At our launch, a group of about twenty kids and a couple of adults set out in rec kayaks to weed the lake of invasive species for the day. Our host’s grandson from the night before was among them.
We packed our own boats at a much slower pace than the group did their’s, and when we finished we remembered that we had wanted to fish for the day. To get out the fishing gear, we had to unpack and repack.
An overcast sky brought a solid tail wind and a following swell. We cruised up southern Lake, Champlain past Fort Ticonderoga. Spits into the water declined to submerged sandbars that scraped our hulls. We arduously paddled through thick plant growth, or circumnavigated it annoyingly. But with the wind at our back, we made great time and arrived at our destination well before the Sabbath.
We arrived at the Crown Point campground to learn two things. “Storm’s coming,” the rangers warned everybody, and they didn’t have any campsites for us.
We told the man at the front gate our story, and he checked with his supervisor. We could stay in the day-use area for six dollars a night. Had one of the campsites been available we would have paid 18 dollars a night. We found a spacey wooded area with picnic tables and a shower house to be exactly what we hoped for.
The storm was anticlimactic, our tent kept us dry and comfortable through the mild rain. I left my Dr. Broner’s soap in the shower, and the ranger gave us his.
We rested for the Sabbath at the end of our first week. We were tired and everything hurt, but our spirits had never been higher.
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