1128

It’s Tuesday and I’m exhausted. Yesterday was a National Holiday, so I spent the weekend at Lake Lanier with Joe, his family, Mark, and an old friend, Drew. Between the rain showers and downpours we spent time on the lake trying to sling each other off of a nylon-suited tube attached to the back of a speedboat. I even managed to water ski for a total of 3 minutes.

What strikes me as remarkable — aside from the fact that I took zero photographs during my time there — is that at the end of the weekend, with gallons of gasoline burnt and numerous “sparklers” exploded, what I enjoyed most was skipping rocks.

Sometime during the afternoon of July 4th, after we had been on a brief boat ride out into the main channel, and Joe and I had each taken his jet-ski out for a spin, we determined that we needed more gas. I’d been thinking about trying out Joe’s two-seater kayak all weekend, and with Joe and Mark heading to the gas station, Drew and I decided to kill some time paddling about the cove.

We dropped the big orange and yellow kayak into the lake and climbed aboard, using our paddles to move us out from the dock and along the shore. The boat moved smoothly, even over the wake of passing cruisers, taking us into a neighboring cove and then up close to check out the curious little “caves” that dot the shore, presumably where deposits of soft rock have washed out over time, leaving barely enough room for a fool to climb inside. (We got close, but did not climb inside.)

Our curiosity satisfied, we then decided to cross the creek/channel to, uh, see what’s on the other side. “We must be out of our minds,” I remarked to Drew as we watched the wake swells approach, cruisers and motorboats and pontoons making for a potentially rough crossing. I resisted the urge to comment on the resemblance to Frogger: two guys in a kayak trying to cross the lake — perhaps 150-200 yards — on July 4th.

We made it though, and to my surprise it wasn’t nearly as rough as expected. The kayak rolled right over the two and three foot wakes of the biggest boats, and I was looking both ways constantly while paddling. After a brief rest we paddled along the new shore, pulling the kayak ashore at a little beach we found. Drew had been talking about finding a beach since we’d started paddling, and I really didn’t see the point — most of the beaches on Lanier just aren’t the kinds of places I’d like to spend any time (gucky, muddy sand, trash, etc.) — but I figured I’d indulge him.

This particular beach, however, was actually rather nice. You wouldn’t have wanted to lay a towel out on it and sunbathe, unless you like the feel of rocks under a towel, but the rocks were fairly smooth and the a pair of broken flip-flops were the extent of the trash.

As nice as it was, I was just sort-of standing, looking around with my life jacket on, paddle in hand, waiting to get back into the kayak when Drew said, “Somehow skipping rocks never gets old.” I turned just in time to see him throw a rock out on the lake — one, two, three, four…caught air off of a swell…five, six, seven, plunk! Seven skips!

“Holy cow,” was all I could manage as he followed up with another rock, easily getting six skips out of that one. I looked down into the rocks at my feet and found a nice one, taking notes on Drew’s skipping form and then mimicking it by tossing my rock out into the lake. It splashed and sunk immediately.

I dropped my life jacket and watched Drew throw a few more out, each skipping right along the top of the water, even one the size of a Discman, and then tried again. Splash. Again. Splash. Again. Skip-splash. Again. Ski-plash.

“It’s all in how it hits the water,” said Drew, encouraging me and skipping another effortlessly. I reloaded and tried a few more, finally getting a few four-skippers. As time passed I learned to throw right for a certain spot on the wake, once and a while getting six and seven, even. Not bad, I thought.

That’s how we passed a half hour or so, searching the beach, wading into the water from time to time, looking for good rocks and skipping them out into the lake. The sun was out for once and a light breeze kept the temperature nice. A beautiful afternoon. I’d tell you where we went, but I’m not sure there are any good rocks left in that section of the lake now. Do they get worked back up toward the shore, or are they lost until the Corps drops the water level again?

When was the last time I skipped a rock? Five years ago, maybe ten? I’m grateful to Drew for the experience. At Lake Lanier it’s so easy to see “doing something” as equating to movement, be it sailing, jet-skiing, tubing, or cruising around in a power boat. The time spent on that beach throwing rocks across the water was wonderfully simplistic and peaceful. I wish I’d had my camera and a nice long lens to capture an illustrative “this is a rock skipping” photograph, but this post will have to do. Now then, go find a lake and some good rocks. Kayak Frogger is optional, but may make the find more rewarding.

Posted: Tuesday, July 5th, 2005 at 3:27 pm; Category: 1128; Comments feed: RSS 2.0.
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