Pointu Spit is a thin tongue of land dividing Heillange Lake into two halves. In Anthony and his cousin’s canoe journey, it is a practical landmark and a screen from view: hugging the shore and rounding the spit lets the boys slip away from their pursuers, while bringing them into sight of a remote beach on the far side.

Geography and the Lakeside Beaches

The route to Pointu Spit passes a varied chain of beaches around the lake. Anthony and his cousin usually go to Déchetterie Beach, an accessible but unpopular stretch reputed to lie near a sewer outlet. Behind them is the Léo-Lagrange recreation center beach; elsewhere are the campground beach and American Beach. Across the spit, the Sailing Club has the most picturesque shore, described by its pine trees, almost golden sand, cabanas, and bar as resembling a seaside resort. The contrast makes the lake feel socially and materially divided even within a single outing: the boys’ familiar dump-side beach and the polished club beach belong to sharply different versions of leisure.

A Route of Evasion

As the boys paddle toward Pointu Spit, Anthony’s cousin changes direction to hug the shore, hoping to reach the narrow point quickly. Rounding it will take them out of sight for a few minutes. Near the beginning of the spit, an old, dilapidated forest-service cabin marks their progress. The boys look back: their pursuers are not gaining on them, and the counselors seem absorbed in an irritated argument. When someone stands to make a point and is made to sit down again, the cousins grin; with the counselors’ backs turned, Anthony gives them the finger. The spit’s geography creates a brief interval in which pursuit gives way to covert escape and adolescent defiance.

The Far Side

Later, after motorbikes have driven away and their wavering echo has faded, the boys resume paddling stealthily. Rounding Pointu Spit widens the horizon and reveals the lake’s other half, with Bare-Ass Beach finally visible off to starboard. The beach is gray, enclosed, inaccessible from the road, and nearly deserted; a motorboat lies anchored about thirty yards offshore. Reaching the far side therefore does not deliver the lively destination the boys had sought. The spit carries them out of sight and into a new vista, but the empty beach makes the journey feel like a waste of time rather than a triumph.