Before I even arose things were not going well. Seems I had parked my tent in the same spot as the avian latrine. On three occasions I was dive-bombed, the poop projectiles finding purchase on the screen, but not puncturing my inner domain, thank God. The situation worsened before dawn, when a starry sky was replaced by rain clouds. I had enough warning to apply the fly; however, I did have to batten down the hatches until nine A.M., when a break in the weather allowed me to decamp.
The woeful early morn was quickly forgotten as I climbed to the rim of the reservoir and gained my first view of Lake McConaughy. I admit, I haven't used the word scenic to describe Nebraska too often, but in this case little else in our diction would better fit. The walk was a joy. The huge lake is nearly twenty five miles from east to west and Highway 92 bobs and weaves across the northern hills, following like a puppy dog. The mind is left to wonder what will be found at the next crest and the result is often spectacular. The lighting on this day could have won an Academy Award, the partly cloudy sky opening enough to allow the occasional ray in, illuminating the green and brown hills, the clear blue water, and the white beach. Some serious eye candy.
Alas, the thrill could only last so long. By late afternoon the menace of precipitation had closed in again. I was forced to hide in my hobbit hole once more.