Perfect weather and a boat can make a man of six decades act like a teen.
Charlie was dressed and had the cooler packed long before I was ready to join the day. There was no time to coordinate schedules with our surrounding cottagers who would surely be taking their boats out.
I enjoy anchoring in a multi-generational family circle and wading between boats sharing conversation, snacks and beverages. But there was no time to check in with the others - Charlie was ready to GO.
We dock just up the dirt road from our cottage on Cattaraugus Creek, just a few hundred feet from Lake Erie. The creek was brown and murky from heavy upstream rains earlier in the week. It appeared we were churning cold, weak coffee as we pulled away from the dock, I silently hoped for a brief and merciful journey.
As we came to the mouth of the creek, there was a demarcation as clear as the sand and sky in the water. In one sharp stripe, the lake was brilliantly blue.
We went out far enough to free ourselves from the jet skis and canoes, but not so far as to lose sight of the Sunset Bay shore. Hundreds of sunworshippers and hormone-charged adoloscents had filled the beach and dozens of boats were already anchored in offshore of the summer colony alive with beach bars and sand volleyball.
When I was a child,the color of the lake was the same as the creek was today and there were regular warnings to not eat the fish due to mercury poisoning. In the ensuing 30 years, the steel plants closed -- regulation and zebra mussels took hold. Fisherman and environmentalists curse the agressively multiplying filter feeders, but they are a swimmer's best pal. You can now stand chest deep in the water and see your feet on the sandy bottom.
Erie is a giant saucer of a lake, the shallowest of the Great Lakes with extended, gentle sloping shorelines. Thus you can anchor half a football field length from the shore and it's comfortable to stand in the water.
Just beyond the expensive cottages and packed beaches, the shore settles quietly and a long grey rock point juts into the water capped high with green trees. Several boulders have broken off the wall at a place we (and likely others) call "the Rockpile."
We claimed our own square of blue abut 40 yards from the beach with the Rockpile another 50 yards to the right.
After a quick cooling dip, I turned off the marine radio and put on some music. Charlie poured a couple of drinks and we sat on the boat talking easily about things that would not occur to us in other places.
My only contribution to the feast, a box of cheese crackers I'd grabbed as we were heading out the door, turned out to be moist and stale. But small disapointments don't matter when you have a temporary claim to your own piece of perfect.
About three CDs later (there are no watches on the boat) we slipped back into the water for a quick bath (biodegradable shampoo and soap) and carried on the conversation standing in the gentle waves.
I spotted a mother duck and her babies on the shore at about the time she apparently spotted us. The troop seemed to be swimming in our direction. There was so much space between us, it was logical to assume they were heading anywhere but to us, but we watched silently as they moved closer and closer. It took them a few songs to swim to us, but there they were - six babies and a demure Mom paddling only a few yards from where we stood.
I climbed up the swim platform, but they weren't deterred by the splash. Apparently they had gotten word there were stale crackers aboard.
I tossed the first handful to a flurry of flat-billed grabbing. Mom allowed the kids the first portions, but dived in on subsequent tosses. They paddled and played around Charlie within the length of his arms. He stood still, a 6'3" retired Fed speaking in a soft lullaby voice.
When the crackers were gone I got back into the water and expected them to scurry on. But they stayed and played around us.
There was something astounding about staring eye-to-eye with a young duck - watching him watch me. It wasn't their turf or ours. There was no sense of challenge or danger. Their mother lead them to us.
A few songs later Mom turned tail and started heading back to the shore. Her children fell in line behind her and we watched them get smaller as they paddled away.
We learned later that the rest of the family had tried to radio us to report they were gathering off Sunset Beach.
But we were in a different place.
And it was where we belonged.

Copyright 2007 Judi Griggs