wet and/or wild

mini-vacation
The halfway house gives me one night a month where I may gallivant about town (or wherever) without having to come back to sleep. Coincidentally, roommates Travis and Chrissy were going to Chrissy's parents' lake cabin on Tamarac Lake. I, of course, jumped at the chance. We hastily packed up and left on Saturday afternoon, arriving early that evening. The weather was perfect for our chosen endeavors, 90 degrees and calm, with nary a cloud in the sky.

water + skis + dusty = atomic wedgie
I'd never waterskiied before, and Chrissy's dad promised that he'd have me up and going in five minutes. Skiing is incredibly easy, he said; it's the standing-up that's difficult. Really, really difficult. Sheila, one of C's friends, tried six or seven times to get on her feet, but couldn't quite manage it, so I gamely offered myself as the next guinea pig.

Lying on my back in the lake, in a close approximation of the fetal position (except with skis), I signaled our driver to go. The rope went tight, and I was almost immediately struck in the face with an unrelenting wall of water that forced itself into my nose, my eyes, and my ears all at once. I let go of the rope once my skis flew off, over my head. Oops. C's dad (heretoafter referred as Dwight) pulled the boat around, I reattached the skis, and we tried again.

The fourth launch, I made it into almost a sitting position on my skis, but I was not far enough away from the spray to avoid getting a serious water wedgie. I hung on for as long as I could, but with block and tackle tangled in the lining of my shorts, and the constant assault of the spray, I eventually succumbed to the pain and let go, barrel-rolling sideways along the surface of the lake as my skis flew off and my legs pinwheeled in a spectacularly helpless sort of way.

Launch number five was still more successful, but I was once again propelled along the lake when the back tips of my skis crossed and flipped me forward out of them. I would have gone for six, but one of my errant skis clipped me in the back of the head when it landed in the water. I claimed approximate success and gave the rope to Travis, who was also a waterski-virgin. He promptly showed me up by locking out his legs in the fully-upright position on his fifth launch, even skiing one-handed. (jerk.)

tubal ligation
Having established ourselves as relative masters of the waterskiing domain, we moved on to the inner-tubes. I'd never seen inner-tubes like these; they were probably 4 1/2 feet in diameter, and covered completely in nylon mesh, to provide a better surface for jumping wakes. I clung desperately to my tube as Dwight unleashed all 100 of his boat engine's horses, trying not to let my teeth clack together as I flew over the edge of the wake, and then over the front of waves left by jetskiiers, until finally I went airborne without benefit of tube when I was launched off both wake and front-wave combined. Climbing back aboard was a long and draining struggle, and I lasted about 20 seconds on the second run, losing my grip and skipping over the lake surface like a stone when my tube collided with Travis's during a particularly wide turn. (As I came to a stop, I pined for the pre-BTC days, when what little shoulder and back muscle I had was not atrophied away by seven weeks of somnolence.)

Chrissy and Travis proved to be much better tubers than I, with Chrissy attempting the impressive-but-difficult stunt of jumping her tube sideways over Travis's. She completed the trick twice, but was ejected from her tube at the end both times. (From the boat, the wipeouts were just as exciting as the tricks themselves.) Travis's tenacity was unmatched, as he clung to his tube the entire time, cut loose only after an extended period of being dragged upside-down, underwater.

camping out
Weak and tired, we returned to the cabin to build a fire and play Catchphrase with the girls who chose not to accompany us on our water-sport adventures. A recent storm had felled several large trees in the area, one of which was cut up and stacked alongside the house. Some of the wood was really much too thick for satisfactory bonfiring, but Travis was not to be deterred, and threw what must have been the thickest part of the stump (easily 25-30 inches across) into the pit. The seven of us ended up bringing our blankets and pillows outside and sleeping under the stars... at least until dawn, when a thick cloud of mosquitoes descended on us and we retreated into tents and the cabin to sleep a few more hours. Early Sunday morning, Dwight, Travis, and C's friend Natalie went fishing; severely short on sleep, and afraid that I would not be able to ski or tube without more rest, I passed. The trio returned with four northern pike longer than 24 inches, each weighing between 5 and 8 pounds. I would later regret my decision to not fish, as the air remained cool and windy all day (not suitable for being pulled behind a boat). Instead, we just had lunch, I punished Travis, Natalie, and Chrissy in a fast-paced, intense game of croquet, and we headed for home.

Chrissy's parents are equal parts friendly and fun, and they exhorted us to come back again sometime. I can hardly wait.