Dawn at Wyboo Creek

Day One
Dawn is breaking over Wyboo Creek. There’s a hound straight across the way that's baying in long mournful drawls every few seconds. A pair of wood ducks pass in front, winging up the creek. The sky begins to lighten and the exact spot the sun will come over the trees becomes apparent. Crimson arms reach out to herald its arrival.

The first boat is moving my way. As it moves directly in front it stops. The men inside reposition a piece of gear. Their conversion carries across the water as they discuss their eventual destination and their anticipation of a good catch based on what they’ve been told. As they move away the lapping of the water against the pilings of the dock and the boats tied to it, join the splash of a fish as it breaks the water a few yards out. An osprey circles the water to the north and screams as he perches in a tall pine.

Off to the right there is a voice coming from Camp Bob Cooper. Some one is up early over there too, as the sun has not yet made it over the trees. A chorus of purple martins sit on the rail of the dock next door and are busily talking about their plans for the day. They are sitting in a line, almost perfectly spaced, just singing away. As the sun breaks over the trees they mysteriously hush, or is it the sound of the approaching boat that quiets their conversation? Two fishermen on an old covered pontoon move by, headed for the big water. The wake finally reaches the bank, splashing and licking at the retaining wall holding up the lawn.

Applause suddenly rings across the water. There’s a group at Bob Cooper already up and in the midst of their morning opener. More clapping rings out. Their morning activities begin early. Another boat passes headed toward potato creek. The day is coming on. Soon the solitude and serenity of the early morning will be replaced by the roar of jet ski’s and boats racing up and down.

Day Two
Had a rain last night. A little thunder and lightning. This morning it’s very quiet. There’s a dove across the lake making it mournful cooing. A goose is honking in the distance. Seems much quieter this morning than yesterday. Gentle breeze, the flags on the neighbor’s pole are barely moving. As the morning approaches the sounds of birds increase. One’s chirping, and a woodpecker knocking on a tree.

It’s a Sunday morning. From a human standpoint those are usually quieter. Nobody working on their house, no hammering or sawing this morning. It‘s not like it used to be, however. Many more people now have to work on Sunday’s than year’s back. Lots of retailers open on Sunday. The Old Southern Agrarian custom of a day of rest has changed with the passing of so many other things in our society. The first boat is coming up the way. Not so many fishing boats today either. Seems Saturday is still the preferred day for fishing.

The water is still and flat. What a great morning for water skiing. When I was a teenager, early in the morning and just before dark were our favorite times to get behind the boat. You could jump the wake and cut with no worry of your slalom dipping from a wave on the water. Sometimes we would ski until almost black dark and the bugs would start hitting us in the face. Were those the good old days or are we living them now? I vote for now….

Spring 2007