After a satisfying breakfast of blueberry pancakes from our propane-powered Coleman stove, a day of excitement followed on Indian Lake, with swimming, canoeing, motorboating and plain old relaxing.
I’ve been surprised that there have been next to no mosquitoes or black bitey flies here, the latter of which Indian Lake is apparently infamous for. I hasten to add that if you are skittish about daddy longlegs (and I am not), camping on Indian Lake may not be for you. Even though they’re of the comically harmless variety, many of them frequented spots where one often does not like to find arachnids, such as the picnic table, the inside of a tent and one’s hair.
We closed the night with a rave that included glowsticks, flaming stick-juggling from Josh, black lights trained on our bedsheet-banner that we'd strung between some trees and painted with florescent paint, flashing lights, a hula hoop, and house music blasted through a boom box. We also played the song “What What (In The Butt)”, which was greeted with such vigor that it became the official song of Giardiasis Island, narrowly edging out “Indian Lake,” the top-10 hit of 1969 by The Cowsills.