“I’ve done it a couple of times.”
“Good, because that’s the best way to see the lake.”
After nearly two hours, they turned off the highway onto an unpaved road into woodlands. It became narrower as they drove deeper into the trees until, eventually, they pulled into a gravel parking lot fronting an expanse of water. A few kayaks lay stacked under the awning of a little wooden hut. “This is a private part reserved for the park rangers and those studying the wetlands,” said Kathleen as she eased the car to a stop.
They unloaded the cooler and their gear, and Kathleen unlocked the small ranger shed with a key taken from her pack. Inside were a few essentials: life jackets, dry bags, maps, a field radio. “Change into your swim suit in here, I’ll put mine on outside.”
She sucked in a breath when she went back inside. Veronica was in a one-piece suit made from a high-gloss, crimson fabric that clung to her body like a second skin. The neckline plunged low and the sides were scooped high, exposing the curve of the hips and elongating her legs. It made her look impossibly sexy. Kathleen wriggled uncomfortably, conscious of her sensible full-body swimsuit. Used to long days on the water, it provided her with the maximum protection from the UV rays. Now it looked like an overkill.
She mutely passed a life jacket to Veronica.
“You really do this often,” Veronica said, buckling herself in with slightly more finesse than Kathleen expected.
“I come out every month. It clears my head. Also, I help monitor the biodiversity here, a collaborative project between the university and the conservation authority.”
Veronica watched her silently for a moment. “You talk about it like it matters.”
“It does,” Kathleen said simply. “Come on, let’s get our kayaks. You take one of thesit-on-topones. That way, if it flips, it’ll tip you off and you won’t go underwater.”
“Okay,” agreed Veronica.
They pushed the kayaks into the water and climbed in. Veronica’s movements were tentative, but she balanced herself well enough in the water for Kathleen not to worry she’d tip over. Veronica clearly worked out, judging by the subtle muscles in her arms as she began to paddle.
They drifted into the wetlands in silence. The air was still, filled with the chirr of cicadas and the low hum of dragonflies skimming the surface. Herons stood motionless in the reeds, long-necked and regal, their reflections clear in the water. A muskrat darted from one bank to the other with a trail of ripples in its wake.
Kathleen pointed to a stretch of bog lined with water hemlock and sedges. “This used to be degraded farmland. Now it’s a thriving wetland. That’s blue flag iris on the right. And those logs—see how they’ve been gnawed? Beavers. They’re nature’s builders.”
Veronica paddled alongside, listening. Kathleen dipped her paddle into the still water, sending a quiet ripple across the lake’s mirrored surface. The trees on the shoreline leaned in like they were listening.
“It’s almost too calm,” Veronica murmured behind her.
Kathleen smiled faintly. “That’s why I like it here. If you’re quiet long enough, you start to notice things no one else sees.”
She let the kayak drift a little, then pointed toward a low-hanging branch near the reeds. “See that web?”
A shimmer caught in the light, the fine threads strung between two branches like spun sugar.
“There’s a tiny spider there,” Kathleen said. “Barely visible. Locals call them glass spinners.”
“Glass spinners?” Veronica leaned slightly forward.
“They’re not in any guidebooks. Not an official name. Their silk’s so thin it looks like glass when the sun hits it. You only ever notice the web when the light catches it at the right angle. Otherwise, you paddle straight through and never know you were even in a trap.”
Veronica was quiet.
Kathleen added, “They don’t bite. Not dangerous, but I’ve always thought they were… deceiving. Quiet. Delicate. But they build these perfect snares, invisible until you’re already caught.”
She turned around in her seat, meeting Veronica’s gaze. “Some people are like them. They don’t look like predators but they are.”
Veronica slid her eyes away and pointed. “What’s up ahead.”
“A heron rookery,” Kathleen said, steering her kayak through a narrow channel flanked by dense grasses. “Don’t make sudden noises.”
“I wasn’t planning to burst into song,” came the dry reply.
They passed into a broader clearing. Dozens of tall trees rose out of the water, their trunks silver with lichen, their branches heavy with heron nests. One bird took flight, wings wide and slow, casting a flickering shadow over the water.
It was beautiful.
