Lost in the fog, a canoeing

When I was a teacher, rather than drive the 5.8-mile commute from my home on Lake Mitchell to Cadillac Junior High, I left the car at home, preferring to run to work instead. In 1984, I purchased a solo canoe and realized that I could do my commute through Lake Mitchell and Lake Cadillac by water. And that became my preferred route to the junior high during the spring and fall.
Usually on the water by 6:30, I often watched the rising sun burn away wisps of mist hanging over the water like a feathery veil as my paddle strokes pushed the canoe across the lake. Rarely did I encounter another watercraft. Screeching seagulls flying overhead and flocks of geese or ducks on their seasonal migrations were my companions on my paddle journey.
Most days the lake was calm. Occasionally a wind would come up and I’d have to make an earnest effort to plow through the waves. But the most worrisome weather was fog. That weather circumstance led to my most unsettling paddle trip.
It was the first day of school; a staff workday. When I slid the canoe into the water, the sun was rising into a cloudless blue sky. I paddled into the lake, pointed my bow toward the state park, and began the 2.5-mile crossing. The fog came fast. One minute I was looking across the lake toward the state park sand beach and the opening for the canal, and suddenly the landscape disappeared, swallowed by a gray curtain.
That wouldn’t usually be a problem. I’d set my compass for 125 degrees, lay it on the canoe’s floor, and follow that bearing into the fog, knowing that even though I couldn’t see my destination, I would likely be close to the canal when I reached Lake Mitchell’s far shore. This was before GPS existed so the compass was my only option. But this being the first day of school and my first paddling commute, I had forgotten the compass.

Enveloped in dense fog, I was somewhere in the middle of Lake Mitchell with no idea which direction to go. To just continue paddling meant I’d probably end up going in a circle. And it wasn’t like I could wait for the fog to lift. There was a district-wide teachers’ meeting starting at 8 a.m. I had to rely on what I could hear that I couldn’t see.
I knew Highway M55 ran along the south shore of the lake. By keeping the traffic noise to my right, I made progress toward the east side of the lake. The shore’s dim outline finally came into view. As I drew closer, cottages appeared and I knew I was within a couple hundred yards from the mouth of the canal.
At the end of the canal as I entered Lake Cadillac, the fog lifted and the sun appeared. Having lost time trying to paddle through the murk, I increased my stroke rate. About twenty minutes later, I landed at a cottage where I kept my canoe during the day. Carrying my paddles, I jogged across Chestnut Street to the junior high.
The parking lot filled with cars and I was about 5 minutes late. I approached the building, hoping I could sneak in and not be noticed. But as I reached the door, it opened and Superintendent Fred Carroll greeted me.
Startled to see him there, I blurted out, “Dr, Carroll, I’m sorry I’m late, I got lost in the fog paddling across the lake.”
Carroll laughed and said, “That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard for being late.”
I continued paddling a canoe or kayak to school until I retired in 2003, but never left home without a compass and was never late again.