By Mitch Lee
In mid-June of 1979 the grasses in the ditch were almost a foot tall and the trees in the woods surrounding my Limekiln Lake home were thick with leaves creating a canopy of green.
As my dog Mutt and I strolled along a well-used footpath around the lake one Saturday morning, it appeared that the blackflies had died down a bit; however the air felt heavy and smelled of rain.
I scooted along with my fishpole in hand while Mutt dodged back and forth across the path, nose to the earth, looking for signs of chipmunks.
I had scrounged a few good looking worms from a pile of leaves behind our rowboat and stashed them in a Dixie cup.
Those wrigglers were just what I thought the Splake might need for a mid-morning snack.
When we reached the old boathouse, the deck was warm and dry. I tossed out the bobber as Mutt waded into the lake to cool off.
The lake was as calm and flat as could be.
The reflection of the clouds and sun made it difficult to see if a hungry fish poked the bobber.
Mutt just laid in the water enjoying the coolness against her belly.
It was not long before I reeled in my first fish…a two-pound Splake. Mutt shook herself and sprang up on the dock, watching carefully that I didn’t let the fish get away.
She nosed at it a bit as it flopped around in my fish bucket, but was soon fast asleep on the warm dock boards.
I had a few more fish in the bucket before the heat of an approaching rainstorm almost took my breath away.
I smelled the on-coming rain before the first freshet of wind started to churn up the water.
I made a few more casts before I heard the rain pounding down in the forest behind me.
With a quick reel-up I retreated under the roof of the boathouse.
The torrential rain almost obscured our view of the lake. I reached my hand out from under the roof but could not hold it steady against the rain’s force.
As quickly as the storm came, we watched it pass and sweep across the lake and over the mountains.
We stepped out from under the dripping roof and into a blazing hot sun.
There is nothing quite like the smell of fresh fallen rain and watching the day come back to life as a storm passes.
Mutt and I found the experience most enjoyable while fishing alone on a peaceful lake just as summer was about to bloom.
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Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com