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"Silently, the morning mist is lying on the water, captive moonlight waiting for the dawn," - John Denver
It was early morning when I approached the lakeshore. I stood in the wet grass just up from the sandy shoreline, admiring the stillness of the surface of the water.
So flat, reflecting the surrounding trees and sky above, without a single ripple.
A ghostlike mist had settled over the lake before I got there. I hadn't come to fish or take pictures. I just came for the opportunity to soak up some fresh morning air, some peace and to let out a few of the knots in my brain.
Quite suddenly, the silence shattered into a million pieces. From just a few feet away from me, somewhere out there in the fog, a loon began giving its distress call. Though I couldn't see the bird, I could imagine it with its back up, flapping its wings.
I made no sound myself. I just waited, quietly. In a few seconds, the loon calmed down and stopped what I presumed was panicking. I figured that neither of us knew the other was there, until the loon got close enough to sense my presence.
I still hadn't seen the bird, but I now noticed ripples bobbing their way to shore in a regular sequence. They were kicked up off the flat surface when the loon either dove or swam away from me.
I felt bad about inadvertently disturbing the loon. I only ever want to blend into the scene to observe, experience and enjoy the atmosphere.
Off to my right, there was an open patch of relatively flat water that hadn't been obscured by the advancing mist. It was here that a moment or so later the loon resurfaced now in plain view.
It was an incredible sight. The bird was marked cleanly and brightly in breeding plumage. I could see its red eyes quite easily, the checkboard patterning on its back and the ring around its neck.
It was kind of backwards - like watching any one of dozens of beautiful loon images I've studied come to life before me.
This time, there were no sounds made by either of us. Given how close we were to each other the loon had to have seen me.
Another moment or two and a couple of side-to-side periscope scans of the water and the loon dove under the surface of the water again.
That was the only time I saw the bird that morning, but I continued to hear its tremolo echoing toward me from increasingly more distant parts of the lake - out there where the fog was its thickest.
The abject silence returned and the waters of the lake were still again. Down under there somewhere were massive sportfish - trophy northern pike and walleye that never disturbed the water surface at all that morning.
Like many of the more than 4,200 inland lakes on this peninsula, this one has a tendency toward calm, picturesque scenes meant for jigsaw puzzles and landscape photos.
The waves never get big here, but even the small ones kicked up by the biting and cutting winds on gray days mar the beauty of this place. Those are the chilly and cold, with rain or snow, days made for ducks and frogs.
Evenings here boast beautiful sunset scenes and starry skies once the orangey glow disappears behind the white birches and maples.
Beavers and muskrats are often seen here in the after-supper hours, on their solemn swims across the still waters, carving V-shaped wakes in the lake's surface. The mallards and geese like this time to practice their vocalizations.
Sandpipers frequent the mud flats between the cattail marshes and the water's edge. Bald eagles, great blue herons and turkey vultures maintain sky patrols.
The mist often rolls back in on evenings when the temperatures are right and cold air glides or settles over the warmer water.
I recall one evening when I had my camera along and shot several pictures of the wispy mist. The scene looked like a horror movie setting.
Car lights flashed along the county road, across the lake from where I stood, with the beams shifting from low to high, producing a long and wide slice through the mist. Along the road, thick gray wire held black-and-white-striped, wooden railing posts together, protecting cars from going into the drink.
Another 20 minutes or so beyond this time of the night and I am often able to hear great horned and barred owls hooting from trees standing along the shores of the mainland or any of several small islands located here.
Depending on the time of year, the spring peepers and wood frogs or the American toads and tree frogs are singing around this time too. The sound of a painted turtle flopping off a log into the water isn't uncommon either.
It's interesting to me how one location can be so inspiring that I just want to return to it repeatedly. I know so many places like that. They are all precious to me for their own qualities.
The main attraction for me here is almost always the stillness of the water and the quiet, the peacefulness. I know of another place that I go to for the type of rock covering the dirt road. There are others most interesting because of the wildlife there or the fishing or the railroad track walking or the sunsets or the summer berries.
Beyond these attributes, the seasons stir everything up, so these places change dramatically throughout the year. They are never boring.
More fog tends to settle over the lake here, making a beautiful scene, after an early first snow - especially if there are still autumn's red- orange- and yellow-colored leaves on the trees. I have photos from those times which are stunning to look at.
This time of year, beyond the stops and starts of the first snowfalls, winter is rolling up its sleeves, getting ready to punch. The leaves are brown and down.
Deer hunters are looking for at least a couple of inches of tracking snow and the loons, geese and herons have flown.
Even if the lake is frozen over, I will return to this place for more peace and quiet, hoping to see deer loping across the ice as they often do, usually in single file.
On one hand, it's hard to imagine that these scenes have been repeating themselves here for longer than anybody can remember. On the other hand, it seems like a given, an absolute that of course that's how it has been and that's how it should always be.
I hope the enchanting scene here only improves in the days, months and years ahead, as nature dictates, as is her way, that everything must change.
Everyone should be able to have the opportunity to experience these wonders and wilds of the Great North Woods for themselves.
Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan's world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.