A taste of silence – solace for the soul. St Mary Lake, as I will never see it again.

Original: 7-18-26

I’m sure you are getting tired of listening to me rave on and on about being on the water. St Mary this. St Mary that.

Too bad. This is my story, so deal with it. But…. You will definitely want to scroll through the pics in this one.

This was 12 miles and 6 hours of my life that I will never trade for anything. Other than maybe the birth of my only son. Not that I didn’t want to be in the room – but Mitch came out like the fat man from a circus cannon – really messy. The nurses even had to mop the ceiling. But I digress.

I got a late start. A clamp came off the turbo intercooler in the Delica, which drops the top speed to about 35 mph, so I drove back to Beargrass to reattach it. That means I didn’t get on the water until nearly 8 am.

I hate starting that late when the morning shows so much promise. And to be honest, once I got all the engine grime from the deli off my hands and fingernails, I contemplated not going.

Not worth the drive and blowing up the kayak if I miss those pristine AM hours. But man oh man. Am I glad I did! Because this is what I would have missed.

The water had a little chop, but not enough for me to notice. Because I just could not stop looking at the sky. Where did all of those cotton balls come from? I’ve never see anything even close to this before.

Not from the shore, and certainly not on the water. As I gazed at the shoreline, that roughness in the water eased a little. Suddenly, I started seeing wild contrasts between the rock, dead timber, vibrant flora, and the murky darkness of the depths.

As usual, there was no one else on the lake. Six plus square miles to myself. The tour boats wouldn’t start for another hour or so, and their wakes would rock the kayak and mess up these endless reflections.

I was able to leverage the low sun and work the shoreline’s shadows. And St Mary just kept giving and giving. This was my morning.

Just enough fog for a pleasant burn-off. This was one time I did not want glassy water. The chop gave me an amazing texture to work with and capture. Everything just felt so alive.

As if the lake was having some kind of grand awakening, just for me. I positioned my craft between Wild Goose Island and the tourist viewpoint up on the Sun Road. Pulled out my binoculars. Only two people were standing there. That’s who I was sharing all of this with.

If you have a minute (literally, it’s just a minute-long clip), I’d like to take a look at the video I shot. And listen. Really listen. No talk over. No free cheesy 80s song from the YouTube library. Just the sound of absolute solace for the soul.

If I still worked in an office cubicle, this would be my screensaver on an infinite loop. Not the silly remote-island palm-tree-sandy-beach crap that people dream of but will never attain. I have a living memory of one of the best minutes of my life. Only to be topped by the taste of that first beer (not the fight that followed).

And now, as if by magic, the water glasses off. The high upper winds softly waft, and then slowly drift those cotton balls west toward the Continental Divide.

I gently dip the paddle and cut the most amazing wake I have ever made on this lake. Just a whisper. The drips from my oar were the only sound I could hear.

Wild Goose Island looked like a shrine to nature. Every John Muir quote I’ve ever heard kept rattling around in my head. This is why we have National Parks. A place to breathe. Nothing but the here and now.

I came upon a shore formation I hadn’t seen before on the shoulder of Goat Mtn. So now I have what I call Goat Boy Rock. GBR will be showing up again in my future travels.

Climbed out of the saddle for a stretch and enjoyed some time on the shoreline. A nice little rocky cove that felt like it needed to be visited. While always leaving no trace. Everything is new, and yet so very old.

Further down the lake, the skies cleared to a hard azure against the flat cerulean waters. Casting a shadow on Mini Goose like some living sundial welcoming in a new day. The Blackfeet were in this valley for a millennium. I need to research what this rock feature is called.

The upper section of the lake beyond Sun Point kept showing more love, so I kept on going. What a morning on the water, a trip I almost turned my back on. I would have never known what I had missed.

When a day starts out like this, I sometimes wonder if I should turn around and go home. Put it in the win category before it’s too late. But not GoatBoy! Doesn’t fortune favor the brave? At least it favors ignorant bliss!

A little chop was coming up, so I stayed closer to the shoreline. Chasing my shadow along the shallow bottom. I wanted to visit the head of the lake again. Those estuaries were calling to me again, and I visited both. And I found out why there were all of those moose signs.

Because I spooked one. I was quietly drifting, listening to the birds. Halfway back, in a narrow part of the channel, the quiet was shattered by a tremendous crackle of brush and the splashing of water.

Less than 100 feet in front of me, a very mature and angry cow moose charges, stops on a dime, faces me, and lowers her head as if about to charge. I kept calm and started cooing, “Hey, Moosie, I’m all good,” and, ever so gently, back-paddled.

This went on for a minute, and she deemed me not a threat and returned to shore. Now I’m screwed. She is between me and my out. The channel is maybe 60 wide at the spot she entered. I hovered back in the water, hoping for the sound of a 1500-pound animal retreating through the forest.

Nothing. The brush is too dense for me to beach the kayak and get out on foot. So I hugged the far shore, kept up a gentle “hey moosie,” and drifted forward. She came into view, eyes locked on me, with what looked like a 2nd-year calf behind her. I averted my eyes and kept going. I’m in two feet of water. If she wants me, I’m hers.

It’s a good thing I have a self-bailing kayak. It makes it easier to hose out the fecal matter. Got some distance and found a beachhead to pull up on. Walked around until the shaking stopped and my heart dipped below 100 beats. Note to self: make noise in the estuaries.

Why no moose picture? Probably the same reason I don’t have any bear pictures, although I’ve seen countless. I practice the FOOT principle, which has proven very effective over the years. It’s not an acronym for speed per se, but it’s what the sane person does with dangerous wildlife: **** Out of There

Now the wind came up. This time in my face. Ugh. I was clocking 3-5 knots on my pocket anemometer. Started getting some whitecaps. It was going to be a long trip home.

At one point, I got so tired of fighting the wind that I just took a little break and let it push me backward until I could get the cramps out. It was then that I spotted a little friend up high on a mountain fir.

I would see a lot of bald eagles over the summer on St. Mary. Even saw a few pull out a fish or two. Amazing. When they swoop over you, it’s a sound that you’ll never forget..

When I got back, I felt exhausted. Like a beaten dog. And guess who I found, sleeping in the dirt right in the middle of my parking spot? None other than Max. Not just man’s best friend. But the best roommate I would never have.

GoatBoy out, and his bowels are clear!

And Patrick sucks, but could have probably outrun that moose. Yeah, those cows on Divide Mtn took a little dodging, but a moose will definitely make a person focus. 🙂