Towing the Poles

That was quite a four-hour adventure. The Professor and I went out yesterday afternoon, in defiance of the incoming swells, and moved all 25-20-25' spruce poles 100 yards down the shore. I was wondering as I picked my way back and forth across the boulders how God ever got time and how He/She had the strength to place all those giant rounded and rounded-square rocks onto the shoreline and under the water, back in the Eocene Epoch, or whenever it was He/She did that little job. The terrain is so rough there near Hovland that the easiest way to move the poles from the end of the driveway next door was to tie each one into bunches of five and, launching the brand new Norse Pram these folks just built themselves at North House, to tow them down to the site for the boat-slide.
My greatest regret was not remembering my camera. The beauty of those long straight golden shiny poles gliding along behind that beautiful boat with as many curves as Gina Lolabrigida (whoever she was- I like that name though)-and the efficiency of that craft. A motor would certainly not have worked better. I was so glad to have the boat-man at the oars, because he knew how to tie and re-tie the poles to tow and then to push them to the shore, while turning them in the waves, so the tops were easy for me to grab and haul out, the swells raising the heavy ends and pushing them toward me. It really went very well, despite the soaking I took, wading out at the launching end, and having waves break across my chest. Lots o' work, Lots o' fun.