Cottage Daze by James Ross

fell, until the wind finally deadened and gave the lake a few hours’ peace.
    We left at dark, paddling up the calm waters under a brilliant canopy of stars. We passed Gull Island, where the seagulls, startled awake, circled the rocky knoll, their white bodies caught in the moonlight, cackling at us for our intrusion. We pulled up to the dock at midnight and watched the mist rising from the water, the last heat in the surface being pushed into the air and swirling there in macabre patterns. We had only meant to escape the wind, but ended up having a beautiful and memorable paddle.
    Our kids are not so wimpy on this day. They grab their kayaks to play in the turbulent water, jumping their bows over the foamy whitecaps. They whoop and holler, and laugh when one of their siblings gets caught sideways to a huge roller and turtles into the cool water.
    Life at the lakeside cottage is controlled by the wind and the waves it brings. Our island is small enough that we can never really escape the water, never forget that it is an island separated from the mainland. Also, being an island, there is always a calm side to escape to if we wish. If the wind and waves buffet the dock, we take our chairs to swim rock on the island’s north side. If the waves are breaking over our rocky swim area, we settle into our Muskoka chairs on the south-side dock.
    The wind blows on into the night. The water splashes and gurgles under our boathouse bunkie’s floorboards, and laps onto the rocky shore. We settle into bed listening to the water and the wind, and, in no time, its sweet lullaby has us fast asleep.
    Pirates of Muskoka
    I had not realized that pirates still sailed the waters of cottage country. Actually, I did not know that they ever had. Yet, here I am with my family out on Lake Muskoka, surrounded by the savage villains. Boats of every description circle our ship. The Jolly Roger flies from their sterns and their lanyards. The ugliest collection of vermin ever to sail on Muskoka’s waters wave their cutlasses and swords in our direction.
    Our fearless leader, Captain Hook, bellows directions to us and waves his misshaped hand around in the air. Little Johnny keeps watch with his spyglass from high above the wheelhouse and warns us of impending danger. A cannon fires from behind some cottage ramparts on Crawford Island. We swing broadside and respond in turn, giving them a taste of our own powder. Our cannonballs must find their mark, for the pirates on the shore tumble off their rocky knoll into the water.
    As we pass Beechgrove Island, I can’t help but notice a few lovely maidens being forced to walk the plank off a cottage dock, and I contemplate going to their rescue. I daze out for a minute and imagine myself doing a perfect swan dive off the port side, with my weapon clenched in my teeth. A few strong strokes and I’m at the dockside, fighting off the evil scallywags. There are many of them, but I am an expert swordsman. My quick rapier protects me from their blows, and soon I’m on the offensive, slashing and stabbing until all the scurvy foes are vanquished. The trio of wenches scream in delight and jump into my arms.
    Water bombs burst on our ship’s deck, bringing me back to the moment. I see my wife glaring at me with her hands on her hips — she knows how my mind works. “What?” I ask her, hands out in a plea of innocence.
    Then the enemy is aboard, scaling the sides of the Wenonah II, scrambling onto the upper decks. I slink back behind my spouse, letting our brave young crew step forward in combat. They quickly send the invaders falling overboard into the icy lake waters. A raucous cheer is raised, and then we head into the galley for pancakes.
    My son’s soccer team had been invited out on the Wenonah II for a pirate cruise. I had, at first, tried all kinds of excuses for not attending, but my wife would have none of it. She loves a good theme party and also loves every chance