REVISITING THE PARK | Summertime thrills and chills

Waking up to quiet summer mornings reminds me how it used to be all day here in Madison Park. The only thing that made any kind of sound was the horn from the Kirkland ferry. Many people were away at jobs for the defense or in the service during World War II, leaving families to fend for themselves. 

We students at J.J. McGilvra Elementary school were always up for anything fun. We knew the war was out there, but at least summer vacation allowed us to fill our heads with adventurous possibilities. There would be no room for the realities of war for us.

Early one morning, a schoolmate came by on his bike, yelling, “We’re swimming to the log boom!” 

With a resounding “Yeah!” I joined the Hamerick brothers, who lived across the street, and ran to the swamp north of Edgewater, with bathing suit, towel and eats. The crowd was mostly boys, but some were tomboys who grew up later to be total foxes. 

Leaving the shore, we walked knee-deep in cattails and nettles — nettles that stung every part! Next, we had to cross through mud and seaweed that tangled around our legs. Who could resist a seaweed fight? That got us moving!

Finally, we got to a really clear, sandy-bottom area and walked north to the big log boom that all but filled the canal — Montlake Cut. When we got to shoulder-height, we swam the remaining 60 feet.

The boom consisted of big cedar logs pulled in from points south of Kennydale. Logs surrounded most of the boom, with chains connecting them to each other, creating a secured expanse that eventually was moved through the canal. If we were real quiet, we could hear boat builders pounding iron at the Todd Shipyard in Kirkland.

Because of the war effort and fuel shortage, ships and boats were tied to the boom, not meant for exploration by little tykes on summer vacation. Ha!

Once on the boom, we helped the others embark. We then headed north, carefully jumping from log to log, trying not to fall in the water, where injury was a surety when logs smashed together. This would not go over well with parents.

Ahead of us were logs jammed against one another, forming what we called cedar ponds, where the water was so clear you could see the bottom when the sun illuminated the area.

We stood looking down at something below covered partially by seaweed, which we couldn’t quite make out. Someone yelled, “I dare ya!” and the game began. 

Hidden treasures

I couldn’t rollerskate backward or bike with no hands yet, but I could hold my breath under water, so I took the dare and chose who would be next. 

With an old pair of leaky water goggles, I slipped into the warm water. The deeper I swam, the colder it got. 

Once I reached the seaweed, the mystery revealed a 4-foot carp. Its gelatinous surface surprised me, so I shot to the surface. 

“Really great! A big open-mouthed, bulging-eyed fish!” 

It was a good dare. We continued to challenge each other on the rolling logs, diving into the water to cool off. 

Seagulls hovered around us, thinking we had food, but their big repast was the nearby dump, now part of the University of Washington campus.

We found a pond where an old boat lay on the bottom. There were wharf rats here and there about the size of a dog. 

Back at the ferry landing, we’d hang by greasy cables, waiting for the Kirkland ferry engines to reverse and send us flying toward the beach, and we saw many a hairy wharf rat with long claws.

After the modern refrigerator was adopted, it was common for folks to dump their old iceboxes into the lake. If any still exist, they’re worth about $1,000!

Toward the northeast end of the boom, a couple of old wooden ships and boats were tied. There were more vessels tied to pilings near Monkey Island or the north end of Broadmoor as well. 

We walked toward one of the ships that was listing to the port and slowly sinking, and we did not see one “Stay off” sign, so we scampered up the old rope ladder just like in the movies.

Whoever was on it last must have been in a hurry to leave. We found our way to the lower decks, where the sleeping quarters were — unlike in the movies — really cramped, with no headroom. 

There were pinups on the walls and ceiling. Names were carved here and there.

There were lower decks, but we did not visit them as we heard noises. If they were rats, they weren’t small.

A perfect end

A day at the boom would put a smile on anyone’s face. Most of us grew up poor, but days on Lake Washington made us feel rich and free.

As the sun set, we headed in just off the beach, where the mud oozed between our toes. We lathered it all over ourselves because we knew that dark cloud on the beach was the biggest bunch of skeeters this side of Africa! Once the smooth gray mud dried to our skin, we ran, swatting to keep them out of our ears as they bounced off our faces.

A safe distance away, we laughed at how we looked. 

At a friend’s house, we showered off with a hose. When we got home, parental factors asked how the day was. 

“Oh, you know, a little swimming — just kid stuff. More tomorrow.”

RICHARD CARL LEHMAN is a longtime Madison Park resident. To comment on this column, write to MPTimes@nwlink.com.