It had been about a month since Ithi's and my last outing, and once again overtaken by a small-scale wanderlust, I found myself advocating for our next adventure, this time something a little different. I had been wanting to do a water excursion for some time, and after gathering the recommendations of coworkers I finally felt emboldened to make the leap and arrange a canoe day in our area.

We settled on Eagle Spring Lake, a 279-acre lake in Eagle that connects to the nearby smaller and more remote Lulu Lake via a long waterway through cattail marsh, based on its proximity to us and the suggestions we had received for Eagle Spring Pub, which sits on the lake and offers canoe and kayak rental on-site. It was a later-than-usual start that day for us already generally late starters, arriving at the pub a little before three in the afternoon. We paid the fee, signed our waivers, and handed over our drivers licenses as collateral, collecting our paddles from a staff member who then directed us to where the canoes were resting behind the restaurant. The two of us picked up a two-seater from the rack and hauled it for the short walk to the boat launch just yards away, set it down, and readied ourselves for the launch.

Ithi took the front seat in the canoe as we led it into the water, and I scooched hurriedly into the back as the end of the vessel scraped against the concrete and then glided into the lake. And with that we were off!

It had been some fifteen years or so since I had last been in a canoe, and this was Ithi's first time in one at all. I found it to be much more exerting than I remembered, and it took us both a little while to find the coordination between our movements to efficiently steer and advance straight ahead, but we eventually got the hang of it and moved for open water.

Guided by the goal of reaching the connected Lulu Lake, we made our way to the southwest on Eagle Spring, in search of the inlet that would carry us from the latter to the former. The water's expanse was broken in several places by a few tiny isolated islands, most of which were, surprisingly, dotted with houses. I wanted to go in for a closer look at these unique abodes, so we adjusted our course so that we would pass between two of the islands. We noticed that at least one of the houses had a garage door that extended directly into the water — a boat, of course, being the only way that the residents would be able to get to and from the mainland. Utility lines were strung from one house to the next, extending over the passages between islands and eventually off to the shore. As we drifted between the islands and below the wires, a trickling metallic water-like call drew my attention to a family of tree swallows perched on the lines.

Paddling onward, we began to notice a distant blanket of green slowly encompassing the horizon of the otherwise unbroken lake surface. As we pushed ahead, it grew and grew until it nearly covered everything in view.

A sea of lilies!

Acres and acres of them, and different kinds! The verdant tangle filled the view, broken only by a palisade of cattails in the distance. A pathway in the water split the aquatic thicket, giving us clear direction of the way to Lulu Lake.

As we followed the water trail, it became increasingly narrow, bringing the floating plants nearer and allowing closer inspection. We slowed somewhat as we continued, and I examined the strange and beautiful flowers and leaves with wonder. Countless damselflies rested on the pads, and small pollinating flies and other insects visited the large blooms. I hoped with excitement that we might see some bizarre lily-treading waterfowl, such as the extremely elusive sora rail, in this unique habitat.

I quickly realized that even at a slow glide, our constant movement in the canoe made any close photography far more challenging. I struggled to focus on the tiny insects that inhabited this strange, green world, hardly able to see, react, and take the shot before we were already some distance beyond my target.

At last, after many attempts, I managed a clear shot of an exceptional white blossom poised delicately upon the water's surface.

The floating landscape was a little alien and entirely serene. Our midweek timing as usual ensured that we just about had the place to ourselves, and as we moved further and further out from the public boat launch, the illusion of solitude became increasingly powerful.

We had been on the water for about an hour when we finally reached the green wall at the southern back of Eagle Spring Lake. As the water trail thinned, so too did the lilies, the mass now only extending a few yards deep along the walls of the passage, flanked on either side by the tall cattails. And where there are cattails, there are red-winged blackbirds; their calls filled the air before we had even reached the marsh.

These birds, ubiquitous in this part of the country, are normally hardly remarkable on any given outing, but there was something special about having the chance to see them out in the more remote waters. While an overland hike might give the impression that the males pass the bulk their time scolding passers-by and fending off rivals, our passage through the cattail forest revealed another side of their lives. I witnessed extraordinary aerial maneuvers as they caught dragonflies on the wing, a feat that requires impressive skill.

Eventually the cattail corridor became so narrow and dense that the lily coverage subsided entirely.

We followed its winding course for nearly half an hour, arriving at last at its mouth at the southern end, opening up to reveal Lulu Lake. A few boats rocked gently on its surface, and we saw people swimming far off in the distance.

This was as far as we had intended to go, and so upon reaching that goal we unceremoniously turned back, meandering our way once again through the cattail marsh, this time at a slightly faster pace. Over the course of our jaunt on the water we had greatly improved our paddling prowess, and by this point we were able to cruise at a respectable speed with practiced ease. Before long we had emerged back into the expanse of Eagle Spring, continuing this time on a more direct route to the boat launch.

Some amount of satisfying toil later, we had crossed the remainder of the lake and pulled back up to the concrete slope, carefully stepping out of the canoe and back onto terra firma. We returned the dependable vessel to its place on the rack behind the pub and stopped in to hand in the paddles and collect our licenses. We opted against dinner and continued on to one last stop for the day.

Worn out from our aquatic expedition but not entirely sated for adventure, we drove north to pay a visit to an urban nature refuge that Ithi and I had both seen frequently on the way to and from his work, but had never explored. The Fox River Sanctuary, accessible from a small parking lot next to a shopping center in Waukesha, is a little marsh oasis of green space within the city, and we would find it to be well worth the time to investigate.

The small path that we would walk, which takes a slight departure from the Fox River Trail to meander through the marsh, is facilitated by a nice railed boardwalk that zigzags through the wetland to afford views of several small ponds.

The sound of locusts and other insects filled the air as we walked suspended over the rich landscape. It was no surprise that blackbirds were abundant here as well, taking advantage of the ideal habitat; males called loudly from their conspicuous perches, and females could be observed hunting between the cattail stalks. The up-and-down song of unseen common yellowthroats, also to be expected in a spot such as this, drifted across the tall growth; I was gladdened to hear them even here in the city.

After passing under some trees overhanging the path, the first bend led us to a small pond covered extensively with algae. A careful examination of the surface revealed the still forms of bullfrogs and green frogs that would have been easy to miss with just a cursory glance.

Upon reaching the far end of the boardwalk, which reconnects with the paved Fox River Trail, we turned around and backtracked across the boardwalk and back to the car. Despite the short span of the walkway (barely half a mile round trip), we somehow managed to pass an hour there. We lingered for a few minutes longer near the parking area, adding a few more observations to our tally for the day.

Just as we were making for the car, I caught a glimpse of a chestnut-colored flash at the marsh's edge. The shape was, I thought, somewhat elongated and low. Could it have been a mink? I wondered excitedly. It was certainly a reasonable place to see one. We investigated the area for a few moments longer in the hope of finding it, but to no avail.

I would end up returning to the sanctuary the following day while Ithi was at work to try my luck with the elusive (and perhaps hypothetical) mink. That particular endeavor did not bear fruit, but I would capture my favorite red-winged blackbird shot of all time, which, along with numerous other avian encounters, would make the visit well worth it. I was glad to have discovered this nice little trail in such an accessible place that we frequented, and would come to return to it many times in the future.

And so another bountiful day of outdoor recreation drew to its close, paving the way for more ahead. Ithi and I would continue to enjoy the offerings of the forest well into the fall of that year, trying out new trails, revisiting familiar ones, and making our foray into the world of camping together.

Other adventures of a different kind would mark the remainder of the year; in November I finally managed to bring Ithi to Texas with me for a family visit, his first to my home (although not his first time in the state). In early December, we moved house, and while still we didn't go far in southeastern Wisconsin, we were now a little more removed from the Kettle Moraine. This wouldn't hamper our efforts to make our way out to hike on a somewhat regular basis, but it would serve to facilitate another development of note later that month: a spectacular job opportunity that would change the trajectory of my life going forward, owed in part to my time in the lovely Kettle Moraine.