You can live on a lake for years. You can fish it regularly
and know the locations of every reef, cabbage weed bed and log pile. You can
kayak and canoe and paddle-boat its surface. But you’ll never really know it
until you get under the surface.
That’s easy to do with snorkel, swim mask and flippers –
about $100 will get you decently outfitted. And if you snorkel, you will in
fact know your lake better than anyone else. I say that because in 25 years of
vacationing and now living on Birch Lake near Harshaw, Wis., I have never known
anyone other than son Todd and me to snorkel here.
Now, maybe that’s because ours is not the greatest lake for
snorkeling. The water is passably clear, though a bit cloudy on windy, wavy
days like today. Other lakes here in the Northwoods are much clearer and more
interesting to explore, with more rock features and shoreline sunken timber. On the
other hand, when Todd and I snorkel those other lakes, we still don’t have any
competition.
I guess snorkeling is something most people just have little
interest in, or something they see as only worth doing on coral reefs in the Caribbean.
It’s true of course that in a Northwoods lake you don’t get the Jacques Cousteau
experience (although collections of fish I've seen around some cribs and
fallen trees have come passably close). Whatever the reason, very few people (and
even fewer 60-year-olds like me) look deep into their lakes.
One great thing about snorkeling is the ease with which you
can swim when propelled by flippers. As a swimmer I am notorious for lack of
stamina. I can’t last doing the crawl for more than a minute or two at a time;
I am strictly a side-stroker and elementary back-stroker. But with flippers on
I can easily go for an hour at a time. Kicking gently is all it takes. There’s no
fatigue, no struggling to stay afloat, and of course no difficulty breathing,
because the snorkel tube delivers all the air you want.
What can you learn about your lake as a snorkeler that other
people don’t know? Qualitatively, you learn the beauty of the jungles of water
plants and the colorful patterns on rocky bottoms, and the feel of waves
washing over as you swim. More specifically, you discover fish haunts where you
may not have suspected them. You’ll see the abundant and diverse life on the lake bottom –
the twisty paths clams make in the mud, the snails, the crayfish (and as for
that, my outing today gave lie to the belief among some on my lake that the
rusty crayfish problem is coming under control).
As a bonus, you’ll come away with artifacts. For example, on
our mantelpiece sits a cream-colored brick engraved LACLEDE KING that I found
underwater near our rented cottage. My office shelf holds a coffee mug I fished
off the bottom and cleaned up (but do not drink from). Pirate or shipwreck
treasure it’s not, but those items wouldn’t be special but for where they came
from.
I always enjoy my first canoe trip around the lake in early
spring, soon after ice-out, but my first snorkel expedition means more. Once a
season isn’t enough, of course. There are whole stretches of shoreline on this
180-acre pool that I haven’t yet explored. I will get to at least a couple of
them before this summer is out.
I hope you’ll take time to get to know your lake in this
manner. In a way, snorkeling your lake is like breaking through to a new level
of intimacy in a friendship or marriage. Life just means more when we look
below the surface, when leave our safe zone and go deep.
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