Tonight was a good night. I wasn't sure I wanted to trek out to Murtagh Hill to attend an out-in-the-woods party knowing only one other person there. It turned out I hardly talked to Rohan (not that there's anything wrong with ya Rohan!) but I did enjoy the company of other humble-survivor Altonians.

In fact, it turns out I knew three people there. One, Brett, whose interest in my lake monster project was so strong that on regular intervals he would loudly ask if the person at his elbow had heard of my lake monster project, and thereby obligate me to introduce the subject. And I am happy for the attention at this point. Especially when it is well received.

In this fashion, I suppose it was inevitable, but I just so happened to run across a strong Champy-believer. The discussion went many ways, and eventually led even to the story of John McDougall and the loss of the ferryman's horses on Lake Okanagan. The story embued a new ambience in front of the season's first campfire - a sort of spooky quality that was actually more befitting than the computerized versions I'm used to poring over, all another reason why I'm looking forward to the personal accounts that the project will mingle me with. I'm more inspired now to try a few experiments here on the shores of Champlain.

Stars were clear tonight. At one point, I had to smile for our communal appreciation, the ten of us in silence, a minute of nothing but the fire crackling below and the electric windmill above. Good spirits all.