The kids were fearless; swimming out to the bouys and diving down to touch the cement pad that held them afloat. They stayed down as long as the could, eyes open underwater, straining to see something, anything in the murky water. Sometimes they were especially brave and swam over to the drop off, touching the plateau where the lake bed took a sharp plunge down hundreds of feet, always with eyes wide open, trying to see far off in the gloom. There were plenty of fish in the lake after all.
The kids were brave, but the trips were quick; after all, there was supposed to be a swift undercurrent at this part of the lake, ready to drag unwary swimmers off to the depths.
I liked watching them, knowing they couldn’t see me, my sharp teeth wide, wide, wide in a grin. Brave kids. Fearless kids. And small, these kids. Lucky for them, they were barely a mouthful.
Today’s story is fully inspired by my childhood, swimming in the Okanagan Lake at the beach by the bridge, hunting for the Ogopogo.
It’s also why I’m afraid of deep water to this day.