Distinctly Montana Magazine

W W W. D I S T I N C T LY M O N TA NA . C O M 17 I pulled the brim of my hat downward as I pulled myself toward the bright, rising sun, my head hung low to dim the growing glare as my paddle easily sliced into the lake. On the hillside was the grim crumble of a cabin, a victim of the earthquake that formed this eponymous lake. Many building remnants, wrenched from their foundations, lay in Quake Lake's waters along the bush-and-tree lined banks. e tall, woody shards, splinters and stumps remain a reminder of that 20 seconds of tectonic disaster of 1959. Because of the natural perches among the deadfall, hundreds of Double Crested Cormorants flock onto the lake, while osprey and bald eagles join them on high in their own aeries, year after year. Photo- graphing any of these birds from a kayak is a challenge of balance and steadiness (and let's not forget to hang onto the paddle!). Before I reached the otherworldly cast of ghost trees, I focused on a distant fly fisherman. His cast whipped and dazzled, the line alive with serpentine movement as he searched the water's surface for a lucky break. Another kayaker weaved silently among the trees, as though negotiating a watery slalom course. e glassy lake mir- rored her bright-orange shell; and her paddle dipped lazily, dreamlike and strangely enchanting. Setting my camera down between my knees, I pulled up the paddle, changing my course to position my- self with the sun at my back in order to light my subject. I floated into the lifeless forest. Dead, moss-laden branches lay beneath the murky shallows along the watery path. For a moment I felt lost in time and place as I merged tight against the shoreline. Suddenly that odd reverie was jolted to bits when a huge splash occurred close by. Webbed feet scurried along the water, gaining speed and lift with each flap of beautiful black wings. It was all much too sudden for a good photo-op as I was slow to swap paddle for camera. And on top of that, I had caused quite a stir of feathers and falsetto shrieks. e craziness had begun. I T WAS EARLY MORNING BEFORE THE WIND CAME UP WHEN I SET MY KAYAK ONTO THE QUIET RIPPLES OF QUAKE LAKE. e entire scene was idyllic, yet haunting, as I looked beyond to the distant, ghostly snags of a misty forest, long dead and forgotten. Equipping myself with camera and long lens, I slid easily into the kayak's sleek cockpit and began to paddle. e bent and broken trees were my destination, desolate but strangely appealing. e small splashes of my paddle deepened my sense of aloneness, yet alerted me that I would soon be meander- ing among the woody debris, stalking my prey, those crazy Cormorants of Quake Lake. A view of Quake Lake article and photos by CAROL POLICH

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