Photo: Wolf Island, Conneaut Lake, Pa.
When I was about ten we gave up rowing the kids boat. Maybe we were weary of the open blisters on our hands from rough wooden oar handles or maybe we thought we were too big to be rowing all over the lake, which was pretty big.
So we graduated. Graduated to a real outboard motor. And with the power of a mighty outboard motor, my cousins and I began exploring the lake in a more adventurous way. Off to the gas station with an empty maple syrup gallon can, we’d dig the 10 cents or so out for a gallon of ‘white’ gas. Back at the boathouse, we’d mix a little motor oil into that wonderful can of gasoline, attach Granddad’s old 1.5 horse power 1936 Evinrude motor to the back of the rowboat, throw in our fishing poles and a can or two of worms, swing the boathouse door wide open and jump into the boat.
Splashing, pushing and out and away from the old white boat house, we’d drift out past the lily pads beyond the beams, flooring and other remnants of the old sunken dance boat. Where the water was deep enough that we could lower the motor, we did just that with another free bath from the splash. Then we’d wrap a short piece of clothesline around the flywheel atop the motor and yank! And yank. And yank.
After about 15 or 20 of those yanks and much fiddling with valves under the side of that mighty engine, that did something we supposed, that old Evinrude would sputter, pop, and backfire.
Suddenly, and sometimes not so suddenly, the boat would jerk forward and we’d hear put put put melody. Away we’d go. Our latest explorations and adventures to be were calling us on.
We’d never heard of a lifejacket and we all could swim for hours, or so we thought.
We didn’t head south toward Fireman’s beach, grabbing the tiller on the engine, we’d head north toward Wolf Island and the smaller island whose name no one knew and to many seemingly wild places beyond. Long before the lake became so developed and long before water skiers and jet skis existed.
In those days of day dreams and make believe, long before TV’s, each day was truly an experience, a true adventure, a dream come true. In our minds we were pirates one day and lost sailors the next. Scouring through the crystal clear spring fed water, looking for sunken boats and even lost treasure!
The scents of fresh air, dead seaweed, a rotting fish or two added a lost perspective to the excitement. With senses honed by that excitement and sheer anticipation, the boredom of today’s kids was something we were gratefully spared.
To our left was a swampy point covered with cat tails, weeds and an old sea scout house, a small maybe 10’ x 6’ shed perched on the water edge of the point. Granddad still owned this land which he had purchased from A.C. Huidekoper as part of an 18 acre chunk of the old Huidekoper horse farm on the west side of the lake.
Sometimes we’d stop and swim or fish cut a few cat tails and just fool around. Next there were a few houses, on what is now called Aldina drive. Later Granddad sold that point and almost a 1000 feet of lakefront for a few thousand dollars. Since it was swampy he didn’t think it would ever be worth much. Later it was dredged and developed and today is covered with houses and the frontage is worth millions (I guess its called inflation).
Photo: The Huidekoper house looking from the waterfront near Wolf Island.
A little further toward Wolf Island was Guy Gulley’s new house to be, a bit south of the old Huidekoper house.
And behold, there was a little island and then Wolf Island.
Jumping out of the boat onto the sand, we’d drag that old boat up on shore and begin looking for buried treasure. Surely someone must have buried something of value. Once we even found an empty wallet and some arrow heads.
Yank, yank, yank, put put put and we were off again, skirting around Wolf island to another tiny tiny island, another stop and then on to the Park and the swamps at the north end of the lake.
The spray and splash of summer wind and cold water on our faces as we sped onward to certain glory.
In our minds we had a lifetime to go on with those journeys, day dreams and childhood adventures.
We never could have imagined that that lifetime would someday fade into nothing but our memories.
The soft gentle reality of the times too would fade distantly into the history of America the beautiful, rarely or never to be experienced by kids again.
