You take a hike through a campsite and down into the forest. On your way, you pass through a serious wet area that you must negotiate. You tip toe across the log corduroy perhaps slipping in here and there but eventually you find your way to the pristine shore of Sand Lake. Loons call in the water. Heady balsams and spruce pierce your soul. The open water beckons you further and you bushwhack the shoreline through thick underbrush until you come to an opening in the woods halfway across the lake. The silence. At dusk. Is deafening.