Settling in at the lake again

Dwight Peck's personal website

Summer 2025

A photographic record of whatever leapt out at us

You may not find this terribly rewarding unless you're included here, so this is a good time for casual and random browsers to turn back before they get too caught up in the sweep and majesty of the proceedings and can't let go.

Settling in at the lake again

the first half of June, with a lot of chilly rain and a Dreamweaver update collapse

Cats are said to be natural-born hunters, but, year after year, Melvin looks only for insects and never seems to catch any.

Choupette, on the other hand, does like leaping upon the little guys, like voles, moles, mice, and occasionally a chipmunk (which unfortunately are born slow).

We do seem to have some juvenile rabbits around this year, and one of them was injured at one point (but evidently made its escape), but we wish to believe that the perp was one of the other cats and not our Choupette. There are few of these around, however, which is good.

Another debilitating techno-catastrophe

After the 3-yr-old Lenovo crapped out in mid-March, irreparably as it turned out, and an old OneDirect cloud collection defaulted to downloading old copies of everything to the backed-up hard drive on a new Dell, there was not much sleep between 13 and 31 March. In late May, Adobe Dreamweaver sent a 2025 'upgrade' that was truly awful, so that I and half a million other users, depending on Adobe 'Community Volunteers', were left trying to find solutions. In the end, the only solution was to uninstall it and reinstall last year's version, 1½ weeks later, and reconfigure it all. And get less confidently back to work by 18 June.

Adobe, it's said, hasn't seriously upgraded Dreamweaver since 2018, but it's about the only software one can use on a custom-built website like this one.

A disappointingly low water level this year (but after three weeks of a lot of rain, it was back up to the vegetation lines by late June)

The family enclave here is traditionally called Mussent Point, and this is the actual point of the Point.

The name is a clan joke from many decades ago, when the other branch of the family was established at what they called 'Point o' Pines', so this branch essentially fixed upon a variation of 'Mustn't Point'.

The venerable boathouse, still standing. They are illegal on the lake, most people use metal 'shore stations' removed for the winters, but this and some other older ones have either been grandfathered in or ignored.

A plaque above that central door commemorates the presence of the boathouse on the National Registry of Historic Places (Dept of the Interior), where it's dated at 1938.

That's our local swamp, just off the boathouse. Once those water lilies get really serious in a week or two, that cove will be impossible for hydrobike propellers, but awkwardly okay for canoes and kayaks.

The neighbors on the right have christened the cove with a striking wooden sign as . . .

. . . 'Frog Bay'.

That tree has its own sad history, now a mere . . .

. . . skeleton of its once majestic former self.

Poor old tree (riddled with woodpecker holes), a mere 15 years ago

The western of our two coves at the top of the lake, with . . .

. . . a proliferation of fish egg nests

The entrance to the eastern cove at the north end

guarded by a exuberant patriot

The yucky far end of the northern cove, with . . .

. . . the view (including shore stations) back out to our North Bay [cf. map below]. Most of the houses along here are expensive lodge-type things dating from the more recent generations on the lake.

A new arboreal casualty of the winter

Whenever we run into one of these popular Airhead inflatables, we instantly revert to complaining about the US Congress.

That's a soon-to-be beautiful house two doors down from us, younger members (we're told) of the family that seasonally occupies the more vintagey cottage that's one door down from us.

And 40 meters up the coast closer to home is the remains of Mussent Point's abandoned shore station for the aging Grumman pontoon boat that's now hanging onto the side of the boathouse by the point.

The netting is intended to keep wandering deer out of the Mussent Point vegetable and flower gardens.

The main house of the Mussent Point enclave, begun with a one-room cabin (now the centre of the dining room) with decades of thoughtful add-ons

And northward beyond that, the centre cottage with what looks like an air traffic controllers' tower on top, and beyond that Kristin's cottage. There are other related (and more recent) family houses here and in the forest areas not so far off.

Mussent Point and the boathouse, with the present shorestation and, on the left, our present hydrobike harbor.

The hydrobikes can't get in to wrestle with all that squirmy vegetation in Frog Bay, but this fisher chappie, who we think has got a fishfinder app attached to his kayak, can go wherever he wants to, at any hour (as long as the wake-maker skiboats don't catch him out).

The shore side of Kristin's cottage, with the vintage trampoline, which . . .

. . . Choupette sometimes thinks of as her own.

A dilapidated old bridge over a little squishy water course connected to the swamp on the foresty side of the property.

The reading room

Leftovers from former collapsing trees along the shoreline (fisher folks love these things, great for fish habitat)

Someone left the boathouse door open, and Choupette scoots in. But not unnoticed.

The upstairs has a long and probably once a sentimental past, but in recent years nobody's really been using it at all.

But (a month after this photo) it appears that one or more of the younger members of the family have begun clearing out and sort-of-renovating it for future uses.

A first bike ride, just across the main bay to the shoreline spot we call Sandy Beach. Long a good spot for family picnics, etc., but now . . .

. . . it's closed to public access. All of the undeveloped forest areas around the lake, including a few of the islands, were owned by a trust from the old lumbering days (ca. 1890-1910) passed down to the other branch of Kristin's family. A few years ago, Cousin Rob & his relatives donated all of that to the Northwoods Land Trust to create the Yawkey Forest Reserve. Most of the land is open to the public, except for this fragile lowland and the islands, for conservation reasons.

Our first loon of the season, from a distance, but only one? That may not be good (they're usually in pairs).

Our favorite of the six or seven islands on the lake (depending on the water level) -- this is called Baby Leigh, from the lumbering days apparently (the name is still in the family), but to me it looks like a pirate ship.

That would have been the bowsprit, but a few years ago it got all spread out.

(The almost illegible state sign says 'no camping', though there's scarcely room on it for the sign itself. The state actually owns just this island because, at some point, somebody forgot the pay the property tax on it.)

Proceeding northward up the west side of the lake, we're about to pass Dave and Gail's house, where over the years we have been graced with a Dave Wave if we jumped up and down, gesticulating, out on the hydrobikes and Dave happened to notice us. One summer we got 44 Dave Waves in one season. It's somewhat fewer these days as our schedules are becoming more out of sync.

A fish nest

The tree casualty on what we call Pradt's Point (from the owner's name, no. 5 on the map below, at the entrance to the North Bay). And just behind it, a brand new casualty from this winter.

Choupette occasionally falls into a genuinely reflective mood, and can't be disturbed.

For years, Cousin Rob has been regaling me with tales of the good old days, when the lake was filled with giant Muskies, and I always twitted him with my disbelief that there was ever such a thing as a Muskie, and certainly not here.

But that's a Muskie, or rather was. Apparently whacked by a speedboat's propeller. (I'd apologize to Cousin Rob for taunting him, but he's gone now.)

Adjidaumo, the centre island. In the old sawmill days, there was a cabin on it at the high point on the right (now only what looks like a concrete hearth).

That's a lengthy reef-like thing extending halfway to the eastern shore, and was once the way to the path leading up the length of the island to the cabin. A few trees fell down across the landing place not too many years ago, and two years ago we tried to scramble over them and got horribly hornetized for our troubles.

We're still scouting around for a different way up. Though [technically!!] it's a No Trespassing zone.

As part of our searches through the massed foliage for a new way up, we rely on the bike to stay calm and wait for us here.

That's the eagles' nest that's been here since I first came (the size of an upside-down VW beetle). Now there's another eagles' next down by South Shore Drive, but this one is still occupied.

Kristin's cottage, seen through the lens of a dead tree

We're about to take the bike out, and Choupette's graced us with her presence.

They're both here, in fact, but neither has ever been the least bit interested in going for a ride.

To be honest, it looks like they're here to eat the grass. Which will make them sick again.

Perhaps Melvin's changed his mind!

Not a good sign - if we broke down and took either of them along, they'd likely panic, and we'd all have to doggy-paddle back towing the hydrobike.

With relief, we see that he's just exploring, or something.

And Choupette's hiding again.

What are they up to now? Rummaging in the recycling bins again?

We've just been notified that a new bench has been set up on the Tigertail in fond memory of Cousin Rob, so we hasten south to have a look.

There's the Tigertail, where's the bench?

There it is -- an excellent position for tourist and local viewing across the lake, and perhaps picnicking.

One wishes to come closer for a better look, but the wake boat wakes have undercut the shoreline by nearly half a meter or more, and aging hydrobikers are not able to just step ashore. So they'll have to wade in on the rocks and lever up with what's left of their arms' strength.

And we did, and here we are. It's very beautiful.

And chained down, too, very wisely. There's a path down to the shoreline from above, as the sign up the hill indicates.

We can't hang out here very long in solemn commemoration -- the hydrobike is just stuck in amongst some foul weeds that might not cooperate.

There it is. 'Keeper' might require some explanations, but he was the president-for-life of the lake association and that certainly counts.

I for one am very pleased with it.

Now we've got to get back to the bike and fight our way out from amongst the overhanging branches.

Everybody's cats are very cute to that Everybody, but really, look at these two . . .

. . . now that is just so cute!!!

The Lake in the Wisconsin Northwoods

Mussent Point is at no. 12.

Next up: Lacustrine odds & ends and a hike on the Pottawattomie Kettle Trail, 15-22 June 2025