Lake Limerick, Washington

Lake Limerick is one of those places that not everyone gets to visit. Not because it’s so incredibly special—I mean, it’s a nice lake, just nothing spectacular—but because every inch of shoreline is owned by somebody. The few places that aren’t someone’s front yard are fenced in, with automatic gates that are programmed to admit only card-carrying members of the Lake Limerick Country Club.

click to enlarge

It’s an Irish stronghold, from what I can tell: elder white Catholics claiming a bit of earth that nobody can spoil. Golf, fish, green grass. I actually found an Irish coin on one of the “public” docks. Every private dock features a mildewing rowboat or canoe, giving the impression that these darkened houses once held sprightly, bright-eyed fishermen and their aproned wives.

Face’s grandparents bought a cabin here several years ago, and now it’s the vacation house for their sons, sons’ wives, sons’ offspring. And me, lucky me.

Because there is something truly special about Lake Limerick: it’s entirely serene. Silence floats on the glassy water, damp and still. Ducks glide across the surface, jumping into the air whenever humans approach. We spent hours on the lake, and only ever saw one other boater; most of the winter, it appears, waterfowl are the only inhabitants of Limerick.

Somewhere down there, Face says, there are trout and bass, even overgrown newts. Face’s brother Willie points out the kelplike plants that grow 20 feet tall in search of meager surface light. The water is black.

The water is reflective. Here are some photos. Some of them are upside down, see if you can figure out which.

(hint: here's one)