A Dry Perch

Moving along the lower steps of the O'Fallon Park boathouse, I found a cracked wooden paddle board wedged sideways between the wet stone and a rusted iron mooring ring. It was tilting precariously into the murky shallows. A small painted turtle had crawled halfway onto the slick, mossy edge, but kept sliding backward as the wood rocked in the lake swell. I set my boots firmly against the rough limestone, assessed the fulcrum, and unhitched a thick braided nylon line from my belt. Looping a double half-hitch around the iron ring, I ran the line beneath the paddle's handle and cinched the slack against a heavy limestone crevice. The plank stabilized immediately, locking flat and level. The turtle crept up onto the dry grain, extending its neck to bask.