You may not find this terribly rewarding unless you're included here, so this is a good time for casual and random browsers to turn back before they get too caught up in the sweep and majesty of the proceedings and can't let go.
More scenes from the lake, and une grande bagarre des chats
Choupette says 'hi . . . welcome to my lair'.
A birthday party at the 'annex' (10 August 2019)
The morning view from the back bedroom/study (11 August); call the cats in.
The juvenile eagle, staring about, 'seeking whom he may devour'
If he doesn't go back to the main island pretty quick, we'll tell his parents on him.
The mid-lake on the canal -- checking to see whether anything's gone missing this week (11 August)
Everything looks in good order -- that's the entrance to the farther tranche of the canal, out to the other lake.
That's fairly disgusting -- somebody could probably tell us what those things are, but in the meantime, it's the gestating pods in the Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956).
We won't get too close -- it's hard to tell what they might be planning.
Onward along the canal
The spillway at the next lake, and the obvious difference in lake levels (a matter of some contention amongst some of the property owners)
Back towards home
Through the culvert
Back out to the mid-lake
On a peaceful day
Out of the canal, scouting for mushrooms along the shore of the so-called Tomahawk Bay (see map below)
The discarded logs from sawmill days are everywhere round here. Those suffering from incomplete submersion over time are called 'dead heads', for some reason, and speedy skiboats tend to give this side of the bay a very wide berth.
A bad day for a negligent ski boat driver, and still worse for his water-skier
Toxic little beasts, but still said by some to be part of God's plan
Harvesting mushrooms (with permission), several varieties -- this property at the northern end of the lake seems to be the most chanterelle-prolific of the lake.
The duck family of the northern bays (we're reliably informed that these are mallards, but there's recently been a negative vote, a bit less reliable)
Undisturbed by our presence, as long as we stay calm and behave predictably
There's meant to be four with the boss, but he or she is off foraging along the shoreline behind us.
Must be nice, if you can afford it (a single family home that's reputedly got its own elevator in it). It's said to have been built on spec and remained unsold for some time, then sold for something in the millions, then resold a year later to someone else for half that.
With the obligatory pontoon boat on the dock, but it's got a third pontoon that had to be added to support the vastly powerful (and unnecessarily powerful) outboard engine. Even the sagging American flag is surely made of the finest materials.
We proceed into the farthest northern bay -- that's the dock for which our piledriver boat spent four days pounding sturdy metal stacks far down into the earth's crust, in the hope that the winter ice floe will not be up to the challenge.
And here is one of our wave-maker boats (with its 'wakesurf shapers' hanging out the back), as self-indulgent an instrument of sport as any enthusiastic capitalist could think up.
All the toys for this lot -- 'Vroom vroom! Watch me zoom'.
The top end of the far northern bay, and of the lake. What a mess.
This stuff is probably a sign of a healthy wetland, but it looks so scummily awful, we're compelled to disrupt it . . .
. . . even at the risk of fouling our propeller (with no place nearby that we'd enjoy hopping off to clear it out).
We're traversing slowly down the east side of the top of the lake, and can't but notice that elaborate red thing on the dock.
An amazing contraption -- it's a Hobie pedalboard built into a kayak frame, with a great load of fishing gear stuck on as additional features.
That's the pedal-and-fins contraption that's removable so that the vehicle can be stored, on a dock, as it might be. (Kristin's got one of these arrangements mounted onto a stand-up paddleboard, converting it into a pedalboard.)
And farther down the lake, here's another one. And in one of the southern bays, we noticed a third. Must be all the rage -- we'll have to start saving up and cutting out coupons.
A very strange wrecked tree, which evidently fell over into the lake and got sawed off, then continued to grow out to the side, for who knows how many years.
And though a lot of the tree appears to be struggling, some of it's still green, or greenish.
A vision of peace and quite (when the jetskis are off the lake)
Passing Adjidaumo, the central island (13 August 2019), one of us our party has caught us up with a cry of discovery . . .
. . . Well spotted! It's one of the adult eagles, surveying his realm from one of his traditional lookouts, though it's looking rather threadbare these days.
In the background, we can hear the juvenile loudly squealing out something like 'feed me' from the family nest -- though the juvenile appears to be somewhat larger than either of the adults. (Many human families, too, are patiently waiting for their offspring to 'leave the nest'.)
Cousin Rob is conducting us around the island Adjidaumo to view the eagles' nest on the far side, with an attentive eye out for the dreaded invasive weed, the purple loosestrife.
There's the nest in the centre. But one of our party has noticed something interesting about the nest today, so we squint and stare and follow his instructions, and, finally, we see it, too.
The juvenile's out of the nest, plonked on the bough above, and continuing his hideous squacking racket to indicate that his dinner's unacceptably late.
We happen to be passing by the only island on the lake that's got a house on it; officially it seems to be called 'Crescent Island' but it's otherwise known as Raymond's Island.
An idyllic location, though not much used. We're noticing purple loosestrife around the shore and should return for it at some point.
La grande bagarre félin
Melvin appears to be settling down for a mid-afternoon snooze, 13 August 2019.
Choupette has other ideas in mind, as usual.
Melvin affects to be unconcerned, more interested in something going on out on the driveway.
Choupette can't help making her intentions evident.
Some sort of whispered challenge that we probably would not understand.
And an exploratory sally out. Which Melvin, always conscious of his dignity, ignores.
An urgent human request from the cameraman to calm down, and talk it over.
Choupette is having none of it, and attacks.
It's said to be very frustrating when your much superior opponent will not come out and engage!
The Lake in the Wisconsin Northwoods
Mussent Point is at no. 12.