Earth Image Photography, Nature Photography, My Summer Office

5:03 p.m.-

I heard their snarls first, dipping and yelping through sharp turns south of Grand Sandbanks. Through a gap in the trees they raced, literally, throwing up sprays and shouting "Ooo!" The lead Yamaha Waverunner cut sharply into a 180-degree stop and the other just missed ramming it. The pilot shouted "whoa," as riverboat captains do after barely avoiding a crash. Fifty yards apart they came into full view of the boat pulled up on shore, swooping and sharp turning through the fifty-foot wide river at full speed, baseball caps on backward, nodding seriously at me once, throwing up a large rolling wake which EZ, downstream up to her chest seeking clams under water, coughed out and hacked. They hadn't seen her or surely would've slowed. The second driver sat on a molded white plastic lawn chair straddled over his seat, a comfy backrest he had to suffer less on his jaunt.

I'd wanted to throw rocks at the pair. My hesitation was prudent; one had a 9mm holstered to his hip. It's such a savagery done to the river, defiling its peace.

A muggy hot day today. Blue haze through the tree-lined river walls. EZ and I drove a seven-hour trip today, left northern Minnesota at 8 a.m., windows open, hot farm fields smelling richly of hay and clover and fresh cut grass. Arrived home just before 3 p.m., carried a load or two from the car, reloaded the cooler with drink, hitched on the boat, and headed back up the highway to the landing. Stoic EZ had not complained of the heat during the trip but exploded with opinion to get into water when I turned into the lake lane. So, here we are anchored on the second curve above the campsite, under a pair of twenty-inch thick maples just overhead. When first anchored it occurred to me what weight is suspended overhead: a twelve-inch length of one must weigh sixty or eighty pounds. It's leaning out over the river at a thirty-degree angle. Enormous poundage held solid by a network of roots in wet sandy soil. An incremental fall toward the water.

This hot spell is scheduled to move out sometime tomorrow, replaced by mid-sixty temps. It's been an unexpected gift after weeks of mid-seventies. Most trees are still green. Next week things will turn virtuously toward fall.

Ferns are turning though we haven't had any frosts or low temperatures in the thirties. Confirmation that they have reached their end of summer's growing season.

6:41 p.m.-

Drifting. Fewer and smaller pockets of low sun, light hazy fog rising above quiet swampy river. Treetops golden with red sun. Temperature has dropped by tiny half degrees since two hours ago, now seventy-two. Drifting through sandy shallows approaching the bridge, a great blue heron descends from a tree, takes up wading and watching us pass, spindly improbable legs dipping.