Shell Lake

It was a late September day in the year 2010. The afternoon sun was warm on the sand as we sat and pondered our situation. The truck and boat were stuck axle deep in the sugary ruts that led through some impassable yucca chops on the Pawlett Ranch in Garden County. Our destination was Black Steer Lake on the southern border of the ranch. My son, Mitch, and I were on a mission to video ducks for a documentary that he was working on. We also planned to get some fishing in while on the remote lake. Somehow, we had to figure a way out of this predicament to continue this treasured journey.

My mind flashed back to another excursion that Mitch and I were on a few years prior. We were on a father/son camping trip that we took each year to shake off the spring fever. We packed everything short of the kitchen sink in the pickup and boat and headed deep into the Sandhills. Our only plan was to drive to the end of a long road away from all forms of civilization and live in unity with the virgin land.

We ate dinner at a picnic table on the Boardman Creek arm of Merritt Reservoir, then continued north and west to McKelvie National Forest where we set up camp. We hiked the forest and fished some area lakes, then decided to move on to something more remote. After a short pit stop in Cody to replace a broken lockout hub on my four-wheel drive, we continued west to Cottonwood Lake near Merriman. Our food cooler was warming up so we drove into town and ventured into the local saloon. Mitch was eleven or twelve at the time and his eyes were pretty big in the dark establishment embellished with pictures on the ceilings. The barkeeper was very friendly and sold us a couple bags of ice.

Cottonwood Lake was nice, but still a little too urbane for our taste, so we followed a helpful conservation officer's advice and drove west to find Shell Lake. I always keep a Nebraska Atlas & Gazetteer in the truck which shows pretty much every back road in the state. Ignoring the warden's directions which seemed to take a round about way to the lake, I instead tried a short cut indicated by a thin red squiggly line in the atlas. We drove past an old railroad sign that said Irwin, where we pulled off to look for signs of life, past or present. Off in the distance was a ranch place that seemed to be on the road we were taking. We soon drove into the ranch yard and I spotted a lady gathering jeans from a wind buffeted clothes line. I walked over to her with a few cattle dogs accompanying me to ask for directions. She listened to my request, glanced at my truck and boat, then proceeded with her advice. "The only way to get to Shell Lake from here is on horseback, and even that could be a little tricky," pointing at the mountain of a hill behind the house. She looked at my map and recommended that we back track to a county road that went north a few miles and curved around to the west, then south to the entrance road to Shell. We were a mere three miles from the lake and it looked to be another fifteen or so by road.

We drove past bison herds on the final leg of our journey that snaked through the hills to a wooden windmill that marked the trail into Shell Lake. At long last we arrived at our destination. One pass down the trail to the south end of the lake was enough to reveal that we found what we were looking for. We were at the end of a very long road to "nowhere."

This "nowhere" turned out to produce one of the fondest and most etched memories of our father/son camping trips. First, the spring gales tried to blow our tent down during the night. I had to tie a corner of it to the truck bumper to keep it from slapping us in the face. Just before daylight the wind subsided to dead calm and I was able to cook cheese omelets for breakfast which we ate on the ramshackle boat dock. "Uhm! This tastes really good," Mitch exclaimed with his feet dangling above the glassy water. We spent the day fishing the crystal clear water for bass and pike, then capped it off with a hike to the hilltop above the campsite to take in the gorgeous sunset. Mitch still has a small vial of sand that he scooped up there to take home as a souvenir.

"Nowhere" destinations offer us opportunities to enjoy the bare essentials of life. Uninhibited by the noise and flashing lights of our high-tech world, we can simplify life down to its primary design. Sound is crickets and coyotes accompanied by the rattle of cottonwood leaves and the gentle lap of waves hitting the shore. The sights before us are God's creation, not ours. In fact, nothing stands between us and our Creator, giving us the perfect environment to chat.