Rescue on the "High" Seas

Our vacation continued today with some interesting events on Lake Dillon -- actually, the Dillon Reservoir, which is a fresh water reservoir from which Denver (located, oh, some 4000 feet below Dillon in elevation) receives a good portion of its drinking water.  We decided to take out a kayak (Lola and myself) and canoe (Roc, Isabel and Stella) for a couple of hours -- something we've done maybe 4 or 5 times in the past.  Our plans were pretty routine -- paddle to some of the islands that dot the lake, get out and take a look around (supposedly there is an osprey nest out there, but we never saw it), then hop back in and paddle around some more, followed by lunch at the marina.  Adventure on the "high" seas -- get it?  "High" as in altitude?  Yes, folks, I'll be here all day.

Anyway, the sky looked ominous as we headed out, but we had been assured by the dock-hands (who shrugged at the dark clouds) that it would be fine.  The wind was behind us and strong, so we were pleased to zoom along to the first island without much effort.  A few feet behind Lola and myself I could hear Roc commentating repeatedly on the wind, and about how difficult our return paddle would be.  Roc is a really good sailor and grew up on the water, so he really does know what he's talking about.  I grew up on a little lake (a pond, really), skimming around on a Sunfish and thinking (dementedly) that I actually knew what I was doing.  Anyway, I knew he was right, but what could we do?  A storm was clearly on its way, so we would just have to wait it out on the island and then paddle back later (cold and wet).

Unfortunately, Stella was still beat from the long hike the previous day on Quandary, so she melted down almost immediately, wailing very loudly that she was tired and wanted to get back to the marina. We indulged her drama as we had no alternative, and when the rain and winds picked up we tried to find shelter under the tall pines in the middle of the island.  It was around this point that the marina called Roc's cell and informed us that they would be sending a "rescue boat" as the storm looked to be a big one and they didn't want us stranded on the island, or trying to paddle back.  Now this was exciting news!  A "rescue" boat sounded awfully important and we all wondered what, exactly, a "rescue boat" from the Frisco Marina might look like. 

The storm intensified while we waited, with a few flashes of lightening and some really loud thundercracks accompanied by strong wind.  Eventually a large tree branch that fell about 200 yards away from where we stood was enough to set off some panic alarms for Lola and Stella (who, yes, was still crying).  For a few moments I worried that a tree might actually fall on us, but almost as soon as the thought occurred to me we heard the whistle of our "rescuers" on the other side of the island (the windier, wetter side) and so we trucked back through the pines and piled onboard the boat (maybe 30 feet with a center console).  They loaded our canoe and kayak onboard as well and we were off to the marina -- suddenly rescued and thinking about what we might have for lunch once we arrived.

Later, the storm passed and we spent the afternoon poking around in sunny Breckenridge. Strange how you can go from a seemingly menacing situation to a completely benign one in a matter of hours (or maybe 30 minutes, in our case).  I don't think that we were ever in any real danger, but it rallied us together as a family anyway, and as we skimmed along the water of Lake Dillon in the "rescue boat", wrapped in warm, woolly blankets and trying to stay out of the pouring rain, it seemed we all knew that this would make a good story at somebody's wedding someday -- probably Stella's.