04/27/2026
As some of you might know, I dabble in writing for a paper called the Great North Arrow, a local bi-monthly that covers everything from local news and happenings to entertaining stories and is a fun read.
The following is the tale of my latest misadventure submitted for the next edition.....Larry accused me of doing stupid stuff like this just so I have something to write about!
Swimming With Cameras
The task for the day, derived from The Never-Ending List, was to begin working on two camp docks in need of repair. Despite the weather man assuring us it was going to be a lovely +15, sunny spring day, the sun appeared to be on strike and the north wind blew down over the hayfield strong enough for us to postpone plans.
Around 4 oâclock the dark clouds parted revealing that promised lovely spring day. Too late to start work, I decided to set out in my trusty little red canoe for my first paddle of the year.
The day before Larry helped me carry my flat bottom canoe over to our dock. I walked down with my paddle, seat cushion, (those seats are hard on the tailbone), âbigâ camera in a bucket, (my canoe had a slight leak, the bucket protected the camera against any chance of getting wet), all set to adventure over Bain Lake.
Last weeks flooding had yet to settle down and the water level was still fairly high. I canât kneel, but Iâve developed a failsafe method of getting in and out of my sturdy canoe thatâs never let me down, well, until that day.
After maneuvering the canoe into the water, I noticed how much higher it was than the dock. I sat down on the dock in my graceful half-giraffe-half-stork combo and pondered for a bit. Normally I kindâa just lowered my butt down into the canoe but I couldnât seem to get the right angle. Turning the canoe from end to end, I felt confident I could manage.
I donât remember much between alighting from the dock to floundering in the ice-cold lake, but there I was nonetheless.
The ice left Bain Lake just a few days prior, suffice to say I wasn't forming many coherent words, more of a, âAhgh, ahhh eckkkk,,,â interspersed with ragged gasps.
The water depth at our dock ramp was less than three feet but it was three feet of the kind of stuff that turned Jack and Roseâs skin pale blue by the end of Titanic.
Once I got my feet under me, my first thought was the camera, floating there beside me, half submerged in the bucket. I guess that bucket could only protect from water seeping from below, not sloshing over the sides. Still gasping, I dragged it over, dumped it out on the dock, tore the battery pack and camera card out, tipping it upside down in hopes it could be saved.
Then I remembered my phone in the front pouch of my hoodie. Drenched but sealed, I held out greater hope for it.
I located my glasses-case and tossed it up with the mess on the dock, turning my attention to the poor swamped canoe.
You remember hearing stories of people gaining super-hero strength when faced with a life-or-death situation like mothers able to lift a car off their child? While not life-or-death, I certainly had the adrenalin pumping, turning me into She-Hulk.
I grabbed ahold of the canoe, dragging it and myself out of the water at the same time, work boots sinking deep into the muck of the lake bottom.
Despite being born and raised on the lake, I have a great aversion to the goo on the bottom of the lake. It didn't matter that I had boots on my feet, my mind was yelling, "Ewww, gawwwwd!"
The process went well enough until the water inside the canoe reached equal level with the lake, I stalled. Mustering all the anger I felt at myself, I made one more mighty pull, getting the canoe up and out far enough to tip out most of the water.
Why I felt it had to be out right then, I donât know. Itâs not like it couldâve just stayed there âtil Larry came to lend me a hand. Probably in the back of my mind I was thinking, âI donât want Larry to see just how badly I messed up!â, like I can ever hide anything from that man.
Itâs come to the point in our relationship that the poor guy hears about everything whether he wants to or not. Years of trying to hide my screw-ups, yet always being discovered, has tilted me too far the other way; my stories come out like word-vomit the moment LSL, aka, Long Suffering Larry lands at our door.
When I bent to gather up the camera and phone I noticed the seat cushion floating out to the middle of the lake. Resolving to organise a search-and-rescue party later, I sloshed up the hill, ice water dripping off everything.
Firmly shutting the woodshed door behind me, I carefully set my camera down, (like it mattered by that point), and began trying to remove my work boots. Laces and numb fingers are not a good mix, but eventually I got them undone, pulling my feet free. My jeans were considerably harder to get off. The curse words I was too shocked to mutter whilst floundering in the lake, came flowing out like the water from my boots. Somehow my top quarter was still dry, but that didnât make getting my hoody pulled off any easier. Socks off finally, I picked up the ruined camera and splatted into the house leaving a wet trail of mud and pine needles.
Setting the camera in front of the woodstove, grateful Iâd at least made a fire that morning, I apologised to it and limped to the shower, tossing the soggy mess of clothing into the washer on the way.
Hot water on full blast wasnât enough to stop the central vibration I was experiencing, more adrenalin than cold I suspect. While standing under that blissful stream of molten water, I noticed the whole side of my left leg was throbbing, both arms hurt and my left thumbnail was broken off at the quickâŠthe ice water had shielded me from feeling any pain at the time, I guess.
Itâs a tradition in our little clan that the grandkids go swimming not long after the ice melts. Having had this experience reenforces my opinion that kids are crazy! I was still cold hours later, even after several hot tea.
LSL arrived some time later, calling out, âHow did you enjoy your ride?â
âIâm warm, now.â, I called back.
âIt was cold out on the water?â, he asked.
âIt was cold in the water.â
âOh ohâŠâ, he replied⊠cautiously walking into the living room.
âWash-up and come sit for the story.â
Later, for some stupid reason, (the theme of the day evidently), I told the tale to my youngest son, the daredevil to whom I have my âWisdom Highlightsâ and âWorry linesâ to thank.
He reminded me of one other time he and I took another camera swimming. It was summer, at least, but that meant there was an audience at camp. We were in my found-at-the-dump green canoe, when it decided to take us for an unexpected dip.
Then he spent some time admonishing me for attempting to go out on the lake when the water was so cold. All the things Iâd said to him since he could walk, (and who taught him to do that?), came right back at me. Only he had to deliver the scolding through Larryâs phone as mine has lake water in its speaker and sounds like you're underwater. Slightly ironic donât you think?
The ole body is fairing along the same lines of my poor doomed camera, though I doubt Tylenol will help it. Currently residing in a bag of rice, I havenât had any luck resuscitating it, I imagine only the rice is still salvageable.
My work boots spent the night upside down over the fireplace-tool handles in front of the wood stove, and have stopped dripping at least. My glasses case has dried out and my clothes are hanging on the clothesline.
The funeral for my camera will be held Tuesday at 3, followed by a short graveside service.
Will I still take a camera with me in the canoe in the future?
Yes, though I think it will be an upgraded phone in a 100% waterproof case, tied to my neck, âcause, well, my head never went underwater!
*Update; the little red canoe is in need of repair, (something about being involved in a tussle with a madwoman), but two days later the lake was just too beautifully calm to resist. I commandeered my youngest's aluminum canoe from the barn, Larry helped me set it in the lake at the landing beside the only properly hooked-up-dock-at-the-moment, and I was successful in three things;
1. I got in AND back out without incident, back in the saddle, so to speak!
2. It was a fantastic afternoon without a ripple on Bain Lake, I've satiated my needs, for now.
3. The poor escaped seat cushion was found, brought home and is currently dripping on the clothesline.
