ALL DAY LONG on Fawn Island, squalls and thundershowers have been tossing their white heads and dragging their dark bellies across the lake. They growl and grumble in our direction but nothing comes of it. Meanwhile a single bluebell, rising amid the bear berry patch on Moonlight Ledge, keeps watch over Half Mile Island and down the Voyageurs’ Highway to Brûle Narrows. Many were the times in days of yore when the canoe brigades would have fought their way up this big lake, red-tipped paddles flashing, battling for headway against storms far mightier than these. Perhaps we’ll get a raindrop yet.