Pictures off Carleton Island - taken by Mike LaDue

Setting of a full November Moon - 11/14/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

The River has been taking its toll on my old worn out body. Each day that I am able, I travel in the Lyman to cast my arm off, in search of northern pike or a hungry musky. Bobbing waves rock me in the wood hulled craft, like a mother soothing her babe. I have to tell you that at times, it is tempting to lean back for twenty winks under the blue skies. Being the only boat on the River (most of the time) I am well aware of where I just might end up. The winds have been from the south west while I fish and a “quick nap” would land me on or near the shores of Wolfe Island. I am also well aware of the consequences associated with waking up in a boat with fishing equipment in Canadian waters, no thank you!

After one such grueling day “working” for fish on the River, I took a nap in the sanctuary of my cabin. Sandy had prepared me a warm pot of beef vegetable soup from her own recipe. She uses the Wagner ware Dutch oven that was my mothers and grandmothers. It is as welcome a sight after a cool day on the River, as is my comfortable chair after lunch. The combination of each leads me to an excellent slumber there after. My dreams lead me to quiet waters and large fish, many of which are too large for the net and some as long as the Lyman! My dream trips are always more productive than reality.

“Mike wake up, there is a brilliant full moon setting out front! You have to see this.” The fish that I had on, was large and almost to the net, when the aforementioned exclamation of excitement separated me from my dream. After a long stretch, I lumbered from the easy chair to look over the River and see a full November moon setting. I may have been groggy, but my instincts directed me to my camera and back upstairs to the balcony. Slight wisps of clouds hung to the bottom of the illuminated globe as it settled between cedar trees. I could not have dreamed such a perfect close to the day of my 92^nd trip in the Lyman.

Saturday I opted to make a change in my outdoor habits, I had an urge do some venison searching. I could not have picked better day, it was cool and bright in the morning. I did some still hunting, taking slow steps and scanning the woods for any movement. A brisk wind shielded the sounds from the crisp fallen leaves which surrounded my boots. The woods were void of bird activity and most of the movement I caught was that of falling leaves.

An old pine tree held a young porcupine outside of a large hole in the tree. As it heard me coming it turned its back to me and flared its quills in my direction. I stood still and watched it turn to face me, an inquisitive little fellow. It had an obscure face with two tiny black eyes that feared my presence. It was the size of a basket ball with a tail covered in spiny quills. Another step and it repeated the display from the rear. To be honest with you it made the hair on the back of my neck react in the same matter. There are two creatures that I do not want to adjutant… skunks and porcupines, each for the obvious reason, distinct to their breed.

Sunday morning the River had a steady blow from the south-west inviting me to add to my season setting goal in the Lyman. The sunshine sparkled on the deep blue River surface as I watched a CSL freighter approach the west end of Carleton Island. The islands are now in the winter mode. Leafless trees have over taken the horizon with smatterings of blue sky, poking through the tree tops. Sad looking cottages look stark and lifeless, some of which have lost their hearts. Changes are inevitable but not always welcome, such is the pulse of life as we know it. This day I was meant to enjoy the gift that was handed to me; sunshine, warmth and a bit of fishing.

The morning outing (ride #93) did not yield a fish. The lure sailed a good distance with the wind on each cast. I jigged it, reeled it slowly and only managed one strike that held onto a northern, briefly. I spent over two hours sitting on the cool vinyl seats of the Lyman. My hands were cold, my butt was frozen and the wind did not help matters. The thought of breakfast over took my urge to fish further. I left the boat in the River knowing that another ride would end my afternoon.

At 3:00 PM I returned to the River under a cloudy sky. Inverted mountains of clouds drifted to the north east. It was like looking over the Adirondacks from the seat of a plane, with white peaks and sunken dark valleys. It was an unusual sight from the seat of a boat, to say the least. My third long cast from the boat skipped the lure like a stone, splashing down. I decided to speed up my retrieve, just to try something different from the morning attempt.

A solid strike and unwilling participant engulfed the silver doctor spoon. She was the best Pike of my life (over 10 pounds). She peeled line from the reel like a strong small mouth! Around and under the boat she went, not slowing down for five minutes. I prepared the net for a scoop and the sight of it sent her on another driving dive to the edge of the weeds. A tug of war ensued and to my relief she came free of the carpeted bottom.

I set the tired fish onto a plastic bag and had to remove the barbless hooks from her gills. It was a task… with one hand holding her still as I while tried to pull the lure from beneath the gills, to minimize any severe damage. The lure dropped nicely into the net and then I had to unclasp the wire leader with one hand. All said and done she recovered and scooted off in good shape. The next cast I caught another pike of normal size and then two more before daylight slipped away.

I am hopeful that November will continue with this spectacular weather. I have caught more pike in the last two weeks than I have over the last several years. I know that it just a matter of time before a cruising musky finds one of my lures. Who knows, with just six more rides to reach one hundred for the season that may be the number where fate and luck coincide?

  

My Faulty Shotgun - October 24, 2011 - Written by Mike LaDue

Sunday night I took my pup out for a walk around the yard. She sniffed all about the ground, looking for any remaining scent that may have been left by a cottontail. As she took care of her business, I realized the overwhelming silence. The wind was still, the stars were bright and the moon has waned to nothing. I strained my ears and hoped to hear at least one cricket. That beautiful chorus that I took for granted during the late summer has ended. The air temperature was at 35 degrees, the coolest that it has been along the river so far. Isn’t it amazing how in tune to the weather even the insects are!

 Sandy called for the septic to be pumped and the man who came had his own idea as to where the tank might be. I told him that I thought that it was in front of the small cabin. He said “No, I think that it should be over here between the cabins.” He began and continued to dig test spots, after hitting some solid surface with a probe. At each location he unearthed a good many rocks and stones, finding no tank. Rain came and sent him on his way until another day. The lawn looked like the woodchuck from the movie “Caddy Shack” had relocated here.

Friday the weather improved and he returned to dig again. This time I had started a hole where I thought the tank was. He took the hint and expanded the area, finding the tank and emptying its contents. He left the bill with Sandy and the lawn for me. Saturday morning I went out and proceeded to rake out the rocks and sod to fix the lawn. Really it all worked to my benefit as I needed some large stone to fill in the driveway, where heavy rain had created a shallow culvert. Of course removing the stone will make the next septic encounter easier too.

The day was bright with clean refreshing air, blown in by a west wind. I could hear a barrage of gunfire from time to time, as water fowlers ushered in the second season. Cormorants flew low over the River while Canada geese kept high in the air, avoiding any contact with the duck hunters. Through out the morning I listened to honking geese pass by, one flock after another. A strange sound caught my ear, a low guttural honk followed by a gurgled purr of sorts. I stood with my neck craned upward, scanning the sky to see the creator of the unusual sound. They sounded a bit like swans trying out a new tune. Finally a flock of brant appeared overhead flying in a V formation. At least thirty of them were gabbing back and forth as they traveled the shoreline towards the lake. As I said before the task at hand worked to my benefit, I got to see and hear something new.

 This past week also gave me ample opportunity to get into the fields with my pup. She is only 9 months old and is doing exceptionally well for her age. She is responsible for putting some pheasants and woodcock into the freezer so far. Of course I have missed my share and she is not to blame. I think the following note that I sent to my friend, will set the story straight.

Hi Vic,

So, I am going to sell that shotgun you sold me 25 years ago! I hunted hard on the last day of the turkey season and finally intercepted a flock at noon. I drew down on a tom and fired. He hopped off of the ground and the flock split in two directions. All right; “I’ll just sit here and call one back.” An hour went by and not a bird showed up. So then, I figured that I would stalk back through the woods and the three ravines, I had already crossed once. Not a bird to be seen or a sound from one either. When I climbed over the last ravine, I saw two long necked red headed toms not forty yards away. One shot later from “your” faulty gun, nothing dropped again!

They ran to the open field over the rise. I chased after them and saw to my astonishment, “10” mature gobblers looking back at me within gun range. I shot twice more and once again nothing dropped. One flew to the creek while the others just sort of walked away! I stood motionless scanning the ground for a dead bird; surely I must have gotten one at such a close range…nope. Now I was down to two shotgun shells. To my surprise they did not flee across the open field, but opted to “hide” in the cattails by the creeks edge.

I hustled my butt, along with the two remaining shells loaded in the inaccurate Remington 870, down to the edge of the marsh. Suddenly a bunch of glowing red headed gobblers set a striking pre-flight pose. As they began to clamor for space to get airborne the air was full of beating wings. I drew down on one and it collapsed into the reeds. My second shot found nothing but a big hole of empty space between the fleeing toms.

I seem to recall that you indicated a thirty year warranty on the accuracy of the product? I will be sending it back to you for a replacement or a “full” refund. Now you may be asking yourself; “How was that same shotgun able to drop teal in front of your lab while we hunted Braddock’s Bay in front of “Lonesome George’s.” At this point I think that you were the one actually doing the shooting and hypnotized me into believing that I could hit those little ducks. Nice TRY!

Now on to other matters; How has you’re water fowling been to date? I have yet to dedicate a day to it, as my truck is off the road and in need of repair. Also the River has been in a “mood swing” for the last two weeks. Wind has been out of the west, east or north with rising waves. My new Britt has been doing well; she has gotten me 5 pheasants and two woodcock to date. Don’t get excited, I used my other shotgun, the over/under that I bought from Rabjohn in Hamlin, you’re still on the hook…

Mike

Vic’ replies; I would be more than glad to take the faulty gun back. I know how you take care of your guns. I believe I can double my money back on the gun! Maybe you should consider a small scope for your gun (author’s note; sure now he wants to sell me a scope and is indicating that I can’t see!). He continues; just the other day it took me two shots to kill one duck; I guess that I should have blamed the gun. I said to myself at age 70 maybe my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Concerning the picture of the turkey, did you go home and change guns, are you sure you didn’t flock shoot?

Duck season has been real bad, after the youth day all of the ducks were gone. I went over to “lonesome George’s” and set up. Opening day and I saw just two ducks all morning, Sunday I never saw a one. There were a couple of shots on the bay and that was it. Well have a nice day and be sure to return the “faulty” gun.

Vic

Vic is 70! Really… he does not look a day over 69. You would think that a mature individual would be less sarcastic. Of course I would never tell Vic my sentiments. He still makes the best smoked salmon on the planet and I would not want to jeopardize our “firm” relationship over a petty issue like an old shotgun. Who am I to cast aside a life long friendship over a few missed turkeys? As they say; “the way to a mans heart is through his stomach.” I concur…

Mike LaDue Monday, October 24, 2011

      

Ed's Visit - 10/10/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

After two weeks of inactivity (in my Lyman) I finally returned to the River for some fishing. My cousin came for a visit and picked a perfect October weekend to enjoy the outdoors. Our only problem was to decide what to pursue, fish or game. The days ahead called for unusually nice weather so we put off the fishing. Friday morning we went on a casual turkey hunt to absorb the fall foliage, crisp clean air and a down right hot sun.

The scenery along the route to the woods varied amongst the trees. A few maples had orange and red crowns while many still held fast to vibrate green leaves. A good many oaks have turned over the season and now wear dusty brown or gold foliage. Cattails have given up their soft green color that swayed in the breeze all summer. The borders that surround French creek are now outlined by golden brown cattails with cigar heads. The meandering snake like outline of the creek is an impressive sight. It is one of my favorite places to explore and listen to nature.

 My cousin has slowed down and he has trouble with long walks. I had him sit in a clear area of the woods with decent visibility, where the sun would bake his bones. I knew that a nap was inevitable and wondered if he would only see turkeys in his dreams. The woods proved to be barren of any current turkey activity. I saw some recently shed feathers and a large dusting spot. The soil there was fresh and looked soft like talcum powder. A few under belly feathers clung to the dirt while a soft breeze gave them rise to linger in the air. Turkeys had been there in the morning and perhaps they passed a sleeping, snoring creature under a tree. There may have been a missed opportunity for one being and longer days in the woods for another.

Saturday morning the River had a soft flow to the east driven by a west wind. We lowered the Lyman and had to each stretch to get a foot hold on the gunnels. The river is low… and the boat now rests in the water almost four feet below my dock. We went out to a nice looking weed bed, to cast for pike. My cousin was content to sit in the stern with a hot cup of coffee between his hands, listening to the River lap against the hull. I pulled in a pile of weeds and had some small perch follow my doctor spoon. As with the turkeys, the pike were elsewhere that morning.

Perch fishing was a bit better, with us each keeping active at rods end. The River only gave up a few decent perch, not enough for our breakfast, so they were turned loose. The wind put an end to our morning as it blew us along at a good clip. Our jigs were riding high near the surface with two split shot on each line, made of soft metal. Since lead is now banned for fishing weights, it is difficult to rig a line without excessive bulk. The new versions of split shot (weights) are much lighter. They are still being made in increments of ¼ ounce and mimic lead in design, while the actual sizes have doubled. I am sure someone will find a suitable replacement eventually, followed by hefty price.

In the afternoon I steamed some top neck clams which I ordered from a grocer in Watertown. These clams are of a size in between little necks and cherry stone, leaning towards the size of the latter. They were surprisingly sweet and tender for the size and my guests all but finished the 200 steamers. No one went away hungry and everyone purred with delight with each batch. The cost was only $3.49 a dozen, very reasonable compared to the smaller variety. My bride was able to freeze enough clam broth (for fish chowder) to last until spring, an added bonus!

The shore line of the River is rapidly losing the seasonal residents. Most of the boat hoists and docks have been moved to high ground. What a shame, they are missing some of the best weather of the season, not to mention the changing landscape. Sunday I drifted outside the entrance to Millen’s Bay in a warm breeze. I had no more than a tee shirt and shorts on for most of the afternoon. There are two tall poplar trees at the shores edge, by the bays entrance and I noticed drifting leaves in the River.

My eyes followed the huge grey tree trunks, where the leaves were shedding from swaying branches. One by one they twirled in spirals settling on the River like tiny parchment boats. The song “autumn leaves” came to mind and played in my head as I watched what must have been the inspiration for that song, long ago. Each leaf floating through the air drifted exactly like the descending (light taps) on the keys of a piano.

  The version that I remember was by Roger Williams. It was the only piano instrumental to ever reach number one on the Billboard charts and it remains the best selling piano record of all time! Only tonight while doing some research, did I find out that Mr. Williams left this world… the same day that I recalled his song. This natural world that God has created inspires us, awes us and is a timeless link to our past, present and future. As beautiful as that song is to remember, it would not have come to be without some simple falling leaves…

Steve's October Visit - 10/17/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

What began as an exceptional autumn week became a classic one. Monday through Thursday the temperatures were reflective of the summer season, deliciously warm and mild. It was actually too warm to take my pup afield most of the week. The lawn was cut and the yard raked, while I wore swim trunks and a t- shirt. I even hopped into the river to do some adjusting on my railway system, for what will remain of the boating season. As Thursday turned to afternoon I could not contain my need to run the pup. Warm or not it is autumn, a season that always comes up too short for me no matter how often I am able to enjoy it.

Zoey and I tackled some heavy red osier, where she zipped about under the orange leaves and red barked clusters of head tall osier. I could hear her bell and the distinct flushing of a wood cock from that direction. The long beaked, brown game bird flew past me in plain view. I swung my 20 gauge and sent two rounds of pellets in the general direction, trimming some leaves in the process. Zoey came flying out to see what all the commotion was about. “Sorry Zip, that one caught me off guard, I’ll try and do better next time.”

It did not take long me for to get winded, fighting piles of brush with limited visibility in any direction. Zoey had built up a good head of steam too, she was panting and keeping close to my heals. “We’ll leave the woodcock be for another day, when it is appropriately cool for such an activity”. She and I had a long drink, before walking the distance back to the car through some strip cut fields. I have to tell you that it was warm, I had to pause to let steam out from under my collar and it did little to cool me off. Swinging the over /under on a bird was the last thing on my mind…

Zoey stopped and turned her head, to sniff into a strip of grass mixed with brush. She went headlong into the pile where I soon lost sight of her; just the ringing bell let me know her location. The next sound was that of rooster pheasant rising from the grass with loud objection. The sun was behind me bouncing off of his burgundy chest and long stripped tail. His green head and ring neck lead him quickly away from me and the dog. This time it took but one shot to settle the matter and I called for Zoey to come.

She ran past me a bit further than where the bird went down. “Here Zoey, find you’re bird… over here.” Not a chance, she was on a mission and I soon discovered why. A second rooster broke from his hiding place that the pup had unraveled. Somewhat surprised I swung on the second bird, rattling its tail and nothing more. His cackling trailed off as he flew out of sight. Zoey settled down and located the first rooster on the ground. She gave him a good sniffing over and she seemed to smile at her capability to provide so much fun!

Friday night we had company on the way up and a complete turnaround in the weather. The balmy days turned furious with wind and bellowing rain filled monsters flying over head. The River was welcoming early Friday evening. By midnight the sounds of an angry cold front rattled the river into a constant booming chorus. Wave after wave slapped the shore line like a jilted girl on a date. I could here the docks being tormented as the waves rushed through open planks to settle on the deck of each.

Thunder and limited lightening gave me a good night’s sleep. I enjoy the rocking commotion of a thunder storm while immersed in soft sheets, under a warm quilt. I kept my head to the pillow into mid-morning, while my guests were up and about just after sunrise. My son, Steve interrupted my first cup of coffee to ask me how to see photos on my camera. I was immediately suspect as to his previous actions. He must have taken some “nice” shots of his father during a sound sleep. “My phone… I don’t know how to use that phone let, alone get any photos from it!” I thought that an artful dodge might sidetrack his thought process long enough for me to escape embarrassment.

“Take a sip of coffee, pap. I said how do I get to see them on your camera?” With a startled look I said; “Hand it over to me… I don’t remember right this minute… let me work on it.” I took possession and went into the photo file; I did recall how to use the delete key.

The first photo that I saw was that of a rainbow settled near the end of Carleton Island. He had managed to capture the image and its reflection, on our dock! The next shot that “lucky” took was of the other end of that same rainbow as it lit near the shore line of Carleton drive, on the mainland. “What time did you take these? So you just saw my camera lying around and thought you would use it? I am shocked by you’re brazen use of my property!”

“Listen, you were asleep, I saw an event that you would have captured if you had been up. I just wanted you to see what you were missing, not bad huh? Bet you wish you got your (lazy) can up a bit earlier this morning. You have been here a long time and I have not seen any rainbow photos as nice as these, you have to agree!” They go from being children, to kids, to a constant reminder of how you once were and will always be thanks to them…