Continued from previous post: Saturday, August 4, 2012.
[very few pictures. but I promise. it get's better after today.]
It was warm, but not ridiculous hot, and after sitting around for a while snacking — why, after 20 hours of driving does sitting down feel so good? — we walked down to the lake. [I know. I fooled you in the previous post by saying "I started dinner." But that was a typo. We actually walked down to the lake.]
Wait. I remember: we walked to meet Morgan on her way back from a run and THEN we walked to the lake to check it out because she was going to take a lake shower. Dave and I got there first and waded around a bit admiring the views.
Just when I thought, “Oooo. Nice. We should swim, too,” I looked down and saw a 4″ leech attached to my ankle bone. Trying really hard not to freak out, I swooshed it away. Only it was stuck on and wouldn’t swoosh away. Still trying not to freak out, I gritted my teeth and pulled at the free end that was waving around in the water. I don’t know why I can’t allow myself the simplicity of being a normal person and come out of the closet on my distaste for leeches, but there is a small part of me who still tries to impress Dave. I know, I know. It’s been 23 years. He’s on to me by now. But you know? Maybe he’s not. He’s not all that perceptive.
And Dave seems to like the fact that I can bait my own leech on a hook. So I assume he also would like it if I can get my own damn leech off my own damn ankle.
BUT I COULDN’T GET IT OFF!
They are slippery and squishy and just sick.
I finally got it off, stood up and casually — I imagine also very cooly — said — with a debonair chuckle, “Huh. I just had a leech on my ankle.”
We giggled at the prospect of Morgan heading down for her bath in the lake. No way were we going to tell her about the leech. She has none of my issues at being a normal person in regard to leeches.
She’s soaping up and screaming about how COLD the water is and she asks me to hand her the shampoo. So I wade over to the rock where the shampoo is and walk a few steps over to her and squeeze some in to her palm. I’ve got the towel draped over my head because the deer flies are just ridiculous. I turn around to walk out of the water, looking down because it’s slippery and see ANOTHER FLIPPEN’ LEECH on my leg!
Now I CAN’T be obvious, because if Morgan finds out, I seriously don’t know what will happen. For SURE she will run out of the water, full of shampoo and create a lot more work for us to get her rinsed out. So, I very casually bend over and begin my lame attempts to get the damn thing off. Only then, the end of the towel on my head– and our only bath towel — flops in the water and both Dave and Charlie start yelling at me. I’m busy trying not to freak out about the leech. And they are all yelling at me, “HEY, HEY! Hey!” And finally, I stand up and say “SORRY.” And they are like, “WHAT THE HECK?! Now the TOWEL IS WET.” And I let it slip, “I had to get it off.”
Immediately, laser-ears-for-bad-news-Morgan pops out of the water and says, “What? WHAT?! Get WHAT off?”
Usually lies just bubble up out of nowhere for me. I am seriously a great liar. But nothing. Nothing at all came to me. I just tried to act dumb. And she’s yelling in my face, knowing in her heart what I’m about to say, so I finally just say it: “A leech.” She just kept staring at me with her laser-blue eyes
trying to hypnotize me or something. Probably trying to unnerve me into telling the truth. So I say, “Yes. Yes. I’m serious. A leech. But it’s gone.”
We had to physically restrain her from exiting the water. I talked her off the cliff by assuring her they were only over by the big rock where I got the shampoo. As I looked down, I saw another one, bunched up and looking like a little stone, by my foot. I nudged it, not quite believing my eyes, and it swam away, looking for another leg to latch on to.
Thank goodness Morgan didn’t see it. I turned her around, she rinsed out her hair as fast as possible. She used the wet towel and is officially done with Miner’s Lake.
It should be noted that Dave stood in that water, in that same spot, for about 30 minutes fly fishing later that same evening. He never saw a one. I think his hairy legs must be a protective armor.
After getting back to camp, Dave went to help an elderly couple who had driven up to the campground to reminisce. They used to come here and spend whole summers camping. As he was backing in to their old site, he went over the top of one of the satanic concrete markers that rim the road and pads everywhere. He blew a tire (it literally exploded) and was actually hung up, on top of the marker, unable to move forward or back. Dave pulled him off with a strap and then helped him change the tire. His good deed for the day.
While that was going on, Morgan was nursing her wounds — big, quarter-sized water blisters on the bottoms of her feet and bloody older blisters on her heels. All from her lovely and stylish Sperry Topsiders, worn two days prior. When she told me the shoes were hurting her feet, I told her to change in to different shoes. She said, “No. I like this outfit.”
Today, she can’t even walk. But she wants it noted that she isn’t sorry. She still likes her outfit from that day and wouldn’t change anything. What a moron.
So then, I started dinner.
Dinner was decided to be the rib eyes with big bakers, green beans and garden tomatoes. Super yum. I was nervous about having any ripe tomatoes for the trip, but several came ripe right before we left, so I am happy to report we have plenty. It’s extra cool that they are our first tastes of garden tomatoes of the year!
Everyone was tired. Morgan was in bed I don’t even know what time. Charlie made a couple s’mores and we called it a night. We went to sleep before the sun even set.