Two days at Twin Lakes

Morning at Fox Lake

It's hard to describe the feeling of being so close to the rhythm of nature. It's still very light in the morning: the sun sets about 11pm, and it's still light at midnight. The sky begins to lighten at 3am, and (depending on how close you are to the mountains), the sun can be full up at 6am. 

Early in the morning, breezes are light, and it's silent except for the twittering and sudden fluttering of some songbirds, the mewing of gulls, the eerie cries of loons, and rare quacking of ducks. Sometimes there will be splashing as some waterfowl get spooked by something and hurriedly take to wing. Squirrels dash about, chattering in the trees and hungry after the short night's rest.

When the wind picks up, the waves start their rhythmic lap... lap... lap against the shore. There were a couple of motor boats that put in here at Fox Lake (there is a boat launch here), but the lake is so big that they weren't at all annoying.  There were a few people at the camp, some walking their dogs; one boy was pulling wheelies on his bike, but it was a pretty tranquil spot.

I took advantage of the peace and quiet with a leisurely cooked breakfast, and a ramble along the shoreline, then packed up and set off for Twin Lakes.

Two common loons swimming on Fox Lake

Twin Lakes

When I was last through Twin Lakes on the hell-bent run up to Inuvik, the campground was really crowded with canoes and pickup trucks and motor homes. I really, really wanted to get a site down by the water, not one of the sites up above the lake in the trees.

Since campsites are supposed to be cleared by noon, I figured that if I arrived at the campground just AFTER noon, I might have a fair chance of getting a good site.

My luck held, and I got the best site (at least to my mind) in the campground. Right at the edge of the water, with my own beach for the kayak (again!!) and, oh boy, what a view.

Campsite at Twin Lakes

The thing that attracted me about Twin Lakes was the incredible color of the water. Its jewel tones of turquoise, sapphire, peridot, emerald and topaz are breathtaking. To my mind, they rival anything that the Bahamas or tropics can offer. Plus: comfortable temperatures.

Fortunately, it wasn't too windy and the first thing I did was get the boat off the car and go for a lovely long paddle around the lake.

Twin Lakes has lots of little inlets, bays and islands that are fun to paddle around. There are shallow areas where you actually can paddle through grass! Being able to explore in the kayak is wonderful, because the shallow draft means you can get into places that are extremely shallow.

The water is incredibly clear. It's like looking down at a secret underwater world. Or flying silently over a land buried by water.

There's the world above, and the world below.

Blue dragonfly

There are fish, but they are really hard to see. They are incredibly well camouflaged against the water and plants. I swear I did get a picture, but am having trouble finding any fish in the photos!

There were dragonflies flitting everywhere. I have never seen so many dragonflies as I have this summer. They seem to be in jewel tones, too — emerald and ruby and lapis lazuli.

They remind me of the book we read to the kids about the "big brown bear," and the "bright blue dragonfly."

Unfortunately, I only had the phone camera (in a waterproof case), so didn't get great photos, but as I remember from last year, dragonfly photos are notoriously hard to get. Seems I remember that in order to get great photos, they refrigerated captured dragonflies, then brought them out and posed them in order to get photos.

Water smartweed

So I don't feel too badly about getting a fuzzy picture.

So many things to see! Seagulls perching in trees, beaver dams, ravens flying overhead.

Up until this point, I've been land-bound, so it was a treat to get some new familiarity with more aquatic plants.

The pink-flowering water smartweed (Polygonum amphibium) was a new one on me. It wasn't in any of my books of common wildflowers, so took some poking about to find what this distinctive flower actually was. Now since seeing it here, I've noticed it growing in other places, too.

The afternoon wafted on; Serenity (after the spaceship in "Firefly") mostly behaved herself, but she has some definite opinions about direction of travel. Her favorite heading actually seems to be INTO the wind or with the wind just over the port or starboard quarter. She tracks fitfully and sporadically with a following wind, or with the wind across the beam.

Still, all smiles

Not really remembering this, I made the mistake of paddling upwind first, thinking that if the wind came up later in the afternoon that I would not want to paddle against it when I was coming back, and tired.

Unfortunately, that sort of backfired, as Serenity (the most mis-named boat on the planet) happily sped upwind. Moving crosswind across the lake was fine, as I was meandering around looking at things, not in a hurry, and also was pretty close to the shoreline.

Coming back, however, was something of a challenge. After exploring the islands and beaver dams on the far side of the lake, I figured that I should come back before I got too tired.

Drying out, as the sun sinks

It's a pretty fair sized lake. No one else was boating on it, and I actually was glad that there was no one to observe my at-times frantic paddling technique. At times ones has to stroke steadily, constantly — and, well, forcefully — on one side of the boat, just in order to try to maintain a straight line. And, when that becomes not enough to keep from going in circles like a demented waterbug, one has to correct by using the paddle as a rudder. It's a little bit frustrating, and one of the reasons that I don't trust myself on this boat in moving water. I just don't know how she will react, and I don't want to get in a situation I can't handle. At least I know my limits on flat water!

Fran (kayaking buddy) knows about this.

However, Serenity enables me to get out on the water, and that's all that I ask. I'm grateful to be able to do this.

So there were two days of "paddle, bead, walk, read, eat, repeat," which was sheer heaven.

I totally appreciated the warm sun, cooling breezes, the lack of mosquitoes, and (mostly) empty campground.

There were about eight campsites at the water's edge, and only about half of them were taken any one night.

The people coming through were all sorts:

• Middle-aged hotshot guy with a red truck and a fat tire bike. Stayed one night, then left. Seemed as proud of his body as he was with his truck, as he was dressed in very little. Hey, he was camped near the bathroom; I had to go past him, and it was hard not to notice!
• A pair of Yukon seniors with a big trailer. They stayed two nights, but moved to the hotshot's camp after he left. They mostly sat and looked at the lake, but occasionally tottered around; the wife made periodic trips to the firewood pile with a folding red wagon and walked the golden retriever dog. Yukon seniors don't have to pay for camping. At all.
• A couple from New York (or at least their car had NY license plates) in a motorhome with a "toad" with two bikes. Stayed one night only. Pleasant, but uncommunicative. 
• Two families with babies and toddlers. The dads came with the truck and gigantic Arctic Fox trailer first; the wives came afterwards in another truck. Surprisingly, no dogs.
• Fly-by-night "ghost" came in late and left early.
• The party gang arrived with an enormous floating fishing barge (something like this). Big enough for the entire family of 10! This party boat motored out slowly near sundown, floating across the lake like a serene hippopotamus, sporting fishing poles at every corner and a canopy overhead. I don't know if they caught anything, but that's possibly not the point. 

When not hiking or paddling, I was working on my beading and reading, which meant that I was pretty quiet. And when you are very, very quiet, and are in one place for some time, you become part of the place. The birds and animals become adjusted to your presence. 

The fly who loved me.

A family of magpies kept me entertained throughout my stay here, squawking and chasing each other and pecking things. They are such handsome rascals, it's impossible not to love them.

A squirrel seemed to think that I was a growth on the picnic table, and ran across my boot at one point! It became so familiar that I started chasing it from going under N0MAD, as I did not want a repeat of the experience I had in Washington state (rodents eating the wires).

There were more loons in the evening and morning. And a herring gull kept just offshore on the beach, eyeing me with the same expectation that Good Things come to those that wait.

Beading project coming along

If there was ANYthing "wrong" with this campsite, it was the fact that there were occasional nasty biting horseflies, and the breeze did kick up in the afternoon, making cooking dinner just a little interesting, but not insurmountable. Besides, there was a windbreak that one could get behind, so that made it more comfortable. I've come to love my new chair, as it means I can move with the sun (or wind), and not have to deal with getting the heavy icebox out of the car, which was what I did before if I needed a bench to sit on.

I went for a final paddle the morning that I left. The weather was so calm that it seemed to make sense to get out early and hope that things would dry out before I actually left.

Harassed eagle.

On the way back, I was treated to seeing an eagle at the top of a snag on one of the islands. I probably would never have noticed it if the ravens weren't causing a ruckus. They were harassing the eagle, cawing and swooping and diving at it where it was perched. Whenever a raven flew at it, the eagle hunched down, opened its beak, and cried a peevish complaint.

I wondered for a time why it was taking that abuse, if it was injured somehow, or maybe just young. But finally, it had enough of the nonsense and majestically launched itself off the tree and flew off.

I didn't have my binoculars and couldn't see well enough to tell what it was (juvenile bald eagle, or maybe a golden eagle). The photos I took with the phone camera didn't help on this score. It probably doesn't matter, as it was the memory of seeing this part of life in the wild that was what I'll take with me, not the identification of the bird!

When I got back, the only people left at the campsite were the party-barge people, so I didn't feel like I really had to leave at exactly noon. It's getting easier to pack and unpack stuff, even the kayak bag that's buried in N0MAD's bowels. And it's especially easy to get at things when Serenity is off the top of the car.

I will hope to come back here, although I realize that one can never repeat a good experience, and sometimes the expectations that build up from having a superb adventure can never again be met.

If I am learning anything on this trip, it's to become so much more "zen." While I'm all for research in order to plan ahead, there is a difference between planning and building up impossible expectations. When opportunities come up, it's okay to take an extra day to enjoy the experience, and adjust one's schedule afterwards. I've paid my dues in life, and it's truly time to enjoy it.

So my advice to myself:
   Live in the moment. Enjoy what is NOW.
         Don't dwell on the past. Don't anticipate the future.

Living in the moment.