Water Ski at Night

When I was about 10 years old, my dad adopted boating as a hobby.

He took me to all sorts of lakes and taught me to water ski. One of the first lakes we frequented was Sloans Lake in the middle of North Denver. By the time I was 11, he had taught me to ski on one ski. When I was on the shore I could barely hold on to the heavy ski but strangers were impressed that such a young fellow could ski like that. Naturally, their awe served as motivation for me to get better.

Over the years, Dad realized there were some less crowded lakes to enjoy. He was the vice-president of the local 7-Up plant at the time. One week he drove out to Riverside Reservoir which is north of Denver, near Greeley. Dad cut a deal with the caretaker of the lake, wherein Dad would supply the caretaker with all of the 7-Up he could drink in exchange for granting our group exclusive access to the lake. It wasn’t until 35 years later that it dawned on me that there must have been more to that deal than I always believed; like throw in a case of scotch here and there or something similar.

Anyway, we went back to Riverside nearly every weekend for 5-6 years after that. It was a huge lake, which was used for irrigating all of the thirsty farms in the area. We usually went out there for the weekends or longer. Our group grew quickly. It was normal to share our weekends with 8-15 families, lots of tents and campers, 4-5 boats and fabulous barbeques.

There was an island near the far end of the lake. One of my favorite memories is when we lit fires both, on the island and at home base, then we water skied back and forth between the fires at night. The skier kept a water proof flashlight in his trunks in case he fell and so the boat could find him.

One time, my Uncle Keith was skiing near the island and I was in the boat. He swung real wide behind the boat and then cut back sharp to the other side of the boat wake. When he got out about as far as a skier could get, he found himself in the middle of a flock of geese who were resting in the water. At just the right moment, he reached down and grabbed one of those geese by the neck, just like an eagle would catch its prey. Well, you can bet that goose was not enjoying himself. It was flopping all around and my uncle was screaming like a wild man. We laughed so hard we almost gang-peed our pants. After about thirty seconds he let the goose go. It flew off and rejoined the flock.

When we got back to the shore we told everybody the crazy story and it became a legend to that small group of dear friends. It took me many years to realize how special those days were. I guess I always just thought everybody had a loving Dad, a private lake, a nice boat, special friends and water-skied between fires at night.

These are among the fine things that a young lad can enjoy when others around him know how to embrace life.

I miss those days.

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