The narrow channel beneath the bridge was a main waterway for boaters all summer long. Crystal clear waters flowed over a sandy bottom, swiftly at times, depending upon the time of year and how much lake levels were adjusted at the dam miles away. The depth of the channel varied from ten to fifteen feet. It was a great place to see and catch a variety of fish from lake trout to catfish and yellow perch to smallmouth bass. In winter the strange cod-like creature known as the cusk swam beneath that bridge. Suckers as long as four feet could be seen on occasion too.
An earthen and stone causeway led to the bridge from both the island and the mainland. The bridge itself spanned only the short 25-foot gap remaining. Several bridges have stood on that same spot over the decades since the late 1800's. As newer ones replaced older ones ravaged by time, the elements and heavier traffic, some of the old timbers were simply left under the water. Pilings replaced by newer ones remained as rotting sentinels, barely beneath the water's surface. A tangle of waterlogged timbers and slime-covered boulders lined both sides of the approached to the bridge itself.
The bridge, as I knew it, was a narrow two-lane affair, flat on top with sloping ramps on both approaches to lift vehicle traffic above the boat channel below. Clearance for boats was barely fifteen feet, not at all high enough for sailboats. A maze of heavy wooden columns, beams and cross-braces formed the primary structure, with planks nailed side by side to form the deck. A wooden railing on both sides provided only a flimsy safety barrier, meant to keep pedestrians safe but affording little security for vehicles.
As a young boy and teen-ager I spent thousands of hours at my island bridge. It served as a terrific place to fish, especially from beneath the superstructure that noisily protested passage of every car and truck. First-time fishermen were often startled by the creaking of the timbers and rattles of the deck planking. Fishing in the main channel or off to either side was usually good. I soon became experienced in what baits or lures to use for the various species. Smallmouth bass favored helgramites and crawfish (crayfish to some folks) weighted to rest on the bottom. Perch and sunfish weren't at all fussy, though worms, grasshoppers or crickets regularly tempted them. Artificial lures, especially spoons, were often effective too. Black white-bellied catfish, known regionally as horned-pout, could be caught at dusk or dawn on almost any bait placed at the lake bottom. Lake trout were the hardest to catch, rarely taken in the channel because they preferred deeper, cooler waters.
The bridge served nicely as a diving platform, though we would occasionally be chased away by older folks who thought it dangerous. There was, after all, considerable boat traffic through the channel and having inattentive kids clambering around the decking was a nuisance to vehicular traffic. Little did they know that we seldom walked barefoot across the planks, fearing not the vehicles but instead the splintery wood that attacked our tender, water-softened feet.
Fishermen didn't much appreciate having rambunctious boys swimming in the area either. We surely scared the fish away with our splashing and noisy whoops and hollers. Yet there were several times when fishermen called upon swimmers to rescue tackle and boat anchors tangled in the sunken timbers and boulders. We even charged some folks for our salvage services. Fifty cents was not much to ask for retrieving a three-dollar lure or a twenty-dollar anchor. One day we got five dollars from a fellow whose outboard motor popped of his boat and went to the bottom.
Having swim fins and facemasks at the ready made us pretty effective salvagers and provided pocket money for refreshing ice-cream treats.
Every school day for years, from grade school to high school, I crossed that bridge, most often on foot as I walked from our island home to catch the bus at the highway. Seldom could I resist a brief pause to gaze down into the depths of the channel. I looked for fish, and on rare occasion also saw beaver or other animals swept along by the current. In winter the lake froze, some years to more than three feet thick. Yet the swift current through the channel usually kept waters open to a distance of 100 yards on either side.
One very cold and blustery winter morning, whilst I paused to check out the waters below, I was startled by a clomping sound on the wooden deck. It was the hoofbeats of a huge bull moose coming from the mainland toward the island. I stood still, frozen not by the weather but in fear of what that huge beast might do. He stopped, paused just a few feet from me and then with obvious disdain continued on his way. I held thoughts of scrambling over the railing, should he move too close, but he found me not worthy of the effort. My heart raced for several moments after the encounter, and I had quite a tale to relate to my school chums and the bus driver that morning.
The old bridge that I knew is no longer there. I has been replaced by a wider, longer and more modern curved arch-like structure. I'm sure it's stronger, safer and better from a vehicular standpoint, but it has none of the charm of that wonderful old wooden bridge that I remember so well.