I’m having a hard time writing this article. I’d rather be outside canoeing in the multi-hued waters that are so clear I can see down beyond 6.3 m (20 ft), which is the longest piece of fishing line that I have. Our shadow, wavering sinuously under ripples, often followed us as we paddled between islands and into shallow bays.

Our first surprise came when canoeing at the end of the lake closest to the horseshoe pit and boat-launching ramp. We found an underwater spring. Several tiny mud pots bubbled and writhed, just like in those in El Pozo Vivo (Living Waters) in Nicaragua. Only a little distance away, we canoed over a much larger hole that is, or probably was, another aquifer outlet.

Our second surprise was how frequently this lake changes colour. It depends upon the position of the sun, amount of cloud cover, and from which direction breezes blow. This irregular shaped body of water could easily have been called Jewels Lake, after jewels such as pale jade, fluorescent turquoise, aquamarine, laser gray-blue, and gun-metal blue. When no breeze causes scintillating ripples, the water mirrors the bottle-brush trees, the brown mountains and the polar-bear-white, snow-filled crevices or, the rose tinted mountain tops as the sun sets.

Contrary to signs indicating that much patience is need to catch fish here, last night one fisherman cast his line from inside his campsite, and within minutes caught a char. There are only char in this lake, whereas most of the others nearby have rainbow trout.

I wish I had a GPS receiver. After a couple hours of paddling and drifting, we would really like to know where our motorhome is. Even travelling at paddle-speed, Liz and I could easily get lost in all the bays and inlets and among the many small islands and sandbars, all populated with dark-green coniferous and lime-green deciduous trees. Many have beaver lodges; some have beaver dams built between them. In the really shallow waters between land, we often saw moose-prints heading to or from an island. This is one of the few times that I wish I had a small motor that would quietly zip us along at 3-5 knots for hours on end.

Back in site 3 - those tourists who go where an entrance sign points to campsites will miss this area - we’ve seen sea gulls, swallows, three varieties of duck (all I recognize is mallards), and a partridge or ruffled grouse who lives in, or at least searches, the woods behind us for seeds. The gulls came by as soon as we were set up, looking for handouts and scraps. Who says wild animals and birds are dumb? These must have remembered how to beg from last summer’s visitors. The peaceful quiet is truly invigorating. Even the wind has its own language, from a hushed whisper, to a gentle soughing through newly unfurled leaves, to a harsh sshhh that bends the tops of spruce, poplars and willows. Even with the sibilant hush, I can hear a gull land on the water. And the occasional lapping of wavelets on rounded rocks.

There are no sirens. There is no traffic noise. The constant hum of transformers and electrical lights doesn’t exist here. I don’t even hear the sound of an RV’s generator – could it be that the drivers of three RV’s in the other section are too enthralled with quiet whispers of nature that they will do without their microwave oven or TV?

Nine-thirty and I’ve decided we have to have a fire. Even though the sky is hidden behind a solid layer of thin cloud, the flames are almost invisible in the bright dusk. The deep pink blush on the clouds is prettier than the flames.

Ten o’clock, and Liz and I are watching a beaver (it’s huge!) gnaw on a branch then go for a couple of swims. It disappeared into the tall grass, perhaps its lodge isn’t built yet. We’ll drop by tomorrow morning and pay our respects, if we can find where it lives.