The Last Swim of Summer

I adore summer, but for many years it was not my favorite season, possibly even my least favorite. Now that I'm free of the looming threat of school and physically in better condition the I have been since sixth grade, summer is a too-short extravaganza of late evening walks, farmers markets, and river visits.

So when September gave us a few days of over one hundred degree weather, I jumped at the opportunity to visit Bridgeport for a final swim. The day was surprisingly calm, the air hanging heavy in the canyon as we curved our way down towards the Yuba. Air conditioner off, windows down, letting the heat prepare us for the water.

The cicadas were out in full force, their buzzing a constant background as we parked and walked down through the shady woods and out to the river.

We'd gotten here a little later in the day then usual, and found our favorite spot was taken by seemingly the only other people there, so we moved to a small strip of sand down stream and settled in. Swimming up and down the river, exploring alcoves and inlets and startling a roosting mallard. 

Frogs were everywhere, you could hear them plopping into the water whenever you approached the rivers edge, their startled cries sounding more like kittens then amphibians. But they were considerably less bold then their mountain cousins, and try as I might I was not able to catch one willing to stay still long enough for a picture.

After swimming for a couple hours we packed up and moved, finding a willow-sheltered bank to investigate and photograph. I've been experimenting with perspective shots lately, finding tiny worlds when I lower  my camera to well below eye level. I'm often surprised by what ends up in frame in those shots.

I was reluctant to leave, knowing that this would be the last day of the year I spent splashing and swimming through the Yuba. Even if we get a heat wave in October, the sun is not in the sky long enough to warm the river water. 

I stood in the sunlit waters and lowered my camera till I could feel the river graze the back of my hands. I angled it down slightly and let it find it's own focus. Then I moved further away, into one of the small, overgrown streams that feed the Yuba. The grasses and duckweed created little aquatic landscapes, an old cicada skin clung to one stem, looking like an alien carapace. 

The paths were quiet, no families or couples with the kids at school, just crickets and cicadas and dry, still heat. The air was dusty and scented with the beginning of fall. The walnuts and blackberries changing first, bright exclamations of yellow and scarlet among a deeper green.

We left the river slowly, taking Bitney Springs back home, to see the late summer vineyards and rolling hills drenched in sunlight, tired in that way you can only achieve from swimming against currents and propelling yourself under water. We'll be back again soon, I"m sure, but not like this, not till next year. 

Next post will be a summary of the last few walks we took at Independence Trail and Empire Mine. With some praying mantis guests as well.