And this freshwater is being put into the lake by rejuvenated streams and recharged springs. Besides, most other towers have not been toppled. Some have spring water flowing out of them and are growing once again. Still, I felt as if I'd lost a friend. The following morning finds me paddling across the wind-rippled surface of the lake.
Grebes dive to avoid our bow which is pointed towards the site of the former spire.
Being late into the fall, shrimp are scarce and the water is clouded by algae. Floating over the tower, I find that the waves are bending the low-angle sunlight, selectively illuminating, then obscuring features of the submerged pile of shattered tufa. Undulating images of the underwater fragments seamlessly merge between light and dark, recognition and doubt. I begin to wonder why I am here. As I paddle away I begin to feel a sense of closure.