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This is where I sometimes swim in the summer, Walt. (If the link
works)
Even in the hottest of days in August, the water is still surprisingly
cold. Wavy ripples and whitecaps show the patterns of the insistent
winds that blow across the lake. I swim the length of the dam and
back, a manly deed that earns me stern wifely lectures on the
dangers of swimming alone.
Mundane cares dissolve into the big sky in this place. The grand
panorama of the lake inspires breathtaking awe and an archaic
whisper of polytheism in the soul. Spirit Mountain rises in the
distance. The "gods" of the Mohave tribes lived up there, ancient
deities as voiceless now as the once upon a time cast of characters
on Mt. Olympus.
For sixty years this silent man-made lake has filled and hidden the
gorges once scoured by the wild and seasonal flow of the primeval
river we call the Colorado, now long forgotten beneath the
speedboats of summer.
Below the dam, the domesticated Colorado River flows sadly timid
and obedient within a zoo of tended banks, tamed and trivialized.
Nature cries out in deja vu to the collective amnesia of civilized
progress and haunts us with a nameless but distantly familiar face.
But who listens?
Another side of me says, "Boat, beer...dude!"
http://web.me.com/jimhare/Site_5/Lake.html