Sitting at the computer in the kitchen having a lesson with a student in Alaska, we talk about how the period of total light has just ended for them and days are back to relatively normal length. Paul quietly opens the front door and stands, arms full of towels, waiting for me to finish so that we can head to our favorite swimming spot.
The dogs see the towels and begin to bounce. Once finished the lesson and already suited up, I grab my backpack and sunglasses and we hurry to the truck. August has begun and already we notice the days beginning to shorten. If we are to get the heat of the day, we have to move quickly.
We talk about our day. We keep the windows down and have to yell-speak but can’t resist the air rushing on our faces. The dogs have their heads out the back windows, ears flapping out to the sides, eyes a bit squinted: they remind me of the Red Baron. Finally we reach the dirt parking area and turn in. The dogs know exactly where they are and tumble out into a black and white pile.
We hike the worn path that winds between beautiful old Ash trees, and is lined by the invasive Japanese Knot Weed which, despite being unwelcome, does create a lovely, almost solid green barrier. Breaking through the trees we see the open hay field to our right. The beauty of it always makes us shade our eyes to better see the expanse. The mountains are in summer mode but still bear the scars of ski trails. In this light they are a deep blue against the vivid green of the field. To the right an old farm sinks into a valley, the silo slightly tilted to the right. We continue and begin to see deliberate cuts in the Knot weed. The cutting creates an arc and makes us feel like we are turning down into subway tunnels. The river sits to our right and sometimes, as we pass an opening, we hear children splashing and laughing. Our dogs take every opportunity to race into the openings, with or without us, and make a quick dash into the water before exploding back onto the trail. Once wet, Muir races as fast as he is able through the deep grass of field. Often it is so long that you can’t really see him but just his movement as the reeds part. A Border-Mole.
We head for our favorite subway stop: passing through the leaves we dip toward the river and pop out onto a rocky shoreline. Large, flat rocks lie waiting, a cascade of water spills over a crevice inviting us to toss ourselves in and quickly ride the current out into quieter water. Tonight someone has beat us there and is bobbing in the river, his music bouncing off the rocks, his two big, white dogs wandering, sniffing the shore. We are disappointed but know there are more stops on this train.
A short walk further and we drop into another spot we haven’t seen before. The water is moving quickly at the top insuring there will be some depth in the hollowed-out center of the river. We drop our towels, safely pushing car keys into the pockets of our rumpled shorts and wade in. The water is so clear that you can see the color of the smooth river stones under your feet. The walk in the sunshine has made us hot which only serves to make the water feel colder as we push forward. We look at each other and laugh, drawing in our breath at the same time as the water creeps up our bodies. Finally I cave and fall backward, being sure to splash Paul as I go down.
The dogs have already been back and forth across the river. Sam, unsure of his back legs, prefers to stand, knee deep near the shore. Bronte and Muir meet in the middle and swim, side by side, like twin beavers. Muir keeps his eye on Paul and I and, at any splash, swims quickly over, coming close enough to flick his tongue at our faces as he glides past.
Dinnertime is the perfect time to be in the river. The angle of the sunlight illuminates the leaves and the world seems to sparkle.
After the excitement and laughter at entering the water, we quietly bob in the deepest part and let the sound and smell of water lull us. Finally we trudge out, push our feet into waiting sandals and wrap ourselves in the warmth of our towels.
Of course I have swum in pools and enjoyed the slides and diving boards they sometimes offer, but the majority of my swimming has been done in lakes and rivers, especially rivers. and I don’t believe there is anything better.
You might notice that I didn’t mention where “our” secret swimming hole is. I could tell you..but then…….