Going to the Beach. . .

When I was young, it was always a big event when my mom would take my brother and I for a day at Lake Superior. We would bring a little picnic, wear our swimming suits, bring some towels, bring our pails and shovels and our ball, and head out. It was always an adventure because it was a bit of a walk from the parking lot to Black River Harbor. Part of the hike was over this creaky suspension bridge that spanned the Black River and it would be sweating creosote in the hot sun. From the bridge, we could see the fishing boats that were not currently fishing, moored to the docks, eagerly awaiting to go out. As we came off the bridge, we could also see the two rugged breakwalls formed from many, many large rocks which protected the harbor from the huge white-caps that Lake Superior is known for. We would find a spot on the beach and my mom and I would immediately start looking for agates. I would usually find the first one, but occasionally, she would trump me. Not much actual "swimming" ever went on. The temperature of Lake Superior never really gets very high, so it was usually just a bit of wading until the numbness set in. But if it was really hot, there was an occasional full submersion and then we were refreshed for the rest of the day. Then we would tromp back to the car with buckets full of rocks and armloads full of driftwood.