by David Boyle
Seductively beautiful, the lake’s tranquility reached like a siren, Hayden shuffling through the cycads as if entranced. Ron snagged his collar. “Hold up there Slim. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a herd of dinosaurs over yonder.”
“I saw them…. Isn’t that like the most gorgeous lake you’ve ever seen?”
“It’s that alright. And I’m betting it’s nice and cool too. But we can’t risk being spotted. Not yet anyway.”
Hayden blinked. “Wait a minute. You can’t be serious. Not even to wet my feet?”
“You will have ample opportunity to moisten your extremities on our return,” Wheajo said, staunchly ignoring Hayden’s plea.
“Forty lousy yards.” Hayden scuffed the ground. “You guys are just no fun.”
Many of the dinosaurs nearby were belly deep in the shallows and plucking long green strands from beneath the surface. Adults directed shepherding hoots at youngsters who strayed too far.
Wheajo was focused on the islands.
Ron checked the safety, then cradled the rifle in his arm. “So? What do you think of Bennett’s lake?”
“Most impressive. As was his description. Considering the local topography, the islands appear well situated for our purposes.”
They were tired and hungry, the men at least, and would have preferred a longer stop. But the sun was past zenith, and Charlie’s canoe yet awaited.
Despite knowing the route and having a smaller, lighter canoe to transport, the trip to and from the river still took well over an hour. Sweaty, achy, and anxious to be free of the forest, they divvied up the gear they’d brought and hauled the canoes through the cycads. There was a step in the bank not far from the water. Ron went over, then the Tripper, he and Hayden quick to get the thing in the water when Charlie and Wheajo hurried over with the Rockfinder. Packs were handed down, then the patched and battered canoe, Hayden with a grin on his face before the boat was even in the water.
There were hadrosaurs browsing an eighth of a mile south when Hayden flipped his cap into the Tripper and dove, stroking away, twirling underwater. “It’s perfect!” he said on bursting to the surface. “You guys are going to love this.”
Ron doffed his shoes and snowballed into the lake, Charlie futzing to unbuckle the holster. “Aren’t you supposed to take your glasses off before you go swimming?”
Hayden snapped the strap at the back of his head. “Not if you remembered your Croakie!”
Ron slopped his shirt across one of the thwarts. “Don’t take all day with that, Wheajo. You need a rinse as much as we do.”
Bull waded out. “Oh yeah. This I can handle…. Been thinkin’ about cleanin’ up since yesterday.” Wheajo was working on untying the paddles, his focus on the islands across the lake.
“Yesterday? You’ve needed to clean up way longer ago than that.”
Spray went flying in Hayden’s direction. “Not everybody’s a clean freak. You shoulda seen ‘im, Wheajo. That first morning? It’s like freeze your ass cold and dumbshit here is out takin’ a bath.”
“You never know, Bull. Could be Molly needed some exercise.”
“Huh… Hadn’t thought of that.”
Hayden gave Ron the finger, then laid back with just his face above water. “I haven’t felt this good in days!”
“Hasn’t improved your looks any,” Ron said, dumping a paired handful of the marvelously clear water over his head.
Charlie stuck his face in the water, scrubbing… then pulled up and flipped his long hair over his shoulders. “Hate to tell ya this, McClure, but you’re no Paul Newman yourself. Lucky you, we don’t have a mirror.”
Ron slid a hand across his cheek. “This is probably as long as my beard has ever been.”
“This is a beard,” Hayden said, combing his fingers along his jaw line. “What you’ve got is barely past scraggly. I’ve known women with more hair on their face.”
“Let me guess. You even dated some, right?”
“Nowhere near as many as you. What was that one’s name…? Sylvia?”
“Hey, I only went out with her for a month.” A devilish grin curled his cheek, a far off look in Ron’s eyes. “Talk about knockers.”
“Great flotation. Yeah, I remember,” Hayden said, turning to Charlie. “Talk about a looker. Bull, this girl had a mustache that put mine to shame.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Ron insisted. “And listen to who’s talking.”
“If I may interrupt,” Wheajo said. “I believe we should continue on to the islands.”
“In a minute,” Charlie said. “This is getting interesting.”
Wheajo directed his gaze south. “Indeed, and the local inhabitants apparently agree.” A sea of eyes was focused in their direction. Hooting softly, some on all fours and bobbing their heads, the entire herd was closing alongshore.
“Oops. Wheajo’s right guys. It’s time to boogie.”
They splashed toward the canoes. “Wheajo, you’re with Bull,” Ron said, doing a quick scan of shore. “And watch out for those spears.” He snagged the Tripper and dragged it into the water, the lead bulls breaking into a trot down the beach. “Prentler, hurry it up unless you want to get trampled!”
Wheajo got the Rockfinder floating, honks blaring as they piled into the canoes and started paddling, splashes bursting beside the boats as the herd followed its leaders into the reeds, the shallows exploding under a throng of pounding feet. Charlie broke rhythm just long enough to slide the holster out from under his seat.
The Tripper was trailing only yards behind, and Hayden caught the move. “Easy there, Bull,” he said, matching Ron stroke for stroke and watching as the duckbills charged into the lake. “If these are like the guys on the nature programs, this is all show. They blow off some steam, I’m betting they’ll turn back.”
Water gurgled along the hull, Charlie staring a few seconds later. “You want to tell them that?” A curious if unnerving sight, heads with flattened bills and numbering in the teens poked above the water; tails, like thick fleshy oars, wagging behind. “Wheajo, can’t you paddle any faster?” he said, stroking hard for dark water.
But the herd was already splintering, some honking their discontent from the shallows, others nudging their offspring toward shore. It didn't take long for the rest to lose interest, and in twos and threes, they too began turning back.
“Good call,” said Ron, downshifting to a more normal pace. “Looks like the bastards are leaving.”
“Don’t be such a curmudgeon,” Hayden said, glancing at the dinosaurs. “Relax okay? Have some fun for a change.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Me, I’m getting tired of being attacked every time we turn around.”
“They were just being curious is all.”
“Right. Curious.”
“Okay, so how about they didn’t like our company. You know, home turf and all that.”
“You think so, huh? Than what about the ones along the river? Most of them just frickin’ ignored us. Here the first bunch that gets anywhere near us comes charging. Could be there’s a territory thing at work. But that touchy? I don’t know. There’s something more at work here.”
Hayden dragged his hand in the water. “Does make you wonder.” The water was cool and marvelously clear. He stared for a second, watching the water stream between his fingers. “I bet you could drink it just the way it is.” A silvery glint zoomed through the weeds far below. “You know what we forgot?”
“Probably lots of stuff,” Ron said, hoping he was wrong.
“Our fishing poles.”
“We didn’t forget. Wheajo said not to bring anyth—” Ron did a double-take. “Shit! Where the hell did you come from?” Submerged save for their heads and rumps, two duckbills were swimming not twenty yards from the canoe, the big eyes swiveling, watching their every move.
“Not so fast, Ron. You’ll scare them.”
“Scare them!? What about me?” The dinosaurs seemed as if suspended in space, their
bodies clearly visible well below the surface, forearms working, rear legs pumping, like a dog. Youngsters in comparison to the retreating adults, both were still longer than the canoe. “Don’t scare them. What, are you crazy? Look how big they are!”
Hayden was enthralled, watching as the animals swiveled their big heads, both cruising toward the boat. “Come on. Do they look mean to you? And when’s the last time you were this close to a live dinosaur?”
“A few fucking hours ago! What… you forget already?” The nearest dinosaur flinched at the sound of Ron’s voice. Its companion bayed.
“See there… you scared them,” Hayden scolded, leaning and holding out his hand. “That’s right… come on,” he said, glancing about the canoe. “We got anything that looks like food?”
“Prentler.”
“Not so loud.” The nearest of the two drew in a long nasally breath, sniffing. “Here, look,” Hayden said, leaning out and patting the water. “Check it out, McClure. He’s coming.” The dinosaur paddled to within a canoe length; its companion snapping its bill as if urging caution. “Wouldn’t Mark just kill for a chance like this?”
“Yeah, well he isn’t the only one,” Ron said, propping the rifle against the thwart. The dinosaurs were paralleling the boat, their brilliantly patterned flanks, hips, and long tails clearly visible in the water. Each had to weigh—Ron scanned the animals head to tail—easily a ton or more. “Do me a favor would you… and sit the fuck up!”
“Make you nervous?”
“Yeah they make me nervous. And if you had half a brain they’d make you nervous too!” The dinosaurs surged forward, twisting their necks, watching the strange two-headed creature argue with itself. “You’re pressing it, Prentler. I want you to know that.”
“Okay… you win.” Hayden straightened up and reached carefully for his paddle, careful not to make any noise. “They are something, huh? I mean, it’s not like they got the prettiest face I’ve ever seen. More like—”
“Ugly. The word is ugly, Prentler. Sort of stupid looking if you ask me.” The closer of the duckbills cocked its head, eyes sparkling—“Yeah, I’m talking about you”—and uttered a squeaky honk.
Hayden chuckled. “You tell him kid.” The duckbills edged closer.
Ron stiffened, able now to hear the animals breathing. “Okay, that’s enough of this shit,” he said, and smacked the water with his paddle. The dinosaurs flinched at the spray, eyes wide, blinking. The little one squealed. “Go on… get!” Ron smacked the water again. The nearer of the two turned, lashing its tail, its arms and legs flailing as it charged headlong over its sibling.
“Ron!” Hayden watched anxiously until the little one popped to the surface. “Did you have to do that?” he asked, waves from the departing dinosaurs licking the canoe. “He could have hurt that little—”
“That’s right!” Ron said, again raking his paddle across the water. “Go on home to momma… And don’t come back!”
Thrashing away, squealing, the two could just as well have been frightened puppies. Hayden was sorry to see them go. “That was mean.”
“They’re alive, aren’t they?” Ron caught sight of the other boat, Charlie waving them ahead before resuming course for the islands. “Prentler, this isn’t funny anymore. Now start paddling.”
“Humph. Some fun you are.” Hayden wiggled his fingers when one of the terrified youngsters looked back. “See ya later alligator.”
“Prentler!”
“Okay, okay. I’m paddling.”
Ron knew there was no use in arguing: Hayden was Hayden and there was no changing him. Which, when he thought about it, did nothing to improve his mood. If there was anything to be thankful for, the little pricks were out of his hair. The dinosaurs at the put-in were quieting down. A welcome sign, he was yet unnerved at having been chased into the lake. He scanned for bumps where there shouldn’t be any, swirls on the surface, anything that would signify critters. Birds and pointy winged lizards skimmed the lake, squalling amongst themselves, cutting troughs, the surface otherwise smooth as silk.
Ron breathed a sigh. His fingers relaxed their grip on the paddle.
He’d been concentrating so much on the dinosaurs that he hadn’t noticed how warm the sun was, or, for that matter, how far they’d paddled. Which was good in a way, and bad in others. But the blinders were off, and with almost a mile of open water to cross before they reached the islands, Ron had both time on his hands and an unfettered view.
He’d been lost once, ages ago it seemed, during rifle season in Wisconsin. Lost because he’d paid too much attention to hunting and not enough to knowing where he was and how he got there. In for a mile along DNR 372, turn right, in for two hundred yards, kill something, then out. Simple… except for the last part. For his purposes the logging road might well have run the entire width of the state. A blind man couldn’t have missed it. But he did, somehow. An error that had cost him a long and very cold night in the woods. Lesson learned—no, branded into his memory—Ron had since become expert at committing routes, landmarks, and terrain to memory.
The river, their island, and their portage route were down pat. Now for Bennett’s Lake, he thought, shifting his weight.
The change in balance caught his partner daydreaming. “What the…?”
“Just keep paddling. I’m checking the lake.”
“Yeah. Me too. Just let me know when you do that, okay?”
The entire west shore was bathed in sunlight, the ridge line a brilliant band of greens, the hadrosaurs strung out in a line and heading back the way they came, south and into the woods. Coincidence? he frowned, rolling his shoulders. It was past noon and nearing the heat of the day. Something to keep track of, he mused.
With or without dinosaurs, Ron saw right off that put-ins not that much farther north would have been impossible. Their sandy playground skinnied and died not two hundred yards to the north, the shoreline thereafter a near vertical wall. Angled north northeast on a gradual rise and fringed with pines and evergreens, the shore to the north reached easily fifty feet above the water before it abruptly ended at a craggy and more than likely windswept bluff. How far the lake extended was anybody’s guess, though Ron felt certain that the tree line beyond the point was at least miles away.
A range of hills ran along and behind the entire east side of the lake, the forests and meadows a multi-hued blend of greens and tawny yellows, browns, and vibrant sunburned reds. And jutting here and there amidst the treetops, the gray-black remnants of the dead and dying, perches, no doubt, for some of the birds and still-hard-to-believe flying lizards that flitted constantly about the lake.
There were dinosaurs too, far off to the north, dots at this distance, though fewer than before. Hopefully they’d stay put or head into the woods and take a siesta. It wasn’t an idle wish. There were no scarps, no cliffs—nothing to prevent dinosaurs from gaining access to the lake anywhere along the entire east shore, and for that matter all the way around the southern end of the lake to the swamp. Too bad the islands aren’t on the west side of the lake. Least then the buggers would have to swim to get there.
The southern end was a lot more irregular than the rest, with trees and bushes and palms and whatever else crowding right to the edge, lots of little inlets and bays, each one with its own pocket of lily pads, or what passed for their second cousin, the shoreline a mass of deadfalls and broken limbs, birds swarming about. And more the concern, dinosaurs. Big ones, little ones… pokey ones! Ron shook his head. Ridiculous really, but there they were: four-legged pin cushions. And here he thought the duckbills were strange!
Finally, there was Mark’s swamp. Something familiar for a change.
Oh really?
On second thought it wasn’t like any swamp he’d ever seen before, and he’d seen quite a few. At best guess a half mile wide, the marsh made for one hell of a gap in the tree line. But the cattails weren’t cattails, and they weren’t even reeds really. Skinny, long, easily taller than a man, they were�
�� well, fuzzy somehow. Not that it mattered.
“Watch the boat, Prentler. I need a better look.” And with that Ron stood up.
The swamp seemed to go on forever, a sea of green that, seen from really far off, might well have looked like a fairway. There were clusters of trees as on any good course, islands actually, marking the out-of-bounds. And geese, lots of them, scattered in groups, honking and no doubt making a mess. About the only thing missing were the sand traps.
Hayden couldn’t stand it any longer. “See anything?”
“You could say that.”
“And?” Hayden sounded impatient.
“See for yourself.”
They changed places as they had a million times before, one up and one down. “Wow. I hadn’t noticed….” Hayden stared for a second. “Lots of duckbills… and other kinds too. And… are those guys for real?”
“I thought they were trees for a second. Big bastards, aren’t they?”
“You can say that again,” Hayden said, watching as dinosaurs with impossibly long necks deftly nibbled the trees. “I mean… I’ve seen the pictures and all, but still, how can anything get so frickin’ big?” A studied look showed that the reeds didn’t look all that thick. “Think we could get in there with the canoe? Should be trails, right?”
Ron hadn’t given that any thought. “Yeah, probably. And somebody at the end of them too. You’re not serious are you?”
“No… just asking,” Hayden said, then taking his seat. He took a breath, finding it all so… so unbelievable. “I can see now why Mark was so pissed about not coming,” he said, gawking in every direction at once. “Think about it. Mr. Paleontologist stuck at home while we have all the fun.”
Ron sat for a moment, his fists slowly tightening their grip on the paddle. “Fun?” he said, unable to contain himself. “You call being attacked on the river fun? I sure as hell don’t. Or maybe you’re referring to this last little episode. If we’d been a little slower or those duckbill mother fuckers a little faster you wouldn’t think so.” Ron struggled to get his temper off the accelerator. “I guess you’re entitled to your opinion. Me, I’m going to hold off on assumptions until we get the hell back on the river and home.”
