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.
We're passing one of the coves off Tomahawk Bay, wandering towards the canal, 3 July 2026.
Lots of sad old casualties along the way
In the second cove, one of our favorite arboreal catastrophes -- one of many on the lake.
Another confusion of tree roots (adjacent to the canal's entrance), and a lowering water level
It looks like someone's had a go at the pile of debris, kayakers probably, but not much good for hydrobikers.
We'll need either to take this task in hand, or give up on the canal for our fun. Or keep checking back to see if anyone else has been braver than we are.
It's not as if someone hasn't been trying.
We're pedaling back home via Adjidaumo, the main island, with the . . .
. . . original eagles' nest.
There's that fellow with the magical flying hydrofoil. Kristin and her friends here know him well apparently.
Back to find some turtles basking in the sun
Under the highway bridge and into the South Bay, 4 July 2026
The only other place here where we could often find sun-loving turtles, and sometimes sun-loving snakes, was in the Mirror Lake, the mid-lake between the lengths of the canal, and at the moment that's blocked off to propeller vehicles (like hydrobikes).
That's the longstanding put-in place for canoes and kayaks, etc., which the Forest Reserve people have considerately marked out for a small parking area above.
A few years' worth of piled up ex-trees next to the put-in place
No time for dallying along the north shoreline of the back cove of the South Bay. That's where we used to find the most turtles, but many or all of their basking roosts on that side have submerged now.
No sun-bathing here.
Aha!
It knows we're here. We won't come too close.
Proceeding along the back end of the cove
Bingo, another!
So that's a second one. Precisely where our first one was loitering last week. (Maybe the same one.)
We'll leave this one alone as well.
And perhaps the best one of the day
So that's three today. Well done!
Except that two weeks later two different people (Kim Schmutzler and David Cunliffe-Owen) told us that they've been coming across many of them back here this year. Something must be wrong with our late afternoon timing. But is it worth pedaling all the way down here before lunch?
Back out of South Bay now. We'll be back (but not at the crack of dawn).
Shall we guess what day this is? Oh whoopdee do!
Everybody grab a brat and some baked beans. To celebrate.
Even the kids can take part (without knowing what it's all about).
The main Mussent Point dock, presently with more than a few young people here to cheer us all up.
The Mussent Point habitations facing out over the shrubberies
That's our family's hunter, quietly engaged, and patient.
And on the qui vive
Capable of spending half a day focused on a potentially likely stalking ground
Little George, hastening to the rescue
Another standoff
Cruising along the South Shore Bay, 10 July 2026, where some of the worst of the tree damages have occurred, and where many of the hugest erratic boulders have ended up.
There's a good long stretch of shoreline down here where the cottage owners have not got themselves involved, letting Nature take its degenerative course.
We've been told that the DNR prefers (or orders) that anything natural that's fallen into the lake needs to stay there.
It's also been explained to us that the large number of shoreline trees looming way out over the water is because they are in competition with their fellows for sunshine. Possibly true . . . but one may be permitted to wonder whether it's just that they're the most recent victims of having their roots rotted away by the skiboats.
Of course, one way or t'other, they end up about the same.
Even if still leafing, they can be vastly disfigured.
Now we've crossed over to the back-of-Tigertail part of the bay now, finally to take the measure of our years-long fascination with the mysterious swamp back in that cove.
This is the quiet, and discreet, place where (it's been hinted) the local youngsters once came to avoid notice. One reliable gentleman once suggested to us that it was or could have been called 'Cannabis Cove'.
And in the back of the cove, there is a perplexing sort of swamp hidden away to the right of the entrance there.
With Cousin Rob's indispensable help (before he passed away, of course), we've spent hours trying to remove the vegetation and rocks to get us in to see what's what.
In his last summer with us, Rob made his last serious try at moving the rocks blocking our hydrobikes out of the passage.
At that time we snuck a brief look over the shoreline here, but today we have vowed to do the job thoroughly.
If we can just beach this machine on the shoreline, without a beach
So that's it. Big deal; we might have known. The Google Map is misleading here, it's just a little algae dump.
Get a hydrobike in here? It's about an inch deep!
All those summery efforts to ply our way into this big mystery. What a waste of effort!
But it really was a lot of fun, especially with Cousin Rob.
Now we need to get back out of here. (We don't carry our cane on the hydrobike.)
Made it back. 'Thanks for waiting'.
Though now comes the harder part. Propeller Up!
And back out of our special little cove
There's the South Shore Bay eagles' nest on a clear day, and . . .
. . . with an inglorious shot with an iPhone zoom, an eagle sentry. (Can't tell from this whether it's an adult or a juvie.)
Before we haul this bike back up north, we'll indulge in a relaxing tour round tiny Pink Island.
We're gravitating toward what used to be the only real access onto the island, given the fortress-like all round it, and in it.
But around its north point, facing the Tigertail, there is this intriguing little museum of arboreal death and destruction, along with . . .
. . . this pleasant sandbar for family picnics, mini-music festivals, kids whacking one another with their colorful 'noodles'.
All within the mindful sight of Cousin Rob's memorial bench, over the severely devastated Tigertail shoreline.
On the pedal north, we encounter a troop of eight little mergansers, apparently with no mom.
They're scooting ahead a bit, we shouldn't have come so close, and in fact . . .
. . . straightaway, four of them decided to bolt in reverse, and the other four just did a plooping dive.
A few moments later, we looked back, and they were reuniting as a group, apparently with no hard feelings.
The Lake in the Wisconsin Northwoods
Mussent Point is at no. 12.
The text overlays are updating a few names to our current understanding.
Next up: Canal 'improvements', tag alder cleanup, air quality, and cats
Dwight Peck's personal website
Feedback
and suggestions are welcome if positive, resented if negative, 
.
All rights reserved, all wrongs avenged. Posted 8 August 2026.
