Favorite hike from Limekiln Lake to Fawn brings wonder, solitude

As I enjoyed a hike up the rocky creek from Limekiln Lake to that small murky body of water known as Fawn Lake, I spotted some beavers making a house.

It was the summer of 1978 and my dog Mutt and I had been up the creek almost thirty times already. It was one of our favorite things to do.

Mutt was happy to creep from one deep pool to another in the rock-strewn creek bed as I hopped the slimy green rock surfaces.

There were two or three spots along the way where a fallen tree crossed the width of the creek.

As a 12-year-old adventurer I felt compelled to scale each of these natural bridges from end to end.

Mutt even tried a few of these bridges with me. Like tightrope walkers we made our way four or five feet above the stone-filled waters using upturned branches as handrails.

Halfway up the creek I stopped on a large sun-soaked rock.

The dry surface felt warm to the touch and I was happy to take a rest upon it.

Mutt scrambled to join me, scraping her toenails against the smooth rock.

We sat there for a good long time listening to the waters swirl around the stone.

I started to think about the journey the water was going to make as it left the shaded area below my feet.

I plucked a few twigs from the base of a small Spruce tree growing on the creek bank and tossed them one-by-one into the water.

I watched them drift along until every one was gone from my view.

The day was getting  progressively warmer.

A Cicada off in the distance began its razor-like call as if it was giving a shout-out to the heat.

I liked it here in the cool creek bed as it seemed we were the only beings on earth.

After some time we decided to continue back on our trip to see the Beavers.

When we came to the old coffer dam that held back the waters of Fawn Lake the smell of the murky shoreline and the freshness of the green grasses filled the air.

Mutt jumped into  the muddy waters and sank up to her waist in thick black goo.

We lingered on the lakeshore waiting to hear the slap of a Beaver tail, or better yet,  a trail of ripples and the top of a solid dark brown head skimming through the water.

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