The Legends of Maclaughlin Lake

As the big day approached, excitement about the pending total eclipse of the sun was building. It was early April, and several of our neighbors were heading South to get closer to the path where the moon would be directly between the Earth and the sun. That was not in my mom and stepdad’s plans, however. Nolly and Rob headed North to MacLaughlin Lake, where our family-owned cabin was located. It was time to de-winterize the cabin and get it ready for the beginning of fishing season. 

MacLaughlin Lake has been in the family for nearly one hundred and twenty-five years. It was named after my great-great-grandfather, Angus McLaughlin. He discovered it while on a logging survey for the lumber company that owned the land around the fifty-acre lake. He purchased two hundred and forty acres around the lake once the trees had been logged off and the land was no longer of value to the company he worked for. He paid a whopping one dollar an acre and built a shack of discarded logs strewn around the property. The trees had been clear-cut for several miles around the lake, making the area barren. Angus planted over a thousand pine and cedar seedlings around the lake, and by the time he passed away, the lake was surrounded by a new-growth forest. The only opening was an acre of land around the old log cabin. 

The land and the lake were passed down from generation to generation, and it is currently owned by my mom, my two brothers, two male cousins, and myself. The old cabin burned down about sixty years ago but was replaced with a more modern cabin with electricity and running water. The old outhouse was removed, and the contents were buried by a bulldozer when a new gravel road was cut through the pines. Although there has never been a boat landing on the lake, a small fishing boat or canoe could be launched from the shore in front of the cabin. The lake was spring-fed with a small stream flowing out year-round. The lake held several fish species, including walleyes, northern pike, largemouth bass, and panfish. A brook trout or two could also be hooked on a fly rod during a hatch of caddis flies.

McLaughlin Lake is over sixty feet deep in spots, and the spring water is too cold for swimming. In August, a quick dip can be refreshing, however. The cabin is large enough to accommodate twelve people, but seldom more than eight people stay at one time. The exception is the opening of the gun deer hunting season in November when all of the men and boys in the family converge for the annual hunt. Nolly and Rob winterize the cabin on the final Sunday of the hunting season, and it remains unoccupied until spring.

The act of de-winterizing began when my dad, Mel, and Nolly were married on the first Saturday in April and volunteered to prepare the cabin for spring and summer activities. It provided for a secluded honeymoon, and they celebrated their anniversary at the cabin every year until Dad passed away ten years ago. Nolly remarried, and she and Rob have continued the tradition. 

Before leaving for the cabin, Nolly told me she had a weird feeling that this would be different, but I will let her tell the story.

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Rob and I left for the cabin, as always, on the first Saturday morning in April. Many of our friends wanted us to join them on their pilgrimage to the South to watch the eclipse, but that was out of the question. We had a tradition to maintain. The drive from Chicago took around eight hours, and we arrived while it was still light. We could open the water pipes and start a fire in the fireplace to warm the cabin. The last remnants of snow were still hanging on but would likely disappear in the next few days. 

Rob unloaded the groceries and suitcases from the van while I prepared supper. It was a delightful evening of reading and snuggling in the large master bedroom. We woke early, ate a hardy breakfast, and took a walk out the main road and back. We checked the pier for ice damage, but it seemed to have weathered the winter without too much stress. Rob replaced a few nails that worked their way out of place, and that job was completed.

We decided to take the fifteen-mile trip into town and have dinner at one of the local supper clubs, which served fried chicken with all the fixings on Sunday nights. We were back in bed before ten, reading passages of our favorite books to each other. It was a very romantic evening.

Monday morning, the sky was clear and sunny. Rob had tuned in to the local radio station to hear the news. I hadn’t been very excited about the eclipse until the new reader said the eclipse would be about 60% around 2:00 pm in northern Wisconsin. “That might be interesting,” I mentioned to Rob. 

“Indeed, we can sit on the pier and watch from there. I brought some dark viewing glasses in case we could see a partial eclipse.” Rob sounded more enthused than I had expected. 

We took our lawn chair down to the pier at the designated hour and got ready for the big show. It wasn’t long, and we could see the moon moving ever so slowly in front of the sun. Soon, it started to darken, and the air temperature dropped, causing a slight fog to lift off the water. Then, I saw them through the grey mist that hovered over the lake. Four men in a small fishing boat about thirty yards from Rob and me. Rob and I strained to see the image but could not see the men’s faces. 

“Where the hell did they come from?” Rob whispered. Although I could not see their faces, I could hear them talking. My heart nearly stopped when I recognized all of their voices. I listened to my late husband, Mel, say, “Cast over toward the bullrushes, Dad.” Hans replied with a slight edge to his voice, “This is not the first time I’ve fished here, Mel. I know what I’m doing.” 

Then I heard my dad’s voice, “Hurry up and cast so I can toss this red and white daredevil in there too.” Dad had been gone for over twenty years. 

“You ain’t gonna catch anything with that rusted old piece of crap, Harry. Even if a fish hits it, the treble hook will break off.” I would recognize that voice anywhere, especially how he spoke to my dad. It was Uncle Stu, Harry’s older brother.

As it got darker, the images became clearer. Mel was sitting in the back of the boat with one hand on the old four-horse motor. Hans sat in front of Mel with Dad in front of him. Uncle Stu sat in the front of the boat, reeling in a good-sized northern. I could not take my eyes off the four men. Rob never knew any of them, but he saw and heard them just the same. 

Neither of us bothered to look up at the eclipse. The fog began to lift as it became lighter, and a slight breeze blew it off the lake. The four men in the boat drifted away along with their voices. Soon, the full sun was out, and the water was a deep blue with a slight ripple. 

Rob and I did not speak for a long time as we stared at the lake, hoping to see the image again. Rob then asked, “Did you see that?” I could only nod. My heart was in my throat. The memory of these four men fishing on MacLaughlin frequently when they were alive came rushing back. All of them, at one time or another, referred to the lake as a “little piece of Heaven,” and there they were.