Beach combing

Walking along the beach, hot day, bright sun. Gnarled pieces of driftwood stick out like old fingers, multi-colored rocks wash up twinkling clean in the surf, and snaking tannin stained streams spill out onto the beach from the forest. There are some gulls, the occasional chattering kingfisher, and tracks crisscrossing the beach sand, deer, raccoon, coyote....

It grows hotter. Feel the sun burning your skin and sweat beading up on your forehead. Lay in the shadow of an old pine tree for a moment before pushing up the beach and entering into the forest. Cool and shadow dappled, flecked in colors, green and raspberry, daisy and birch bark. Arrive at the point looking out on the great dunes of Grand Marais. Sand mountains rising up from the big waters and giant white clouds moored like ships in sky blue reflection overhead.

Hungry. Starving....saunter fast through forest trails back to camp 4 miles passing through huge stands of birch and hemlock, over moss and gnarled tree roots poking out of sandy soil. Chipmunks scamper and squeek ahead and a large white tail bounds off through the pines. Bracken fern blankets the sunlit gaps in the understory giving way only to patches of blueberry bushes ripe with fruit.

A warm summer day along the shores of Lake Superior. The perfect day save for the swarms of biting stable flies that come with the heat. Biting, irritating, tormenting everywhere over forest and sand. The only escape lies submerged in the cold waters of the lake. Cold empty relief, for a moment. But the flies no creature can control. Come back to shore eventually and run back up to camp. Zip the tent tight and take an afternoon nap.

Wait for dusk to fall and run down the dunes for the sunset.