Evenings On Baker

I've spent countless evenings with my dad on Baker Pond (but never enough of them).  Usually, the scene is about the same - Dad flicking a yellow and red Mickey Finn (his favorite fly) or some other artificial insect out towards the middle of the pond, and me, sitting on a rock nearby, misting layer-over-layer of bug spray over myself.  Ben's Insect Repellent comes in a bright orange canister, and its really the only thing strong enough to ward off the clouds of mosquitos and black flies just waiting to drain you of blood, like minute vampires or something.  It certainly smells strong - I've come to associate its bitter scent with evenings on the pond.1

    Mountains rise around the body of water, there's not a flat stretch of land up there.  Fish rise, too, snapping at bugs that touch the surface and occasionally leaping right out of the water.  This always excites Dad, and he usually says "D'you see that?!" before adjusting his cast towards where the trout jumped.2

    A little closer to shore, logs loom in the murky water, remnants of the dam that once stood across the mouth of the outlet.  It sounds cliche, but the streaks of bleeding color really do make the sky look like a watercolor painting.  The sky contrasts with the dark pine trees and shadowy water.3

    Two points jut out towards the middle of the pond, one on each side.  The tall evergreens that grow from them seem to frame a mountain in the distance.  I've always thought that this scene would make a wonderful postcard.  It would surely represent the Maine Woods in a positive way.4

    People tell me all the time that I get along so well with my dad because we like so many of the same things.  It would make sense - we both like to spend every possible weekend miles from paved road.  Neither of us mind spending our days riding around with the windows down, eating sharp cheese and drinking Moxie.  And we both have no trouble agreeing that Baker Pond is one of the most beautiful places on earth.5