I was just becoming a teenager when we met, and it was love at first sight. Even now I cannot say what the immediate attraction was, but we became instant soul mates. I can still remember taking her home and into my room where we spent most of our time together. We were both much younger then, and we both looked younger.
The two of us spent hours together and went to many events together. Alone in my room, we exercised together, and it never seemed routine. She always fit into my hands nicely, even as I grew to be an adult. When I would hold her to my lips we would make beautiful music. It was as if I were breathing life into her while she, in return, responded to every move of my fingers with sounds that delighted the ear. It was joy. It was sheer passion.
There came a time, however, when I allowed matters of the world to come between us. I began to neglect her and, finally, stopped seeing her all together. But she was never far away and never far from my mind. Then came yesterday.
I and my family recieved some joyous news, news that brought each of us to uncontrollable sobbing. It was as if heavan had opened and decided to bless us with a gift of life. And, in my blubbering joy, I felt the need to reach out to something special, something with which I could give voice to my happiness.
I ran to her, and there she was as if she'd been waiting for just this moment. I just picked her up, took a deep breath and pressed my lips to her. She immediately came to life as if we'd never been apart for more than a minute. And, like a million times before, we made beautiful music together. And right there and then, I promised myself to never ignore her as I had been doing. After all, a trumpet like that deserves to be played and played often.
Paddle safe...
DS
Yeap, water, water everywhere and, if we don't watch out, there will soon be not a drop to drink. I am not an environmental whacko, but I have enough of a science backround to know that most of us are getting more than our minimum daily requirement of things like mercury, PCBS and fertilizers and that our hair and skin dry out from the chlorine we put in the stuff to kill the bugs we also put into the stuff. I see the signs along the local river talking about how much of which kinds of fish are safe to eat, and I read the warnings about pregnant women not eating the coho salmon from the big lake. 
And so, savvy paddlers that we are, the three of us were snug, fed and entertained while the storm whipped the big lake into a frenzy.
And they lived happily ever after.
John always knows everything about what is going on with the river, especially the section near our homes (by the way, these pics were taken 3 blocks NW of my back yard...but I digress). He knows when the levels will be dropped in fall and when they'll be raised again in spring. He knows where in government bills to clean up the river of PCBs are stalled and how the potential cost is rising into the multi-millions of dollars. And, he is always at any local or governmental meeting called to discuss river matters.
John is self reliant. He paddles the boundary waters and other Canadian destinations each year as attested to by his leathered face. He has an easy and elegant stroke that I cannot help but admire. Although I always offer, John insists on lifting and carrying his own equipment, and he carries it all at once saying, "I have to stay in practice."
His license plates are well known in the area, and I seldom see him driving without his canoe (it is kevlar) on top. John, another one of the interesting paddlers I've met on the water.
Yet, the season has its own beauty as boats go ashore and disappear under tarps and shrink wraps,
and the harbor, draped in gloomy clouds, takes on the look of an abandoned housing project. But it is an illusion. The place is alive with gulls, geese, herons and fools like me in little boats. Fools like me who cannot stay away from the water. Fools like me who would rather go through the risk of choking to death on a dry suit's neck gasket than live life on the couch and looking out at the world. Fools like me and the others who "go down to the sea in boats..." And, of course, the hardy crews who seem to be able to work in all conditions in order to keep the breakwater and water safe.
It is worth a cold-day's paddle just to see these guys work. Their boats throw out a wash that spun my kayak as I passed a good 100 yards abeam. Apparently, their parents never let them have Legos and, now, they are compensating big time.
Fear not. With his boat symbolically mounted atop the car (so there would be no doubt that here were two macho adventurers...but I digress), we did our thing....by van...with heat...and heated seats. We visited essentially every launch site in the county, many of which were high and dry and some stinking of rotting algae (above). We found coffee and cherry pie (see previous blog).
There were fall colors everywhere. 
Cave Point state and county parks were interesting, although not as dramatic a place as I had hoped. In fact, I was glad we hadn't made the paddle from Whitefish Bay Dunes State Park in order to see these eroded cliffs, but they were worth the drive.
Conclusion: The Door is a place worth visiting, in any season, and worth revisiting.
And when the lumber barons did their thing. Mark also had some of his carbon paddles on display, and there were lots of his kit boats which I will try to show in future blogs.
But most of the time (part III), JB and I did what he insists was a circumnavigation of the Door County Pennisula. And we did it the hard way.
I go out paddling the majority of the days. Most often, I am out on Lake Michigan searching for some wave action on which to hone my skills or just have some fun. Sometimes I spend the time practicing strokes, rolls and braces. Sometimes I just hop over to a section of the river and do an aerobic paddle or just a relaxing tour. Yesterday was no exception.
When I was doing a lot of large format black and white work, I lived for foggy days. Fog, nothing more than a cloud that sits on or practiclaly on the ground, has the ability to add mystery to the most ordinary scene as it produces its vast gradients of grays. It is also a challenge to photograph as it fools the exposure meeter (leading to under exposures to the unaware) and exists in conditions that can fog one's glasses and lenses.
