A few weeks ago, when we were at Roundrock, I spotted what looked like Peregrine, the floating log, near the south spillway. Peregrine, you may remember, had been land locked near Wildflower Island for more than a year. The gravel has poured into that end of the lake, making it shallower and giving less float to the things that found their way there, including Peregrine.
I was pleased that the old log had not washed down the spillway, but I lamented it ever getting back into the lake itself and taking up its rightful place as a sort of benign deity overseeing our fishing and swimming. Yet on a recent visit, I saw what looked like Peregrine at the spillway, as I said, and I swam myself over there to check it out. (Note: any allegations that Pablo has discovered the joys of skinny dipping are not confirmed — and the water is still a bit cold this early in the season — but it may be true. No photos, of course.)
It was, indeed, Peregrine that I found there (amidst the flotsam of the lake, accumulated from washing down the hills and waiting for the next big rainfall to wash down the spillway.) As is my wont, I swam the old log across the lake — a bit difficult since it is now so waterlogged that it barely breaks the surface and because its shape prevents it from being pushed in a straight line. I finally pushed it into a bed of water plants where it might manage to hang around for a while.
That’s Peregrine you see above, just down the hill from the cabin where I could keep an eye on it. That was two weeks ago. I had little expectation of Peregrine remaining in the same place, but the sky gods decided not to drop a single bit of rain in my forest since my last visit, so there was no turbulence to dislodge the log from its nest. When I returned this week (on a Tuesday, if you can imagine that!), Peregrine was where I had left it two weeks before.
The poor log is growing water logged, I don’t expect it to float to the surface much longer, which is fine. I’d like to take it to the unburned burn pile in the middle of the lake (whence it came) and sink it there. Perhaps I’ll have the chance, or take the chance.
Note: This is not a bad photo given that I’m pretty sure my camera is shooting craps.