Sunday, September 1, 2013

On Or Near Cauldwell Lake

Our next wild-camping site was on a dead-end access road to a forest management area/footpath/bridlepath/dogwalk area; and Cauldwell Lake; and its dam. And fishing sites and rights.
There we are; it was a very quiet, peaceful night














We felt very safe, from flytippers, anyhow;
as you can see, however, the Brits use such
signs as this for target practice, just like in the
US; much smaller caliber, however; flytipping,
we have learned, is very different from cow-
tipping in the US






















The dam is in there somewhere, under the ferns; there were
some great blackberries up the hill...














There's the lake, all 4-5 acres of  it; note the flags draped
across at intervals, like lanes in a competition swimming pool















The whole place fenced-in and under guard..."I could wile
away the hours/
Conferrin' with the flowers/Consultin' with
the rain/
And my head I'd be scratchin'/While my thoughts 

were busy hatchin'/If I only had a brain..."

















Fishing here is unlike in the US, where everybody has a right
to the water (high-water mark, etc.); here it is strictly plotted,
sold, handed down from generation to generation,
presumably via primogeniture...

No comments: