Locally Caught

And finally, Superior. "From our boat to your table." the sign says. It dominates the weather, the vistas, livelihood, the food. The fish taste of it's coldness. Fresh fish there means they're alive in a bucket by the door. (I love the fact that in spite of manufactured food, in rural places there is still local food and food traditions.) Even when you're inland, you can sense the lake, know which direction it is. A local weather report included water surface temperature - 34.7F. Three notches above freezing! It's big and deep and doesn't ever really warm up. The wind switches direction and the temperature drops 20 degrees in a heartbeat and fog rolls in faster than you can wish for the jacket hanging in the cabin. It looks like the ocean, feels like the ocean, but it doesn't smell like a sea. It smells fresh and cold. Ice water. It can be beautiful and at times terrible. But you can't ignore it. It makes you want to hum a little Gordon Lightfoot.

A calm day. Ominous. Out on the horizon the thin line of a fog bank lurks, waiting to ponce at the turn of a wind on the unsuspecting pilgrim.

And it's photogenic as all hell.