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Feature article
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Boone Lake, with all its flaws, can still be a respite
By Doug Janz
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Whitewater may get the adrenaline pumping, but it’s hard to complain when you find yourself on the calmest of lake water as the sun sets.
There’s no head rush, no foaming rapids, no bouncing jet-action as you clear the rapids or push through the suction of a river hole. Instead, it’s a chance to see and hear things that might otherwise slip by. It’s an opportunity to enjoy the simple pleasures, even if, in my case, we were sitting on Boone Lake, the ugly sister of the local waters.
Boone is shallow, heavily used and has a densely-populated shoreline. It drains low in the winter, leaving trash and fishing line and a few tires and plenty of water-logged wood. In the summer, it is the liveliest lake around — so accessible to so many that it loses a little of that charm lakes offer, when you want to get away from the normal calamity of the world for a short while.
Boone Lake certainly has its drawbacks. I’ve had fun on it, but I’ve also chosen rivers and other lakes instead of Boone on most occasions. I have to admit, though, that when time was tight and I needed a fix, this sometimes stinky old bathtub felt mighty good.
The sky was marked with the texture of storm clouds; it had character if no shining sun or brilliant blue hue. We embarked in the evening on a two-person kayak, late enough and with skies ominous enough to keep the boating crowd away, but still light enough to see.
Boone is neither expansive nor deep, but it is filled with miles of fingers and coves. To paddle it all would take a long time, far longer than we had. So we paddled toward the storm, glad to be paddling at all. The surface seemed to me like a cross between velvet and silk, and the water was refreshing without being cold.
What appeared to be a heron surprised us — or maybe we surprised him — as he perched on a gnarled piece of dead tree sticking up from the water near shore. He flapped away; later we saw him again, and then another one. It took me a second to realize I’d never before been that close to this kind of bird.
On several occasions, rain rippled lightly onto the lake and gave the surface new dimensions. A fish jumped. The sky shifted. It was still light, if dim, but a clear moon showed itself and the rain stopped as quickly as it had begun, as if through our turnaround we had somehow outraced the storm. The lap of the paddles now sounded reassuring; movement required only as much effort as we wanted to devote to it.
We drifted at times, studying the change in our surroundings as darkness set in. Lights blinked on. People cast their fishing lines from strategic spots along the waterline, using lanterns or flashlights. Only two or three motorcraft passed by during our entire stay in the water, and the slow aftermath of their wake bobbed us lightly back and forth, as if rocking a child to sleep.
Time was short and Boone Lake was hardly the pristine wilderness I sought. But as darkness closed in and I dangled my feet in the neutral waters, I was glad Boone and I were able to get together.
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Johnson City writer Doug Janz writes for GoTriCities about outdoor experiences in the Tri-Cities and beyond. E-mail him at DouglasJanz@aol.com
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