In a sense, the lake shuffling its waves against my property is two lakes. One of them is the surface water I see. This is the lake that, when becalmed, reflects both mountains and sky. This lake sometimes turns silver, sometimes cobalt blue, and sometimes dark and turbulent. Boats zip across miles of the undulating surface. This is the lake whose surface freezes solid before the turn of each year
The
other lake lies below the surface. It's a secretive place where the landscape
is hidden, and fish rule supreme. This time of year, as leaves turn and begin
to drop into the shoreline waters, the lake clears of algae and murkiness.
The
other day, I stood on my dock, peering down into the water, amazed at what I
could see. I saw large rocks on the bottom, submerged branches long ago shed
from the nearby willows, and submerged gardens. As I stood there, two large
carp came roving by. The first fish, approaching three feet in length, swam
close enough to allow me to take a couple of photographs in about five feet of
water. The second carp was enormous – nearly four feet in length – and easily
the largest fish I have ever seen in the lake. I actually yelped when I saw
this monster. Unfortunately, the second fish remained deep enough to prevent a
clear photograph.
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—Mitchell
Hegman
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