The Lake.
By John A .Ryan
“You
boys really thinking of doing the Six Lakes Swim?” The old bar
owner at the Lodgepole Inn deposited our breakfasts in front of us.
He had a long nosed ungainly lank-limbed melancholic air that
reminded me of a moose. The Lodgepole was not the ideal venue for a
pre-swim breakfast. It's grimy wood paneling, flickering neon beer
signs and clientele that appeared to be mostly left over from last
night identified it more as a seedy small town dive bar than a place
to get a good meal. It was however, the only eating establishment in
the tiny town of Barrelhead
“I am” replied Dave starting
in on his buckwheat pancakes “Tim here is my support team. Right
Tim?”
I paused Monster Push on my tablet and looked up
“That's right. I follow along in the canoe in case he gets in
trouble.” I took a sip of my bitter coffee and hungrily
contemplated the mountain of greasy eggs and bacon that was my
Lumberjack Special
“Not many make it all the way through”the bar owner mused
aloud
“We aren't many” Dave grinned and took a swig of orange juice
“I've already beat Juniper, Monroe and Wolf lakes.
“Tuurngait is the breaking point for folks. Four miles of
glacial run-off against a headwind. It claimed that Sorrel girl last
summer and that fellow from Whisper Falls” he gestured with the
coffee pot towards a wall of yellowing newspaper clippings. “You
city boys might find it more than a match for you”
“They
said the same thing about Monroe, didn't they, Tim?”
I mumbled affirmation through a mouth full of toast “We broke
the old record”
“Take my word, friend Tuurngait Lake is the tough one. It'll
change you. If you make it out the other side, there's no saying
you'll be the same person as dived in.”
“You sound like
you're speaking from experience” I said
“Back in '73” he confirmed with a nostalgic smile“Sooner or
later everyone round here tries the Swim”
“What happened?” asked Dave
The Barkeep chuckled through the mists of recollection
“I never left. I'm still here, aren't I?”
With that he stalked through the swinging doors to the kitchen.
* * * *
* * * * * *
“Do you think it's some sort of local past-time to try to freak
out tourists?” Dave asked me as he downshifted the pickup
“They have to do something. You can't even get a decent radio
station this far north” I flicked a twig goblin causing him to
explode into a cascade of leaves and earning a hundred points
Dave clicked his tongue
“What is it with you and that game? You've been glued to that
screen for the whole trip”
“You need to try it. It's
seriously addictive. You travel through the Magic Woods looking for
treasure and try to push the hidden monsters away before they grab
you. ”
“Christ, Tim! We're surrounded on all sides by pristine
wilderness and you're ignoring it to bop invisible monsters! We just
drove under an eagle's nest and you didn't even notice. How can a
digital forest possibly be better than the real thing? Just promise
me you'll leave that thing in the truck when we're out there okay? I
need you focused.
“Have I let you down yet?”
“No, man, and I really appreciate you doing this for me. I'm
just a little on edge”
“Don't let that old coot from back in Barrelhead get to you,
Dave. It's like you said. They have nothing better to do than to try
and scare people. You'll make it fine and we'll have a celebratory
dinner in his bar and be off to Pinetop in the morning. Just like we
planned, right?”
“Right” he relented “Could you do me a favor though and
turn that off? It's making me nervous”
“No problem”
I traded my tablet screen for the windscreen. Dave was right. The
view was spectacular.
************************************
“Isn't it weird the way the mist hasn't burnt off yet? It's
already 11:30 ”
The mountains keep the cold air trapped down here. Makes the water
nice and brisk” Dave grinned as he zipped up his insulated wet suit
“ I wouldn't have it any other way. Just look at this place! If it
were warmer it'd be teeming with tourists”
I had to admit he had a point The snow cloaked peaks rose like
spires into the clouds appearing in places to bleed into them. armies
of deep green conifers ascended the mountainsides from the lake shore
accented here and there with highlights of crimson and gold from the
occasional maple or birch that had already begun to turn, even though
August wasn't even halfway through. In the distance a loon's clarion
call rang over the ghostly waters. As I stood on the rocky lake
shore with my friend it felt as though we were the only two people in
the world .
Watching Dave go through his series of leg lunges, knee bends, and
shoulder stretches I contemplated how we had come to be here. Most
men going through a divorce would sink into despondency and drink.
Dave, for reasons known only to himself, threw himself into the idea
of open water swimming with a frightening zeal. We had known each
other casually for a few years. Like most of our circle of friends, I
had viewed Dave's aquatic pursuits with a mixture of admiration and
detached amusement. Then Bethany left. After four years of gradually
growing apart, she finally decided that she'd had enough of my
antics. Even though I was devastated, I understood. If I were honest,
I had to admit I wasn't a particularly boyfriend. Brooding over my
fate one night at O'Malley's I ran into Dave fresh off a triumphant
race. Several rounds later he confided that he wanted to try longer
swims but he needed a spotter. He surprised me by asking me to take
on the role. To my further astonishment I found myself agreeing. That
was eight months ago. In all the hours of training, long drives, and
poring over topographic maps, we rarely discussed anything personal,
but a friendship born of the bonds of shared purpose and mutual
heartbreak.
“Here's the plan” he announced, shaking me out of my reverie
“We'll take it nice and easy today. Once we get about 50 yards out,
I'll do my plunges. From there I'll check in every twenty minutes for
a breather. That should be every half mile or so. I reckon we'll make
the other side in about two hours. You ready?”
I nodded my assent
“Fantastic” he said, snapping his goggles over his eyes “Lets
go swimming”
Dave marched intently towards the water. With
his beard pushed up into a sharp peak by the rim of his wetsuit hood
and his jaunty swaggering gait he looked like a fugitive from an
early animation. I scanned the cargo of my candy-apple colored canoe
one last time to make sure everything was in order and pushed her
nose into the lapping waters.
****************************************
Just past the halfway point, I had fallen back into the easy
paddling rhythm that had become automatic after several months. Just
off the left side of my bow, Dave had switched from an Australian
Crawl into his preferred Butterfly Stroke. I could see his arms break
the gray surface of the water in canted parabolic arcs punctuated by
the sharp intake of breath. It had become a subconscious game for me
to time my paddle strokes just after these breaths. One of my first
cues of trouble, should it arise, would be the interruption of this
pattern. For the moment, his labored flight across the lake's surface
continued unabated.
Although I would never admit it to Dave, I had come to relish
these moments out on the water as rare moments of quietude. He often
accused me of having a technology addiction. In the privacy of my
mind, I agreed. It seemed like my entire life was bathed in the glow
of screens. I like computers for their endless entertainment value
and their logical nature. You could get any information you wanted
out of a computer, provided that you knew how to ask. In my lifetime
I had run into few things that were this simple to understand. The
trouble was that so much screen time left you unprepared for the
messy and illogical real world and filled your head with electronic
chatter. Skimming across a silent northern lake allowed my mind to
work unencumbered and made some much needed reflection possible. Of
course, if I ever let Dave know this I would never hear the end. Dave
is one of those people who is relentless in his opinions and advice.
Conceding that he was right on a point would be inviting a ceaseless
barrage of well intentioned council on every aspect of my life. Well
intentioned or not, I felt uncomfortable at the thought of inviting
that level of external scrutiny.
Far above my head, an osprey hovered, silhouetted on ruler
straight wings against the clouds. I wondered if it was the same bird
that half an hour ago glided almost within arms reach, examining me
with it's mad tangerine eyes. On the near shore a mule deer doe and
her twin yearlings collectively decided that my friend and I posed no
threat and began to drink. Nearby in a stand of tall spindly trees-
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, for what I saw, what I
believed I had seen, could not possibly be there. A second closer
look confirmed this. There was nothing among the trees. For just an
instant I had imagined that there had been a figure standing in the
copse of pines. It had been taller than any person could be, almost
the height of the surrounding pines. I thought it was the form of a
man, seemingly composed of the limbs of trees, a gangling coniferous
Colossus. dark as the shadowed bark gazing out over the water with
an air of infinite sorrow. It was a trick of the light conspiring
with my overstimulated imagination that made the shadows of branches
resolve themselves into a pine tree giant straight out of a fairy
tale illustration or off the screen of Monster Push. Even knowing
that it couldn't possibly be real, the impression stuck powerfully
and eerily with me. I decided that it would probably be best if I
took a break from that game for a few days and resumed paddling. My
momentary lapse in concentration had caused me to fall an
embarrassing distance behind.
I strained my shoulders for almost ten minutes behind the paddle.
My redoubled efforts seemed to do little to close the distance. For
fear of pulling a muscle I called out to Dave to slow down and let me
catch up. He slowed his strokes to a stop I saw his grinning head
turn towards me. His arm broke the surface to give me the OK signal.
Dave tread water for a moment or two before, to my horror, his head
vanished beneath the glassy water with barely a ripple. A shout of
panic escaped my lips as I began to paddle with all my might. From
the cold water rescue course we had taken, I knew that every second
underwater was potentially lethal. I was still to far away to reach.
Dave and he had already been under for longer than was safe. I had
just reached the point where I saw him disappear when an explosive
inhale shattered the silence. Dave had re emerged supported by two
other swimmers. His face was drained of color except for the sickly
bleached violet of his lips.
“Get him aboard now”
commanded a woman's voice from the smaller figure in the pale blue
wetsuit. We heaved Dave's dead weight onto the canoe. I hastily tore
open the package of a Mylar blanket and wrapped it around my friend's
shivering body
“We'll start a fire onshore. Meet us there, quick as you can”
With that order the woman and her companion shot away swiftly and
gracefully as a pair of otters.
“Cold grabbed me all the sudden” sputtered Dave “Must've hit
a thermocline. Froze right through me.”
“Hold still, man. I'm so sorry! I got distracted and fell
behind. It's just lucky those two turned up.”
“Yeah, lucky” agreed Dave, teeth chattering.
By the time we made it to shore, the woman was already tending the
beginnings of a good sized campfire. I could see her companion's
yellow and black suit clearly among the trees as he searched for more
wood. She helped me beach the canoe, and lift Dave onto the shale by
the fireside.
“Blankets and dry clothes in the big orange float bag” I
instructed her as I peeled away the wetsuit.
We helped Dave into a dry sweatpants, sweater and draped a wool
blanket over him.
“I can still move my fingers and toes. No permanent damage”
Dave announced. He attempted to sound clinical, but I could hear
relief pouring from each syllable.
“It's really lucky you guys showed up” I told our new
companions “Do you live around here?”
The woman made a
sound halfway between a laugh and a grunt.
“That's one way of putting it. I'm Megan Sorrel. He's called
Quinn. He doesn't say much.”
I shook hands and introduced myself. I was astonished at how cold
their hands remained even after drying by the fire. With their hoods
and masks removed, I finally could get a good look at them. Megan was
a handsome woman with her dark hair cropped in a fashionable short
style I couldn't pinpoint it, but she looked familiar somehow. Quinn
would have been a perfect specimen of a blonde breezy Californian
were it not for an unusual network of facial scars and his pale skin.
Both of them had skin even paler than Dave's when he was first pulled
from the water and the same unusual shade of green eyes. I wanted to
ask if they were related and how Quinn had come by his injury, but I
felt that it might be impolite. Instead we sat for several moments in
mildly oppressive silence.
“The Lodgepole man says that you have come from far away” said
Megan, more as a statement than a question
“That's right. We live down towards Carson.” I affirmed.
“Dave wanted to swim the lakes.”
“Thanks for saving my
life, by the way” Dave chimed from beneath the blanket
“I haven't yet, but I will” Megan told him “I will save both
of you. Take my word on this. You do not belong here. You should go
and never come back. Forget your swim”
“Okay, I choked up a bit, but I'm sure I can make it across
after a few days rest” Dave protested
“You aren't listening. We're showing you a kindness because you
are strangers here. Get in your boat and turn back. If you swim
another stroke the lake will claim you and you will never leave it
again. Tuurngiat Lake is protected ”
“Look, Don't think I'm not grateful to you and all, but you
can't scare me with whatever superstitious nonsense there is about
this lake. I don't believe...Where'd they go?”
The mysterious pair had vanished as suddenly as they appeared,
leaving not even a footprint. The campfire was the only sign that
anyone else had ever been there.
*****************************************************
Once we had loaded up the last of the gear, we sat in the cab of
the truck with the heater blasting watching the sun descend behind
the peaks.
“Okay, that was a little weird, but I think we ought to try
again next weekend, don't you?” Dave announced, breaking the
silence.
“No.” I said “I think that's a really bad idea.”
“Oh come on! Just because they slipped away and hid while we
weren't looking? I thought you had more sense than that Tim.”
I took a deep breath and weighed my words carefully, scarcely
believing what I was about to say.
“It's not that. Well, it's
not just that. If it were just the disappearance, I might think it
was just some sort of trick but-”
“But what?”
I considered telling him about what I had seen, but after I
regarded my friend's incredulous expression, I knew Dave would think
I had completely lost my mind. Another detail, no less uncanny,
floated to the top of my recollection .
“Do you remember
the girl who was supposed to have drowned here last year?”
“Yeah,
sure. What about her?”
“Well when you got up to use the bathroom back at the bar, I
read the clipping. I just remembered. Her name was Meg Sorrel.”
“Are
you kidding me? That's your reason? It's either some locals messing
with us or a coincidence. It can't be the same person.”
“I think it was. There was a picture”
Dave sighed
heavily
“Unbelievable! I'm the one who has a near death experience, and
somehow you are the one coming unhinged. Tell you what, Let's go back
to Barrelhead. We'll have some dinner at the Lodgepole, you can take
another look at your article, and you'll see how stupid you're being.
Maybe then we can talk about this like reasonable people. All right?”
***************************************************
An hour later, as we were arguing over the map on the
shoulder of the road, a highway patrol cruiser pulled up behind us in
the dark.
“There any trouble, fellas?” The trooper was a large suet-y
man in his late fifties His gleaming pink face appeared as though it
had been shaped from pressed ham
“Hi officer, we're a little lost. We're trying to get back into
Barrelhead.” I said
When he burst into laughter, it occurred to me that I had never
actually heard anyone guffaw before.
“Now what on earth would you want to go there for?”
“We
thought we'd get a bite to eat, and maybe spend the night” Dave
told him
“I suppose you can if you want” the trooper chuckled, “But
you'd be the first people to do so for about a hundred years.
Barrelhead's a ghost town, boys. I have no idea why they keep putting
it on the map. The only road in has been totally grown over for at
least sixty years. What you want to do is push on for Smokesville.
That's about forty to forty five minutes south on Route 18. Tell Erma
at the diner that Officer Daniels sent you. She'll treat you
allright. Drive safe now.”
Still chortling to himself, Officer Daniels swaggered back to his
car and sped off.
Dave's face was a mask of disbelief.
“Okay, now I'm freaking out.” he muttered “ What the hell
did we eat for breakfast?”
-J. Ryan 2013
