were nearby, no strong currents, no floating hazards, no loons to be disturbed, and the water was plenty deep. The distant shoreline of rugged rock and pine was easily visible, offering a pleasant backdrop. Happy with the location, I turned off the motor and lowered the swim ladder. I put out an orange flag to mark a swimmer in the water and secured my sun-blocker hat and sunglasses in the helm console storage locker. Finally, with all in readiness, there I was, poised at the bow of the pontoon, like a hood ornament on a 1956 Cadillac.

The lake below me shimmered and sparkled in the bright sun. I could imagine myself sinking below the surface in a rush of fizzy bubbles amid the gurgling of churning water, muffled sounds that seemed to come from within my head, then kicking buoyantly back to the top. I knew - absolutely knew - how refreshing a plunge into the lake could be. I knew the pleasure of floating in the cool water. I knew how perfectly safe it is - no Loch Ness monsters. Yet, and this happens every single time, my toes edged over the bow, and I hesitated to take the leap.

My body leaned forward, but my brain pulled back. The tug of war between the two seemed to last a long time, but it may have only been seconds. It's not exactly fear that holds me in this standoff. Not some unresolved childhood issue with a cannonball gone wrong. The best I can describe it is a vague momentary indecision, as though my brain had to reboot before taking the plunge.

I was willing myself to jump, but nothing happened. The water is only a few feet below me; it wasn't the distance that was holding me back. The sun was now beating down, and it was hotter than a steel slide in July, yet still I stood on the precipice unable to make the drop.

Then suddenly the spell broke. There was no turning back; one step into the void. Splash. Instant pleasure and relief from the heat and the paralysis. It was a joy to just be floating free on the water, and I wondered why I waited.

Everything was as anticipated: wet, cool, refreshing, and peaceful. At the surface, the water was comfortably warm, and it faded to liquid shade just below. A whisper above my breath, I heard only the quiet sloshing of the languid waves lapping out a sleepy rhythm. My body rose and fell with the supple undulation of the lake.

Minutes passed, and I imagined myself a minor deity of the lake. My body became part of the lake, the relentless heat of the sun tamed. The cloudless sky above stretched across my vision. I floated peacefully there, with my arms out wide, still as a water lily. I could stay like this forever, one with the lake.

But then something: the air, my awareness, an instinct, shifted. A low groan from the pontoon boat reached me. It was a sound I hadn't noticed before. I blinked in concentration. A dragon fly skimmed across my shoulder. I turned my head. The boat seemed further away or was I imagining it, movement on the water is hard to gage. A moment of mindfulness, I squinted, and I was sure.

The boat was moving. Not bobbing - moving, drifting.

Realization flashed. I never set the anchor. The pontoon was drifting away. And just like that, with a sudden loss of grace, my serene lake goddess era came to an end.

It was a slow chase. The pontoon was not moving fast, but neither was I. Eventually, my boat was recovered. My dignity was irretrievably lost.

Thankfully, I had rembered to lower the swim ladder, and next time, I hope to remember to drop the anchor before channeling my inner lake goddess. Maybe I’ll also remember to jump in without all the push and pull tension. It's doubtful. I guess that hesitation is just part of my ritual, like applying sunscreen, wearing a sun-blocker hat, and sunglasses. The life lesson is that I don’t rush into things. I linger dramatically, on the edge, while the sun bakes my common sense, apparently.

The other lesson is that dignity is both fragile and, fortunately, not required for lake recreation. The good news is that the lake doesn’t care, and no one was there to judge. The water welcomes and cools you on a hot day, whether you arrive with a confident dive or a stutter-step swan dive.