My lovely husband invited me for an afternoon on Lake Jocassee today. We paddled to a secluded cove for picnicking, napping in the sun, and exploring. Alright, I napped in the sun. Scott turned into a 9 year old boy–he threw rocks in the water, tracked the borders of our cove, planned our survival in case of catastrophe, and debated building a fire.
Jocassee is my favorite lake. I have deep romantic notions about her water. And I have some fear of her. She is not warm and welcoming like Keowee or Hartwell. She is cold and beautiful and unfathomable. I love to swim at the base of the rocky cliffs where the water is freezing black deep. I can lose myself staring into the earthy green moss dripping with froth at Laurel Fork Falls. I’ve even imagined how powerful it would be to give birth in one of the pools carved out by the waterfall. Of course, it might be a little cold and I’d probably scare some trout fisherman out of his waders!
Enough rambling. I had a lovely day on the water with my sweet hubby. We didn’t make it back to the landing before the gates shut. Thankfully, the park ranger was a former student employee of mine and he was merciful. Now I stink of boating gear–a musty smell of neoprene–my face is sun-pinked, and I carry tiny glistens of sand in my skin.