A River Walk - 2/08/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

Toby's fountain of youth, snow on the River

Toby running to the setting sun near shore

The orange winter globe settles between whispering pines

An Outdoorsman’s view on the River 
Mike Ladue is a Cape Vincent resident who observes and writes about river life.

With each day getting longer I have more time, with additional daylight. I now look out over the large (white) expanse of a sealed River. From here to Carleton and beyond to Wolfe Island, the ice is firm and beckons me do some adventuring. It is a short period of time which I relish, a time when I get to walk upon the water! Don’t get me wrong, I am longing for the end of March and a new season of boating too. To me this unique silent environment represents a renewal of sorts. It provides me with a chance to experience the St. Lawrence as did the first explorers, all alone (aside from my dog).

  Toby, my Britt is a “snow bunny” from the first snowfall to the last. As soon as he sets his paws into a fresh powder he becomes a puppy once again. He will be ten years old this year, a fair shake older then me in dog years. I wish I had his energy and drive to have so much fun! His head perks up with alert ears and his whole body trembles with excitement. He knows that this is the only time of year that he is free to run and does it nonstop. I cannot leave the premises without him by my side, not a chance.

I prefer to take my “River” walks in the late afternoon when I may get to photograph a magnificent winter sunset. There are days when the clouds and snow prevent me from catching a glimpse of the sun. On those days I enjoy the vast horizon, shuffling through the snow and watching cascading flakes, tumble to the ice. The ice will often play a symphony of sounds as it expands; cracking and rearranging. It is a sound that evokes primeval emotions, those of uncertainty as to the soundness of my exploration. I can feel the shiver of the thunder from below as the sound rages towards me, under me and drifts away. Few things that I have encountered are more eerie or delightful!

Toby (the young clown) adds a great deal of entertainment to our walks. He races off to investigate all of the silent dwellings that harbor no human life. Each place is a cause for inspection, not a wall goes unnoticed. Suddenly I will feel a slap to my leg as he zooms past, in an attempt to get me to play with him. He will splay his front legs over the snow and drop his head for an all out charge. All he needs is a solid stare back from me and he comes headlong to bump me, with another pass. We will continue this until he sees something else, more worthwhile to pursue.

When my dog is off playing I get to envelope the surroundings. The Islands never appear as isolated as they do from the ice. Each one stands alone, as if suspended on some frozen planet, a pillar of pines, cedar, and barren oaks awaiting a rebirth. The wind whispers through their outstretched wood, singing the chorus of lonely desolation. At my feet the snow flushes away with each step leaving a brief trail, one that will be gone by morning. By living the experience of the River in winter I can understand the draw to hike the high peaks of the world. What it is like to feel the oneness of man to nature. I become a small insignificant molecule, just a dot on the face of our earth.

 This day, an outing in February, the sun broke from the clouds to settle down to the horizon. An overwhelming sense of place overtook my being as I watched it transform into an orange/red glowing globe. Its light filtered through snowflakes illuminating each, as if they were    each stars in their own right. I felt warm, content and happy to be a part of this rare and magical day.  

 Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder and I have a front seat to the magnificent icy tundra, where life is suspended for a brief time. Many people live to return to the River, during the pleasant months of summer. I live to enjoy the River in each season and each season is just as wondrous as the next.

Coyote-Iced Pike - 2/07/11 - Written by Mike Ladue

A coyote on the River in front of Carleton Island

A 36" Pike Mike caught over to Three Mile Bay

An Outdoorsman’s view on the River 
Mike Ladue is a Cape Vincent resident who observes and writes about river life.

The River is now a white expanse, covered in snow with few open spots. Activity has picked up, as various bodies ply the surface for different reasons. Every day brings a fresh view as the mounding snow fall changes, in dept and consistency. I have ventured out onto the River and over by the lake these past two weeks, to enjoy the “hard water”.

I have been watching in the evening for the predators to make an appearance, from my cabin window. A few coyotes have braved the open space over the River, with caution. They do not like human interaction and fly like a bolt of lightening when they see someone. A grey shadow will appear over the snow like an apparition, where a moment before nothing existed. The dark shadow eases along testing the wind and sniffing the surface. Often the coyote will crane its head over its shoulder to make sure that it is alone.

As I was grilling some dinner one afternoon near sunset, I could hear the train on the mainland of Canada. The whistle blew as the train crossed roads and the lonesome echo made its way to my ears. Soon a chorus of barking erupted from the west end of Carleton Island. I do not know if the coyotes were responding to the train (as some dogs do). Their vocal excitement was answered by another pack of coyotes near the middle of the island. Barking continued to be exchanged for several minutes. Maybe one group had taken an animal and was willing to share it. The barking may have been a way to herd a deer into a vulnerable situation where the coyotes would have the upper hand. Perhaps one pack was encroaching on the other and it was a warning to keep their distance. The actual motivation is only know by the coyotes and I am left to wonder.

A couple of Saturday’s back it was a bright sunny morning, when a lone coyote wandered into view. It was meandering about and took a seat on the snow, to absorb some of the sunlight. A light breeze parted the long wispy winter coat, on its back. This coyote showed no concern or effort to go anywhere else. From time to time it got up to chose a different spot to sit, coming nearer the shore line. I may have gotten an opportunity to photograph it, given enough time. When next I looked a pair of ice fishermen were leaving shore and the sun absorbing shadow had vanished into thin air.

These fishermen set some tip-ups and were joined by three dogs. The dogs raced behind the four wheeler each time a flag snapped into the wind, to signal a “fish on”. After watching the activity for an hour and an increasing rise in temperature, I got the itch to go myself. I packed my portable shanty and jig poles to head over to Three Mile Bay, to enjoy a mild afternoon. It was too nice a day to spend inside looking out!

A dozen folks were on the ice a few hundred yards out. I pulled my shanty to a spot near them, after a very “warm stretch of the legs”. Once I had the black structure erected, I had increased my body temperature, enough to cause steam to rise from my neckline. I shed my outer garments, set up two jig poles and commenced to fish. The sun was beaming down and it was warm and comfortable in the little space. A few perch began to cooperate and I was starting to smell them in a fry pan, no really! It was not my imagination, a group of anglers to my north, (upwind) were cooking bacon and eggs. I began to think that their real occupation was that of “professional tormenters”. While they enjoyed a hot meal I picked up my jigging pace in an attempt to relieve some frustration. As a matter of fact I was using both poles just a jigging the daylights out of em! It is hard to fish when your mouth is watering and your nose is wandering. “Come on fish! Come on! I need a nice big perch”…

The old jig pole in my right hand took a dive towards the black hole, over which it dangled. I dropped the other pole from my left hand. Grasping the small spool of four pound test, I let loose the plastic nut that holds the jig at depth. The two foot rod end bounced, as I let line free spool following some toothy critter, which I was sure to loose. Suddenly my mouth had dried up and I was no longer suffering from aroma saturation. Now my mind was focused on seeing just what was clamped onto the perch jig.

Line went out, the fish shook, I reeled in and we replayed the sequence again and again. Each time it came nearer the black hole. I saw a black dotted green tail; it was that of a good northern… Wow! Fortunately for me some fellow anglers were near by and I hollered to see if they might have a gaff. One of them went to search near his tip-ups for it, while his partners came over to coach me. “Don’t bring it close to the hole, you will loose it!” I said: “It is already here at the hole resting, the jig is just in the corner of its mouth.” After five minutes the gaff arrived and the fellow missed his first attempt. A flash of tail and a gust of speed sent the pike to the bottom to sulk.

I slowly regained the line to the spool and the large head of a 36” northern was just below the ices rim. This time “Beaver” cinched the deal and hoisted the fish clear onto the ice. I thanked him and his companions for the assistance, had they not been there the outcome would have been much different. The perch fishing picked up and I was able to secure enough for two meals. I turned the pike into some thin jerky and made a batch of pickled pike that is the best I have ever made (myself). While it is nice to sit in a warm cabin to watch the activity of others, you can’t beat the excitement of participating! Go enjoy the outdoors in winter; we have just a short time left…

A Snow Memory - 1/24/11 - Written by Mike Ladue

Early morning frost

Weed covered in ice at Cape Vincent boat launch

An Outdoorsman’s view on the River 
Mike Ladue is a Cape Vincent resident who observes and writes about river life.

The heart of winter does not have a lot of heart this year. Arctic fronts have been harassing my efforts to enjoy the outdoors, keeping me close to the cabin. I have been getting brief exposures of vitamin “D” from the sun, while keeping the driveway clear. Of course it is hard to get much while being dressed in several layers of outer garments. My nose and cheeks have the burden of absorbing the limited amount of sunshine present. I keep everything else under tight wraps.

Yesterday I went out to clear the drifts in the afternoon. Negative five degrees and I felt like the Pillsbury dough boy waddling about and eventually turned just as white as he. The snow was blowing out of the snow thrower, in a shower, like fine sand. It did not matter where I pointed the (convenient?) adjustable shoot. The light breeze found a way to send the fluttering cloud to settle on to me. Just like my efforts to avoid the smoke of a campfire, always in vain. At least I was able to keep the snow from worming its way down the back of my neck. That is the worst place to take the winter’s melting tangible breath.

I took to remembering my youthful years when the snow was as welcome as a summer swim.  The building of snow men, snow forts and snow angels kept me outdoors for hours, oblivious to the cold. The only way to keep warm was to be active, all of the time! My winter cloths consisted of two pairs of blue jeans, three pairs of socks, home made mittens and thin pair of black buckle boots. Those boots were cold from the time that I put them on and had the thermal value of ice. When my siblings were unaware I would borrow a coat or scarf to add a layer of comfort. How I never suffered from frost bite is still a mystery to me.

Most days I would be by myself or my older sister would join me in snow bound fun. Everything would start out innocent enough, with us working on a project. Snow men were always different and size was determined by the snow quality, the wetter the better. We would add sticks for arms, coal for eyes and eat the carrot that was meant for the nose. Coal worked ok for the nose or a short blunt stick would do the trick. With an inanimate object standing in front of us it was only natural to chose it as a target. We would fire snow balls to see who could knock off the nose and arms. Wouldn’t you know that one of those snow balls would suddenly, without warning smack my sister on the back of her head?

Suddenly her demeanor would become down right mean, as if I had perpetrated the event with some thoughtful reasoning! Her aim was never as good as mine and distance made her effort all the more frustrating for her. Her remedy was to close the gap; I mean bare down on me like a tornado. At ten feet she would find her mark, plastering my face with a stinging zinger! Caught up in the moment she was unable to call it even yet. Her next move was to take two fists full of snow and ram them home between my hat, scarf and back.

You would think that that would have satisfied hers sense of balance on the issue of my careless (unintended) action. No,No,No… Now she had to hold all of that snow firmly in place while I hollered and squealed, as it turned into ice water. The trickle would then saturate its way down my back into areas that were sacred to me. At that point I had no other reasonable choice but to return the favor. Her wailing was much more original than mine and could attract a crowd from as far as a ¼ mile away! Some neighborhood kids would scurry to watch the ruckus and take sides, as I said the event was a day long affair. Snow balls flew followed by thuds, thumps and laughter. None of us ever called it quits until the sunset and we never were any warmer than on those days in winters gone by.

Thanks to my sister I learned early on what a girl was capable of doing and avoided any close contact with them (for some time) there after. But wouldn’t you know that I had many more similar, pleasurable episodes with the opposite gender in those same circumstances. Go figure?