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 this mighty outboard motor, my cousins and I began exploring the lake in a much 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, shoving the now powered row boat out and away from the old white boat house, we’d drift out past the lily pads over and above the sunken beams, flooring and other remnants of the old 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 winding through thousands of lily pads lining the shore. Our first destination was Wolf Island and the smaller island whose name no one knew and then onward to many seemingly wild places beyond. This was 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, 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.
As our journey began, to our left was a swampy point covered with cat tails, weeds and an old partly fallen down sea scout house, a small maybe 10’ x 6’ shed perched on the water edge of the point.
Photo: Fishing among the lilly pads between our dock and the old sea scout point. About 1955. Photo by Charles L. Miklos.
Grandad still owned this land which he had purchased from A.C. Huidekoper in about 1912 as part of an 40 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 on our northward journey 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 only 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, next 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 toward the Park and the reed filled swamps then at the north end of the lake.
The spray and splash of summer wind and cold water felt good on our faces as we sped onward to uncertain glory.
In our minds and souls it seemed we had a lifetime to go on with those adventures, journeys, day dreams and wondersul childhood times.
We never could have imagined that that lifetime would someday fade into nothing but slowly fading memories.
The soft gentle reality of the times too would fade gently and gradually but ever so distantly into the history of America the Beautiful, rarely or never to be seen, felt or experienced by kids again.
Photo: There were both white and yellow water lilies all along the shore of the west side and somewhat fewer patches on the east side of the lake.
