Funnily enough, my Kenai Lake doesn't actually involve that much fishing.
My Kenai Lake has a cabin, a pebble beach, cottonwood trees, and tall tall mountains. It has cold grey coffee mornings and warm hammock afternoons. It has moose that stop by for breakfast and mountain sheep that are always there but only spotted through the binoculars. My Kenai Lake is always too cold to swim in.
My Kenai Lake has grampa, my brother, my cousins and sometimes "just one friend" who could be invited to join us for the weekend. My Kenai Lake has Applets and Cotlets from Agnes, flowers from Mrs. Thomas, and warnings from mom to stay off of the other "weird" neighbor's property.
My Kenai Lake has gold in Shackleford Creek, cotton to be picked at the top of Snug Harbour Road, and a Fairy Trail that only my family can find. It has dogs that stop by to visit, that steal socks, and prefer outside to in which is good when their feet are too muddy to be let in the cabin anyway.
My Kenai Lake has old yellowed Archie comic books, races to the climbing wall and rocks that skip on the lake. It has fishing at midnight in the twilight and getting to drive for the first time on a dusty back road. It has hours filled with playing Sorry, Rubick's Race and books that make Lauri and I laugh until we cried by Patrick F. McManus.
"My Kenai Lake defies accurate description because it changes with the seasons and the people and the amount and angle of sunlight - it stretches from almost my memory's beginning and will likely reach until my final resting place. My Kenai Lake is completely different from anyone else's Kenai Lake, so much so that it can almost be treated as an entirely different lake."