(Written June 2023)

Find me at the lake every day, today is no different.

I come to the lake every day, because it is never the same.

We wanted to be the best dog parents ever to our newly rescued scared pup, Mallow. A desert husky needs the water, so we brought her to the lake every morning and sometimes again in the late afternoon. We taught her how to zig zag her own switchbacks on the slick rock to get down to the water efficiently.

Today we are laying under the shade of a red rock cave next to the emerald water. Today we celebrate one week with Mallow. To her, it probably seems longer than that.

The cove we took her to on her first day to show her that we weren’t like her other owners, we were her homies, that spot is now completely under water.

Spring run off this year is breaking records. Some serious snowpack is melting into gushing rivers, the lake is rising a foot a day.

Seven days ago, that cove was full of shallow rocks with ankle deep water. It’s where Mallow learned to swim by walking out on the rocks and gradually going in the deep water.

Now that cove shimmers in the dark depths seven feet below my flippers. From the top of the water, I can see which rocks Mallow and I stood on last week. I try not to smile in my snorkel because it lets too much water in.

Last week I bought a snorkel but I feel like a scuba diver.

Swimming in open water is a meditation. Head under the black water where it’s quiet and calm, to drown out the hum of motors and engines. The only sound I can hear underwater is my own breath.

Every day, I come to the lake to swim and watch the canyon walls disappear further underwater. This lake has a river flowing underneath it all. The fragile edges of the sandstone walls crumble under the waves. Red and white boulders break off and sink to the bottom.

I am reporter, keeping a notebook of scientific and heartfelt facts, reporting to no one.

Watching, noticing, recording, spying on the dam.

I am a walker with a bird’s eye view and a slick rock pup in training. Last week I saw the biggest lizard of my life on shore that is now under three feet of water. Mallow didn’t dare chase the chunky guy. The three of us locked eyes and walked away, climbing up a rock that is submerged. Now where is that little chuckwalla fella?

Swimming in open water, heart pumping and feet kicking. Whenever I notice myself swimming faster toward the shoreline, as if something in the dark open water might reach out and pull my ankle down, I stop myself.

I tread water to slow my breath, kicking my legs occasionally to keep a float. In the cold, deep water, I look up and around at the canyon walls of red and white towering over me and the water all around me, black in the depths and blue-green near the shore.

I wonder how many more days will pass until our beloved cave is underwater. I wonder where will we find shade once it’s gone.

I watch boats pass then prepare for the waves. Sometimes I like to swim toward them with my head out of water, rocking to the rhythm of each wave. Other times I float on my back and focus on the sky above me, letting the waves carry me up closer to the clouds.

The only thing that pulls me out of the water is that cute desert husky sitting on shore in the shade, smiling.