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I continued this back and forth of pulling the blanket and then grabbing the seat as we moved across Lake Douglas. These little boats should have seat belts in them, but that would insult someone's sensibilities or violate some law of the lake. Thoughts of reaching the small dock entered my head. I could see it now, maybe a hundred yards away. I gave up on the blanket and concentrated on holding to the seat. I would be at the shore soon and in the cabin shortly thereafter. Just hold on another minute or two.

“Yeah, you should see the cabin just about now,” shouted Mr. Bolton from behind me. “Yeah, there it is, through the trees you can see it.”

He was right. Just coming into view was a small log cabin a short distance from the dock and the shoreline. I had seen photographs of it on the web site, but those weren't good photos – they never were. It seemed that real estate agents would hire someone who could take pictures to promote these cabin rentals, but they were probably struggling to make a dollar and photographers cost money. Maybe they could trade a few days rental in the off season for a day of photography. I stopped wondering about that stuff. I wasn't going into real estate and I doubted that anyone in the business wanted to hear my advice.

After another chilling minute the front of the small boat bumped the corner of the wooden dock and we slid alongside it. Mr. Bolton hopped out of the small, green, metal boat onto the dock with a rope in his hand. His quick exit dipped the boat hard into the water. I was glad that I was firmly seated and holding onto the bench. His hop and the boat's dip startled me and threw me off balance. Great, I would have fallen into the cold lake at the last moment.

Mr. Bolton tied a small, loose knot to fix the boat to the dock. I wondered if that little knot was enough, but he was the pro and I was just a customer. He pulled my Filson duffle bag from the boat and dropped it on the dock. He extended a hand down to me. His gesture saved me from the embarrassment of asking for help up out of the boat. I had my computer and peripherals in my other Filson bag slung over my head and around my shoulder. That felt far heavier than its 15 pounds.

I picked up my duffle before Bolton had the chance. I had some pride left and headed towards the cabin at a quick pace with the duffle on my left shoulder. I had carried this load from Yellowstone to the Khyber Pass. Now that I was firmly on solid ground I was fine.

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