It is the last day of April and the ice has been out on most lakes since the middle of March. This spring came early, but within the last two weeks, we have had some serious frosts. The loons are back as are the mergansers. The red wing and yellow wing black birds showed up early this year too. The male turkeys are "struttin' their stuff" and the hens are ignoring them just like females of most species ignore males' posturing.
Not much in the way of precipitation has occurred for sometime now and the fire alert is "High" in the Chequamegon. My favorite trout streams are the lowest I have seen them in a while, with some of the best "holes" nothing more than stagnant, muddy pools. And Lake Superior is the lowest it has been since the early 1900's. We are in need of some serious rain, but the concern with that is the effect it will have on the ground nesting birds, such as the turkey and grouse. Suffice it to say, there is a trade-off for everything. Need more rain, but some will have to suffer. There is nothing cruel about it; it just is the way of nature. Long term drought, however, has much more in the way of serious consequences for life than a few heavy down pours during the spring.
My wife and I, with our dog Maggie, of course, have taken some long walks in the deep reaches of the forest over the last couple of weeks. The dog loves the opportunity to smell new smells and we all enjoy the opportunity to see the forest come alive with spring. The cowslip is beginning to bloom in some locations, but we have as yet not seen any trillium. The dog wood is flowering and the rich, sweet smell of balsam fir permeates the forest. We have sighted a few bear, but we missed the large bear that left tracks around our house just after our last snow fall. Yup, we still are getting a few snow flurries now and then, but about two weeks ago we got enough to cover the ground with a couple of inches. The prints left by the bear were "good size." But, we did not get a glimpse of it as it passed through.
That is about all to report from here. Next weekend is the opener of the Wisconsin fishing season, except, of course, for bass. For information regarding the respective fishing seasons please see either the Wisconsin DNR website or The Arrowhead Fly Angler website. Please keep our lakes clean by obeying the regulations covering transportation of exotic/invasive species; clean your boat and trailer before and after fishing; pack out your garbage; obey the catch and possession limits; and have a good time.
Take care of our resources.
Vaya con Dios.
Hawkeye
Monday, April 30, 2012
Friday, January 14, 2011
Gitchi Gummi...
Yesterday I had to go to Ashland, WI for some repairs to my vehicle. My vehicle had to be towed the 45 miles to the dealership, so I followed along in my wife's car. (AAA is a good service to have when you live in the middle of the Chequamegon National Forest.) Since I realized that these repairs would take most of the day, I packed up my snowshoes and ice fishing equipment with the intent of fishing the Chequamegon Bay. I hadn't heard much about how the fishing has been on the bay, but, having had good experiences in the past, I thought I would give it a try.
After getting the preliminaries over with at the dealership, I just walked off their back parking lot down to and out on the bay. It was lightly snowing in the city, but once I got out on the bay the visibility dropped dramatically. A combination of a fine snowfall and a wind from the north-northwest made the trek out to one of my favorite spots a little dicey, requiring a compass to keep on track. After about a half-hour hike, I arrived at my destination and found a few other fellow fisherperons (there were a couple of attractive middle aged ladies jigging for perch) there also.
I dropped a couple of tip-ups after drilling a few holes with a hand auger (I don't ice fish enough to justify the purchase of a power auger) and then settled down to jigging too. Now, I am not a very patient person, and hard water fishing is really not my first choice for a winter activity, but, in this case, it was really the only way to await the completion of my vehicle repairs without having to sit for hours listening to soap operas on the dealership's TV in their waiting area. The perch weren't very cooperative, and neither were the salmon or trout. So, I left my jig pole to work itself and walked around to the other fisherpersons to strike up a conversation or two. Of course, I headed right for the ladies first.
They were friendly enough and allowed this stranger to sit down and talk fishing for awhile. Soon, however, the conversation turned to the economy and the employment situation in Ashland and the surrounding area. Both ladies were single parent mom's and worked as waitresses at a local restuarant. One of the women had three children at home, and the other, two still at home. In both cases they told me that they were out fishing to supplement their families's table fare. They also advised me that they had arranged to have their children, who were of age, get their hunting licenses and accompany their mothers when the ladies went deer hunting during the recent Wisconsin gun season; all in an effort to put food on the table. They were both proud to announce that their efforts had paid off and they had meat to last for some months.
Some political pundit announced the other day that there was a "jobless" economic recovery going on in the US. One of my friends emailed me about this and commented that a "jobless recovery" was like having a "meatless" hotdog. "What was the point?" The economy in northern Wisconsin is in pretty bad shape and it appears that it will be a long time in recovering.
Unfortunately, my ice fishing efforts did not produce anything, so I was unable to supplement the ladies catch. They had a few perch, but nowhere near their limit. The catch looked sufficient for one meal for 4-5 people, if everyone left the table hungry.
I headed back to the dealership late in the afternoon, thanking my "lucky stars" that I was still working. Unfortunately, I was told by the mechanic and the service department manager that they would have to hold on to my vehicle as they did not have the necessary parts on hand. They indicated that the earliest the parts could be delivered would be next week and the vehicle was not in drivable shape. This could only spell "expensive." So, I loaded up my wife's car and headed back home with mixed emotions about what I had seen, heard, and experienced that day.
After getting the preliminaries over with at the dealership, I just walked off their back parking lot down to and out on the bay. It was lightly snowing in the city, but once I got out on the bay the visibility dropped dramatically. A combination of a fine snowfall and a wind from the north-northwest made the trek out to one of my favorite spots a little dicey, requiring a compass to keep on track. After about a half-hour hike, I arrived at my destination and found a few other fellow fisherperons (there were a couple of attractive middle aged ladies jigging for perch) there also.
I dropped a couple of tip-ups after drilling a few holes with a hand auger (I don't ice fish enough to justify the purchase of a power auger) and then settled down to jigging too. Now, I am not a very patient person, and hard water fishing is really not my first choice for a winter activity, but, in this case, it was really the only way to await the completion of my vehicle repairs without having to sit for hours listening to soap operas on the dealership's TV in their waiting area. The perch weren't very cooperative, and neither were the salmon or trout. So, I left my jig pole to work itself and walked around to the other fisherpersons to strike up a conversation or two. Of course, I headed right for the ladies first.
They were friendly enough and allowed this stranger to sit down and talk fishing for awhile. Soon, however, the conversation turned to the economy and the employment situation in Ashland and the surrounding area. Both ladies were single parent mom's and worked as waitresses at a local restuarant. One of the women had three children at home, and the other, two still at home. In both cases they told me that they were out fishing to supplement their families's table fare. They also advised me that they had arranged to have their children, who were of age, get their hunting licenses and accompany their mothers when the ladies went deer hunting during the recent Wisconsin gun season; all in an effort to put food on the table. They were both proud to announce that their efforts had paid off and they had meat to last for some months.
Some political pundit announced the other day that there was a "jobless" economic recovery going on in the US. One of my friends emailed me about this and commented that a "jobless recovery" was like having a "meatless" hotdog. "What was the point?" The economy in northern Wisconsin is in pretty bad shape and it appears that it will be a long time in recovering.
Unfortunately, my ice fishing efforts did not produce anything, so I was unable to supplement the ladies catch. They had a few perch, but nowhere near their limit. The catch looked sufficient for one meal for 4-5 people, if everyone left the table hungry.
I headed back to the dealership late in the afternoon, thanking my "lucky stars" that I was still working. Unfortunately, I was told by the mechanic and the service department manager that they would have to hold on to my vehicle as they did not have the necessary parts on hand. They indicated that the earliest the parts could be delivered would be next week and the vehicle was not in drivable shape. This could only spell "expensive." So, I loaded up my wife's car and headed back home with mixed emotions about what I had seen, heard, and experienced that day.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
I have been remiss... I will try and do better.
Again, it has been a long time since my last post. Seems to be a commonly repeated refrain with me here. But, sometimes, life has a way of interfering with your best laid plans. But, today dawned with a down-like snowfall softly caressing the forest around us. We are expecting about 12 inches here and I will make sure to get out early to feed the deer and turkey. There is about three feet of snow in the forest making it difficult to walk without snowshoes. The fir trees are heavy-laden with snow from the last storm. Hopefully we will not lose any within the next few hours.
Took the "Maggie" for a long walk around the our lake deep into the forest between our little lake and the Namekagon River. This area is a two by five mile rectangle of shrub, swamp, and tamarack trees. It is also frequented by one of the largest wolf packs in Northern Wisconsin. When I venture back into that country for any length of time, especially in the winter, I carry a pack with all the essentials and a .454 Casull (Super Redhawk by Ruger) pistol. (I carry the pistol for both man and beast. Not to put too fine a point on it, but having been a criminal prosecutor for 25 years, there are families up here where I live that have family members I prosecuted and had sent to prison. Some of those family members are still in prison and that does not make for friendly exchanges between their non-imprisoned brethern and me. Better safe than sorry.) However, the beauty of the surroundings far outweigh the negative possibilities.
The walk took a couple of hours and was framed by the silently falling snow. Everything stood out in stark black and white, much like a chiaroscuro art print. Tracks of bobcat (Lynx), deer, fox, otter, squirrel, and fisher crossed our path in many places along the trail Maggie and I were following. An interesting side note here: A fox track is extremely small for a canine. One way of telling the difference between a fox track, or for that matter, a wolf or coyote track, from a domestic dog is that the wolf, fox, and coyote do not do much meandering as compared to a domestic dog. In addition, the wild canine track appears to be only two tracks rather than four, as the wild canine has a more registered gait. What this means graphically is that the hind foot lands in the front foot's track (the perfectly registered (foot on top of foot) trail pattern). In the case of most domestic dogs, the pattern is not very registered. In fact, in the snow, you can tell that it is a domestic dog from the drag pattern of the hind feet.
In a couple of places I noted a recent deer kill, evidence of poachers, as the hind quarters were expertly severed from the carcass, unlike how a wild creature would feed on it. On one of the kills, we frightened away a mature Bald Eagle which had been feasting on the fozen flesh and again noticed that the hind quarters were missing in a way characteristic of poaching. I understand the need to feed one's family, but in my experience as a prosecutor, very rarely is poaching used to supplement one's family's table fare. It is more about the killing.
Maggie and I finished the walk with me fixing myself a hot chocolate with a little peppermint shnapps, and Maggie chowing down on a bowl full of dog food. She isn't partial to shnapps, but she likes a beer now and then.
Vaya con Dios.
Took the "Maggie" for a long walk around the our lake deep into the forest between our little lake and the Namekagon River. This area is a two by five mile rectangle of shrub, swamp, and tamarack trees. It is also frequented by one of the largest wolf packs in Northern Wisconsin. When I venture back into that country for any length of time, especially in the winter, I carry a pack with all the essentials and a .454 Casull (Super Redhawk by Ruger) pistol. (I carry the pistol for both man and beast. Not to put too fine a point on it, but having been a criminal prosecutor for 25 years, there are families up here where I live that have family members I prosecuted and had sent to prison. Some of those family members are still in prison and that does not make for friendly exchanges between their non-imprisoned brethern and me. Better safe than sorry.) However, the beauty of the surroundings far outweigh the negative possibilities.
The walk took a couple of hours and was framed by the silently falling snow. Everything stood out in stark black and white, much like a chiaroscuro art print. Tracks of bobcat (Lynx), deer, fox, otter, squirrel, and fisher crossed our path in many places along the trail Maggie and I were following. An interesting side note here: A fox track is extremely small for a canine. One way of telling the difference between a fox track, or for that matter, a wolf or coyote track, from a domestic dog is that the wolf, fox, and coyote do not do much meandering as compared to a domestic dog. In addition, the wild canine track appears to be only two tracks rather than four, as the wild canine has a more registered gait. What this means graphically is that the hind foot lands in the front foot's track (the perfectly registered (foot on top of foot) trail pattern). In the case of most domestic dogs, the pattern is not very registered. In fact, in the snow, you can tell that it is a domestic dog from the drag pattern of the hind feet.
In a couple of places I noted a recent deer kill, evidence of poachers, as the hind quarters were expertly severed from the carcass, unlike how a wild creature would feed on it. On one of the kills, we frightened away a mature Bald Eagle which had been feasting on the fozen flesh and again noticed that the hind quarters were missing in a way characteristic of poaching. I understand the need to feed one's family, but in my experience as a prosecutor, very rarely is poaching used to supplement one's family's table fare. It is more about the killing.
Maggie and I finished the walk with me fixing myself a hot chocolate with a little peppermint shnapps, and Maggie chowing down on a bowl full of dog food. She isn't partial to shnapps, but she likes a beer now and then.
Vaya con Dios.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Life is happening...
It has been a long time since the last post. Unfortunately, I have been busy with that aspect of life which hits us all at some time. I have been living with my head down, day-to-day, one day at a time, attending to those important things, like family and more family. I am not feeling sorry for myself, nor apologizing, for that matter. Just stating the facts.
It is still very much winter up here on the south shore of Gitchi Gummi. The wind is sweeping off the lake from the north-northwest, making the 15 degree temperature feel like -5 degrees.
My dog, Maggie, is sitting at my feet as I type this post, sighing every now and then to let me know of her frustration with the weather. She loves to walk with me in the forest in the deep snow, as I trudge to my trap-line, but she has to stop every 25 feet to clean out her paws, as the snow and ice build up between her toes. As you know, Golden Retrievers, Labrador Retrievers, and Chesapeake Bay Retrievers are dogs that have webbed feet, among others, of course. The snow builds up in Maggie's paws and she has to stop and nibble them clean. I tried getting her to wear booties, but she will have none of it.
After I get done with this post, I will go and tie some more trout flies, depending, of course, if my fingers don't get too numb. Unfortunately, I have to tie my flies in the basement, which is not too warm this time of year.
Saw a "Saw-Whet Owl" last evening awaiting the opportunity to extract a few rodents from the abundant population now living below one of the decks my wife uses as a giant bird feeder. These little owls are so "tame" that you can literally walk up to them where they are roosting and actually get them to perch on a finger. I have done this a number of times. Yet, they are very fierce hunters. I have seen them kill 5 or 6 mice, one right after the other, without stopping to eat them as they are killed. I have watched as they stuff the dead mice in small openings in some of the adjacent trees to let them freeze and return at a later time, extracting a mouse or two and then sitting on them until they are thawed enough to eat. These are truly amazing birds of prey.
Well, time to go. The boss has told me I have no time to tie flies as I have a roof to shovel off. Guess she heard that I just renewed my life insurance policy.
Vaya con Dios.
Hawkeye.
It is still very much winter up here on the south shore of Gitchi Gummi. The wind is sweeping off the lake from the north-northwest, making the 15 degree temperature feel like -5 degrees.
My dog, Maggie, is sitting at my feet as I type this post, sighing every now and then to let me know of her frustration with the weather. She loves to walk with me in the forest in the deep snow, as I trudge to my trap-line, but she has to stop every 25 feet to clean out her paws, as the snow and ice build up between her toes. As you know, Golden Retrievers, Labrador Retrievers, and Chesapeake Bay Retrievers are dogs that have webbed feet, among others, of course. The snow builds up in Maggie's paws and she has to stop and nibble them clean. I tried getting her to wear booties, but she will have none of it.
After I get done with this post, I will go and tie some more trout flies, depending, of course, if my fingers don't get too numb. Unfortunately, I have to tie my flies in the basement, which is not too warm this time of year.
Saw a "Saw-Whet Owl" last evening awaiting the opportunity to extract a few rodents from the abundant population now living below one of the decks my wife uses as a giant bird feeder. These little owls are so "tame" that you can literally walk up to them where they are roosting and actually get them to perch on a finger. I have done this a number of times. Yet, they are very fierce hunters. I have seen them kill 5 or 6 mice, one right after the other, without stopping to eat them as they are killed. I have watched as they stuff the dead mice in small openings in some of the adjacent trees to let them freeze and return at a later time, extracting a mouse or two and then sitting on them until they are thawed enough to eat. These are truly amazing birds of prey.
Well, time to go. The boss has told me I have no time to tie flies as I have a roof to shovel off. Guess she heard that I just renewed my life insurance policy.
Vaya con Dios.
Hawkeye.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Observations from the last few days...
Just got back from doing some renovation to a town home my wife and I own in Minneapolis. We are trying to get it ready to put on the market in June. Lots of work to be done on a place that one has lived in for over 20 years. Especially when one is told by the real estate agent that the whole house needs to be redecorated as the present decor is passe. Personally, if the house is sound, has indoor plumbing, and electrical service then it should be ready for the market after a reasonably adequate interior and exterior paint job. If one is a real estate agent, which is another name for salesperson, then that means that they will actually do something to sell it, and not, as they say, have the home sell itself. I don't know, but that just makes sense. Besides, this is a perfect starter home located in a safe and clean neighborhood, close to both grade and high schools. Oh, well, we do as we are told.
Anyhow, I returned home to our place in the Chequamegon National Forest on last Thursday evening and spent Friday doing spring maintenance. The Forest Service and State Department of Natural Resources has listed the fire danger as beyond extreme to that level where all obese people are prohibited from wearing corduroy pants and taking long walks. A couple of years ago we had the same conditions about this time of year and a fire started some three miles east of us burning through the other side of our little lake finally stopping at the banks of the Namekagon River just little over a mile from our home. It was interesting to watch the fire suppression chopper dipping this huge water bucket (well, that is what it looked like!) into our lake and dumping it on the advancing front of the fire. I was wondering just how many fish got caught up in the bucket. That would certainly make for a really bad day. Going from peacefully swimming, minding your own business, to plummeting into the fires of hell.
The weasel is back, picking off the unwary mice that frequent the area below my wife's numerous bird feeders. I watched it on Friday morning dispatching mice with a ruthless efficiency killing 4 mice within less than 10 minutes just feet away from where I was raking leaves. Since weasels are one of the few species that kill even when not hungry, I use the anthropomorphic term "ruthless" to describe its obvious concentration on its efforts and not as to its "motive." I have watched this behavior before and find it just as fascinating each time. The rock wall adjacent to where I was working apparently housed numerous mouse nests as each time the weasel entered somewhere different in the wall out it would pop (no pun intended) from another location with an adult mouse in its mouth. I am hoping that the weasel, along with the Barred Owl (at least I think it is a Barred Owl) that frequents our little forest at night, will serve sufficient to keep the mouse population somewhat under control.
When I took a walk on our beach with our golden, Maggie, later on Friday morning, I watched as a mallard pair flew just over Maggie's head as she stood in the water up to her chest. The mallards landed some 30 to 35 feet away from Maggie and then did something unusual. They swam directly up to the dog stopping about 10 feet away and remained there as Maggie stood intently staring at them. When Maggie stepped toward the ducks, ever so slowly, the ducks would swim out maintaining their distance, but not appearing flustered or frightened. I called Maggie out of the lake and the dog and I continued our walk along the shore. Sure enough, the mallard pair followed remaining about 10 feet off shore. When the dog ran at them into the lake, they just jumped up and flew a few yards further out, landed, and, again, swam directly toward the dog. I sat down in a chair on the beach and watched this "cat and mouse" game go on for some time. Finally, the dog and I left the beach, but the mallards remained behind, cruising the shoreline back and forth just in front of our house as if waiting for Maggie's return. I found it interesting, however, that when I stepped into the lake (yes, it was invigorating to say the least) the mallards furiously swam away from me out to about the distance where they had originally landed.
Stood out on the rocky point last night and watched the walleye spawning. It wasn't as busy as it was earlier in the week. I think the spawn is just about finished.
Heard the wolves howling last night. Reminds me so much of northwestern Montana near Whitefish. They sounded pretty close, just across the lake from us. I was out walking the dog for one last time before bed. She perked up her ears and then ran for the back porch. She was anxiously waiting at the backdoor whining while I slowly walked back to the house listening to the chorus of howls.
I realize there isn't a whole lot about trout fishing in this post, but I did spend some time late on Friday evening tying some Royal Coachman flies using some different colors for the abdomen, such as bright yellow, bright green, bright blue. Don't know as if I can still call them Royal Coachman flies. My wife thought the blues ones would make good earrings.
Anyhow, I returned home to our place in the Chequamegon National Forest on last Thursday evening and spent Friday doing spring maintenance. The Forest Service and State Department of Natural Resources has listed the fire danger as beyond extreme to that level where all obese people are prohibited from wearing corduroy pants and taking long walks. A couple of years ago we had the same conditions about this time of year and a fire started some three miles east of us burning through the other side of our little lake finally stopping at the banks of the Namekagon River just little over a mile from our home. It was interesting to watch the fire suppression chopper dipping this huge water bucket (well, that is what it looked like!) into our lake and dumping it on the advancing front of the fire. I was wondering just how many fish got caught up in the bucket. That would certainly make for a really bad day. Going from peacefully swimming, minding your own business, to plummeting into the fires of hell.
The weasel is back, picking off the unwary mice that frequent the area below my wife's numerous bird feeders. I watched it on Friday morning dispatching mice with a ruthless efficiency killing 4 mice within less than 10 minutes just feet away from where I was raking leaves. Since weasels are one of the few species that kill even when not hungry, I use the anthropomorphic term "ruthless" to describe its obvious concentration on its efforts and not as to its "motive." I have watched this behavior before and find it just as fascinating each time. The rock wall adjacent to where I was working apparently housed numerous mouse nests as each time the weasel entered somewhere different in the wall out it would pop (no pun intended) from another location with an adult mouse in its mouth. I am hoping that the weasel, along with the Barred Owl (at least I think it is a Barred Owl) that frequents our little forest at night, will serve sufficient to keep the mouse population somewhat under control.
When I took a walk on our beach with our golden, Maggie, later on Friday morning, I watched as a mallard pair flew just over Maggie's head as she stood in the water up to her chest. The mallards landed some 30 to 35 feet away from Maggie and then did something unusual. They swam directly up to the dog stopping about 10 feet away and remained there as Maggie stood intently staring at them. When Maggie stepped toward the ducks, ever so slowly, the ducks would swim out maintaining their distance, but not appearing flustered or frightened. I called Maggie out of the lake and the dog and I continued our walk along the shore. Sure enough, the mallard pair followed remaining about 10 feet off shore. When the dog ran at them into the lake, they just jumped up and flew a few yards further out, landed, and, again, swam directly toward the dog. I sat down in a chair on the beach and watched this "cat and mouse" game go on for some time. Finally, the dog and I left the beach, but the mallards remained behind, cruising the shoreline back and forth just in front of our house as if waiting for Maggie's return. I found it interesting, however, that when I stepped into the lake (yes, it was invigorating to say the least) the mallards furiously swam away from me out to about the distance where they had originally landed.
Stood out on the rocky point last night and watched the walleye spawning. It wasn't as busy as it was earlier in the week. I think the spawn is just about finished.
Heard the wolves howling last night. Reminds me so much of northwestern Montana near Whitefish. They sounded pretty close, just across the lake from us. I was out walking the dog for one last time before bed. She perked up her ears and then ran for the back porch. She was anxiously waiting at the backdoor whining while I slowly walked back to the house listening to the chorus of howls.
I realize there isn't a whole lot about trout fishing in this post, but I did spend some time late on Friday evening tying some Royal Coachman flies using some different colors for the abdomen, such as bright yellow, bright green, bright blue. Don't know as if I can still call them Royal Coachman flies. My wife thought the blues ones would make good earrings.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Spring Rain
It is raining out. It is an early spring rain, the kind that isn't quite certain if it wants to be rain, snow, or something in between. The sky is that grey that looks like beached carp three days dead. Even the loons are hunkered down on our little lake, stoically maintaining.
I sit at my computer looking at pictures of last year's trout adventures, laughing, sighing, dreaming. I watch as the Department of Natural Resources fishery personnel pull in their survey nets just off of the rocky point adjacent to our beach. They call it Maggie's point after our golden retriever, because, as they explained, they can locate it easily enough, as our dog has stood off the far end of the point barking in greeting every year for the last 5 years. I watch as they throw her a handful of small "Milk Bone" dog treats. She scampers into the water and retrieves as many as she can before they get too soggy and sink below the surface of the water.
I have spent the last few weeks, when I can, hiking along some of my favorite trout streams, watching the progress of the coming of spring. I make note of some of the changes that have occurred since last year, observing in some cases that what once was a tantilizing rock structure has now all but disappeared due to the spring run-off. I record the changes, take pictures of some, simply note down others. It will be interesting to see how the fishing has been affected due to these changes. That is what I like about stream fishing. It is never the same experience no matter how many times you fish the same location.
I just saw the vixen who lives up the road , carrying a rabbit in her mouth. I will have to check the den again to see if she has kits, as she has been gone from her normal routine for about a week. Maggie keeps an eye on her, but has never interfered with the fox as it passes through our forest to her den. Maggie has never been leashed or penned, so she has had ample opportunity to chase and otherwise, harrass the fox. I wouldn't be surprised to one day find Maggie out in the backyard playing with the kits as the vixen stands around watching. It would be just like Maggie.
One of the loons has just expressed its displeasure at the sight of a newly arrived eagle flying over the lake. Since these loons are nesting here-- (and there has been a nesting pair with a least one chick for over 10 consecutive years) --it appears that the eagle is getting a heads-up on what hunting opportunities exist. We have watched the drama play out numerous times over the last 10 years between the loons and the eagles. Some years the eagle has won; others, the loons. There is nothing right or wrong about it; it just is.
Well, I think I will close for now and go off to tie some more emergers, nymphs, and dry flies; and dream of warm sunshine, soft breezes, and the joy of being alone with the "...art that is performed on a four-count rhythm between ten and two o'clock." (A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean).
Vaya con Dios
I sit at my computer looking at pictures of last year's trout adventures, laughing, sighing, dreaming. I watch as the Department of Natural Resources fishery personnel pull in their survey nets just off of the rocky point adjacent to our beach. They call it Maggie's point after our golden retriever, because, as they explained, they can locate it easily enough, as our dog has stood off the far end of the point barking in greeting every year for the last 5 years. I watch as they throw her a handful of small "Milk Bone" dog treats. She scampers into the water and retrieves as many as she can before they get too soggy and sink below the surface of the water.
I have spent the last few weeks, when I can, hiking along some of my favorite trout streams, watching the progress of the coming of spring. I make note of some of the changes that have occurred since last year, observing in some cases that what once was a tantilizing rock structure has now all but disappeared due to the spring run-off. I record the changes, take pictures of some, simply note down others. It will be interesting to see how the fishing has been affected due to these changes. That is what I like about stream fishing. It is never the same experience no matter how many times you fish the same location.
I just saw the vixen who lives up the road , carrying a rabbit in her mouth. I will have to check the den again to see if she has kits, as she has been gone from her normal routine for about a week. Maggie keeps an eye on her, but has never interfered with the fox as it passes through our forest to her den. Maggie has never been leashed or penned, so she has had ample opportunity to chase and otherwise, harrass the fox. I wouldn't be surprised to one day find Maggie out in the backyard playing with the kits as the vixen stands around watching. It would be just like Maggie.
One of the loons has just expressed its displeasure at the sight of a newly arrived eagle flying over the lake. Since these loons are nesting here-- (and there has been a nesting pair with a least one chick for over 10 consecutive years) --it appears that the eagle is getting a heads-up on what hunting opportunities exist. We have watched the drama play out numerous times over the last 10 years between the loons and the eagles. Some years the eagle has won; others, the loons. There is nothing right or wrong about it; it just is.
Well, I think I will close for now and go off to tie some more emergers, nymphs, and dry flies; and dream of warm sunshine, soft breezes, and the joy of being alone with the "...art that is performed on a four-count rhythm between ten and two o'clock." (A River Runs Through It, by Norman Maclean).
Vaya con Dios
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Cruising my favorite trout streams around Gitchi Gummi
I haven't written for a while and I apologize to my many readers and fans. (Yeah, right. I think I am the only one that reads this blog.) I have spent the last month and a half looking for a new consulting contract, as I finished my last gig at the end of February. Boy, you can sure tell the economy has gone south. (Something, BTW, I should have done for the month of March). Anyhow, I haven't really wasted my time. I have built new bird houses, bird feeders, owl nesting platforms, and some twig furniture to sell at the rustic decor tourist traps. But by far my most favorite activity has been cruising the trout streams that I have fished over the years in Northern Wisconsin.
I started my examination of those streams and creeks in the middle of March, when there was still enough snow in the Chequamegon/Nicolet National forest to require snowshoes to get around. Of course, most of the streams were still locked up tight with ice, but you could see evidence of the beginnings of spring. As I have ventured out in the past few weeks, I have seen the slow awaking of the streams, the wildlife, and the surrounding forest. There are new bird songs to listen to. (Beats the heck out of the raven calls one hears all winter up here.) The sound of the flowing water creates a harmonic backdrop to the many sopranos singing in the forest canopy. Just yesterday (Saturday, April 18, 2009) I saw my first bear of the year and came across evidence of a recent visit to one of my favorite creeks by one of the many wolf packs that frequent the north country. And, of course, this entry would not be complete without mentioning the return of the nesting pair of loons to the modest lake I live on.
The leaf buds on the trees, however, are still wrapped tight as if not quite certain that they want to face the vissitudes of spring. The deer are struggling to find something to eat, and, consequently, have devastated my newly planted white cedar trees, my high bush cranberry bushes, and my dogwood shrubs.
The forest floor is still solidly frozen, but it is always the last to give up to spring. However, the damp and cold has not intimidated the hardy grouse. The drumming has begun and the forest echoes with the sound of rapidly beating wings. Cruising over the newly open water are the returning eagles and osprey. And, of course, with the retreat of the snow and the uncovering of the unfortunate victims of the long winter, there are the vultures scanning the ground from their spy-plane like vantage point.
As I venture along my streams, I dream of dewy mornings shrouded in fog while I cast a small fly to a promising riffle beyond that beckoning rock. I dream of the rise of a brook, rainbow, or dare I think, a monster brown trout. But I must be patient, as spring only has a tenuous hold on the forest. However, it grows stronger every day.
I started my examination of those streams and creeks in the middle of March, when there was still enough snow in the Chequamegon/Nicolet National forest to require snowshoes to get around. Of course, most of the streams were still locked up tight with ice, but you could see evidence of the beginnings of spring. As I have ventured out in the past few weeks, I have seen the slow awaking of the streams, the wildlife, and the surrounding forest. There are new bird songs to listen to. (Beats the heck out of the raven calls one hears all winter up here.) The sound of the flowing water creates a harmonic backdrop to the many sopranos singing in the forest canopy. Just yesterday (Saturday, April 18, 2009) I saw my first bear of the year and came across evidence of a recent visit to one of my favorite creeks by one of the many wolf packs that frequent the north country. And, of course, this entry would not be complete without mentioning the return of the nesting pair of loons to the modest lake I live on.
The leaf buds on the trees, however, are still wrapped tight as if not quite certain that they want to face the vissitudes of spring. The deer are struggling to find something to eat, and, consequently, have devastated my newly planted white cedar trees, my high bush cranberry bushes, and my dogwood shrubs.
The forest floor is still solidly frozen, but it is always the last to give up to spring. However, the damp and cold has not intimidated the hardy grouse. The drumming has begun and the forest echoes with the sound of rapidly beating wings. Cruising over the newly open water are the returning eagles and osprey. And, of course, with the retreat of the snow and the uncovering of the unfortunate victims of the long winter, there are the vultures scanning the ground from their spy-plane like vantage point.
As I venture along my streams, I dream of dewy mornings shrouded in fog while I cast a small fly to a promising riffle beyond that beckoning rock. I dream of the rise of a brook, rainbow, or dare I think, a monster brown trout. But I must be patient, as spring only has a tenuous hold on the forest. However, it grows stronger every day.
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