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.