It was the perfect day for a boat ride. Brilliant sun, about 75 degrees, modest winds. That it happened to be October 18 was an added blessing. I’m an avid fan of late-season boating, and here in the North Woods of Wisconsin, October 18 is very late in the season. The memory of that day is sustaining me through the cold and dark months of our very long winter.
Most boaters in this neck of the woods forget about the water after Labor Day weekend, almost like it’s against the law to launch in September. But I’ve checked the National Association of State Boating Law Administrators database and there is no regulation on the books of any US state or territory that prohibits post-Labor Day boating. The fact that almost everyone else is done boating is one of the best reasons to keep boating. By mid-October the only people out on the water are me, some duck hunters and the crews bringing in boat lifts. There’s no stress at the launch ramp, no waiting at the gas dock, no congestion at the cove.
I’ve pushed things too far in the past, caught out in the driveway trying to drain gear-case lube in sub-freezing weather with snow collecting in the cockpit. However, the advent of very accurate long-range weather forecasting has made it possible to look a week or even 10 days into the future and plan for the arrival of the first real cold snap, or an ideal day. It was that weather forecast that alerted me on Wednesday to the prime conditions scheduled for Saturday, October 18. I cleared away all obligations and made a float plan.
Rather than head for the lake, I trailered to a modest launch ramp on the Fox River. Late in the season, a river offers a few advantages over a lake. You’re likely to be protected from any wind—good for personal comfort and calm water. The docks stay in place later in the season to accommodate waterfowl hunters. The fall foliage is also close at hand. And on October 18 nature offered me a stunning Technicolor pallet to port and starboard. The confluence of an unseasonably warm day and peak color was a rare opportunity that had to be appreciated.
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I slowly motored upstream, startling migrating wood ducks and teal into flight. As I passed, a lone angler nodded his head in greeting before he tossed out another cast. Milkweed seeds floated like goose down on the water’s surface. I cut my outboard and took in the silence. I moved to a lounge seat, I put up my feet and let the boat drift in the current. For more than an hour I floated under a perfect blue sky, the sun back-lighting brilliant maple and birch and sumac.
This is how my season ended. That I managed to both launch and retrieve that day without getting my Sperrys wet was a bonus. Now come January I can sit by a window in the Lake View Inn and watch the snow swirl over the ice-covered bay. As the sun begins to set at 4:30 p.m. I will still feel that warm October sun on my shoulders.
