100 RIVERS IN SUMMER

from blue to gold and pink at the horizon. A few
miles up the lake a rocky point jutted out into the
water, and toward this point we turned the bow
of the boat, looking back from time to time at
Porter's Landing with its steep green hill and at the
line of trees across the foot of the lake. It was not
until we had rounded the rocky point that we met
the wind again. Even then, we took little notice of
it. But before long the waves came running with
white crests along the side of the boat; the colour
faded from the sky; the air grew chilly; the water
looked dark. The waves grew bigger and stronger
until we had to turn into the wind. Perhaps we
ought to cross the lake, and get in the lee of the hills
on the other side. The boat struck across diagonally
into the waste of grey water. The shores were black
and distant. We could see them when we were
lifted up, and could only see running white crests
when we dropped into the troughs. Dark water,
flush with the gunnel. Dark bodies of waves on
either side, standing above us. Grey water break-
ing over the bow. The bow not lifting quite
enough... .

“Back, back! Quick!”

We both crouched in the stern. The bow lifted
a little. The motor stuttered. Spray broke over us.

We baled with numbed hands, not feeling the cold-