The Drought Continues

We’re in desperate need of rain. It’s been since late Spring and whatever precipitation we have got has not amounted to anything. The cracked soil swallows up everything quicker than it can fall from the sky. I’ve never walked across a lake before, but today marks a first for me and my son.

My son, Dorian (4), stands where there should be water. 

Dorian being my third (and final) child, I’ve been waiting about a decade to have a hiking buddy. His sisters don’t have any interest in anything that involves bugs and getting dirty. It’s not for a lack of trying on the part of Dana and myself.

“I want to sink in the mud!,” he exclaimed. I thought relating the current conditions to quick sand would have scared him away from the wet parts. I was wrong.

“Bud, if you get stuck the fire department is going to have to come rescue you. I’m too heavy to walk on those parts.”

Reasoning with a four year old went like you might assume. Back and forth for a bit, but we continued with the adventure. Eventually crossing to the dry creek that should be feeding this lake.

While he scoured the sandy creek bed for “sea shells,” I was on the hunt for anything worth bringing the 600mm up to my eyes. A falcon. A song bird. Maybe a clueless fox casually going on an evening walk.

One sharp-shinned hawk graced us with its’ presence. It flew in from our side and as quick as it came, it was gone. Nothing for a good photograph. Not even Instagram worthy. But there was no shortage of Canadian Geese. They swarmed in droves. Wave after wave. Like WWII B-17s on a mission.

As fast as the geese honked, the shutter released. In one direction, it was golden hour. Warmth touched the bird’s side close to us against the cold blue of the clouds. In the other direction, a dark silhouette on the bright orange sky.

“…Please make your way back to your vehicle…”

A message echoed across the empty valley as Dorian and I were throwing rocks into a shallow puddle. This was no announcement to ignore. It was the Park Ranger.

I know exactly what it was about. There was a sign at the entrance by the gate that read, 'park closes at dusk.’ Whereas I don’t know when dusk is exactly, I know it’s close.

Dorian and I made a brisk walk back up to the truck. The ranger already moved to the gate, patiently waiting on us to pass through so she could lock it behind us and go home. I had Dorian’s window down, too.

“Sorry and thank you for waiting!,” I said with a smile as we passed by.

“Oh don’t worry. You’re fine!,” she smiled back as us both. I like to think having a kid with me probably softened my ignorance of when dusk actually falls.

Dorian and I explored what appeared to be the beginning of a coyote den, then moved onto “sea shell hunting.”