Steve took this photo as we entered Ghost Bay the last weekend in September, early, just after sunrise. The mist had mostly cleared from the water. The sunshine was spilling through the trees, painting this splash of gold on the water. I didn’t want to disturb the scene by paddling through it. Can you imagine what it must be like to be a nice big bass sliding through the dark cold water and come upon this? I wonder if they stop dead in their tracks (or whatever would be the fish equivalent of tracks).
This is Ghost Bay on a rainy, misty, chilly, early morning in mid-July. That’s me in my yellow Pungo and Steve’s classic Grundens rain hat. Steve actually never wore the hat; I wrestled it away from him. Actually, it wasn’t much of a wrestle because he was going to give the hat to the Salvation Army. I used to have a Madame Alexander Wendykins doll that wore a hat just like this. With earflaps, an adjustable chin strap and a welded water ditch on the front brim that leads water away. Wendykins (I don’t know why they called her that either) had a matching raincoat instead of a matching kayak. Anyway, this is Ghost Bay. This is where I want my cremains quietly spread when the time for that sort of thing comes, even though it’s a no wake zone. The bottom is kind of mucky already, though the water is clear, so I don’t think I will do any damage. And tossing a bit of me on the shore among the ferns and wildflowers would be OK too.