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.

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