Fireflies at the “Resort and Marina”

Now, this could have been a beautiful setting. We even saw fireflies every night! But it looked like a survivalist camp. The “Resort and Marina” consists of seven “lodges” or “cabins” for rent. Then there’s a separate location for RVs. In a third area, there are some kind of permanent RVs that seem to be privately owned and don’t go anywhere. The owners of the property must have some sort of mutual easement with other homeowners there because the cabins are cheek by jowl with large private homes and contraptions built out of connected sheds and immobilized RVs and cinder-block buildings. Everyone has one or more golf carts. And it’s mostly gravel, and all day long good old boys and cracker-women and muddy kids ride back and forth hauling stuff all over. Although our dogs had to be leashed, theirs didn’t. Although we pick up after our dogs, most other people don’t.

All this is on the shore of Kentucky Lake, right on the Tennessee border, and you can see the Land Between the Lakes from it. Oh, and the marina itself. This is a collection of covered docks and open slips that all but obscures any decent view of the lake, so you kind of have to hunch down and bend over to see it.



From this marina they rent out pontoon boats and we really considered renting one, except guess what happened. Yup. On day three, it rained. Rained on and off for two days, and we decided we were just sick of being trapped in Big Crappie, and we quit. We were also thinking of trying to get my arm looked at, which we couldn’t seem to do in Kentucky, but would have to move on to Tennessee, or else backtrack a long way. But more about that failed odyssey later.

Finally, I want to describe the Big Crappie “Lodge” as it says on the oar, pictured in the entry below. It’s a shack, okay?



It has a screened porch, a TV, air conditioning and furniture, but it’s a shack. Everything in it is worn out. The bathroom floor had a rotten spot I was nervous about stepping on. I know they have internet access because that’s how we found them and got in touch, but it must be dial-up. I managed to get on (off someone else’s wifi, perhaps) and post one blog from there, but that was all. Given the isolation, the weather and the decrepitude of the place, we thought it best to move on. And as soon as the tornados in Tennessee stopped, that’s what we did.

The Big Crappie Cabin

Next day we went to a big box store I am too ashamed to name and stocked up for our week at Land Between the Lakes. Then we had to find our way to New Concord, Kentucky, which, in case you didn’t know it, is in Tennessee. Well, almost. And finding our way to the cabin after that, not so easy, either. But we only made one wrong turn, because we stopped so often to review the directions and the map (forget MapQuest. They told us not to use it).

Fairly early in the afternoon we pulled into the Resort and Marina which shall remain nameless unless someone asks me for it privately. The same applies to the resort we stayed at in Wisconsin, and I’m going to devote a blog to these places to explain why. We checked into our cabin, which we selected because of its size, its screen porch, and because dogs are allowed. And the name of it actually IS “Big Crappie” because that’s a fish. See the fish here:



You'll have to click to enlarge, then scroll sideways. I am not much of a photoshopper, so please forgive my lack of skill. Other cabins had other fish names, like bass and trout. Joyce complained all the way down that it was an omen. Well, we’ll see.

After a few cold beers on the porch, we decided to swim in the lake. Even though children were present, because it was hot. And here’s a note on the weather: it was COLD all the way from the Black Hills to Paducah, with only a few exceptions. So when we got to Paducah, and could wear shorts again, we were mighty pleased.

Anyway, we got into our suits and pulled out our beach towels and went down to the stretch of sand that was probably carted in, because as anyone who has swum in a lake knows, they’re slimy and have no beaches unless you make one. You mostly swim off a dock or something and keep your feet off the bottom. That’s the nature of lakes.

That should set the scene for our next little misadventure. There’s a floating dock about thirty yards out and I swam straight out there and climbed up the ladder. Yes, broken arm and all because I didn’t know. Got on top and I see something floating, and I think it’s a dead fish. I caution Joyce to keep away from it, and she splashes at it. It comes nearer to me and I see it’s a decomposing dead turtle. Great. No matter what we did or where we swam, it kept following us. So Joyce decided we must get rid of it for good.

Along the shore, the aforementioned kids were trying to catch fish with nets, under the watchful eyes of mothers on cell phones who wouldn’t let them venture in above their knees. Joyce asked to borrow a net, which she then turned over to me to go and collect the turtle and dispose of it. You can tell who’s the butch and who isn’t.

Well, I didn’t want to do it, but the thing was just too disgusting to swim around. So I waded in and swam after it and hooked it. Dragging it at arm’s length, I brought it back so I could stand on the beach and heave it into some reeds where I hoped it would catch. In case you haven’t seen me in a bathing suit, just use your imagination. I’m fat, but I have no body issues whatsoever. If you don’t like it, don’t look, I say.



Hey! I told you not to look!

Anyhow, I loudly caution everyone in hearing that I am about to fling this carcass as hard as I can, and everyone should look out. I used to play lacrosse, and I planned to use the net as a cross. Or if you prefer, as a jai alai cesta.

Let’s just say the turtle had other plans. The poor thing, its claws caught in the net and it went all of two feet, right into the water in front of me. Well, it was just too hilarious. I about fell over laughing. Everyone was in hysterics, and I couldn’t even move, I was so doubled up. Finally I picked it up again with the net and flipped it into the reeds. I handed the net back to the kid and she was still laughing too hard to speak.

Anyway, after that, we had no more dead turtles, just cigarette butts from the inconsiderate boaters using the marina. More on this vacation hideaway next time!