Red Heads on the River - 1/26/2012 - Written by Mike LaDue

The end of December ushered in some pleasant sights and sounds along the River. Ice made an attempt to lock in the River and the placid mirror like surface had not a ripple to disturb it. That was in the early morning hours of Wednesday, by afternoon the River was back to a disturbed annoyance, shedding the ice to roll along once more. It will be some time before I will be able to walk on hard water, this New Year.

The weather switch flipped (once again) on Thursday, with the high temperature of the day straining to reach 14 degrees. We decided to take a drive up River towards Massena and do some sight seeing. As we drove to the east it was evident that it has been much colder to the east of us. Crooked creek that feeds Chippewa Bay was encased in ice to the outlet. Brown cattails lined the shore of the meandering stream that lives up to its name. I made a mental note to take time to paddle that stream in the New Year.

Passing through Waddington I saw my first ice anglers on a small bay near a golf course. There were at least ten of the hearty souls enjoying first ice on a windless day. A day on the ice is not bad so long as that wind behaves, even when it is below twenty degrees. “It looks like they are having a good time and it is a nice day for it.” My Bride shuddered at the thought; “Well I see your true purpose for taking me for a “ride”, now you know where to find good ice. I suppose you plan on coming back tomorrow?” I furrowed my brow and took her hand; “This day is all about you and me baby, if that were not the case I would have brought my ice gear with me!” She shook her head in disbelief at my grand gesture of love.

Coles creek had a good many more anglers and resembled a small city. Dots of humans in dark (cold weather) suits caused me to slow down. There were tip-ups with flags waiting for a strike, while jigging rods exercised weary arms. Wee ones ran across the open white plain oblivious to the cold. A bit jealous I drove on, putting the whole matter out of mind for my gal’s sake. Near Wilson Hill I noticed a mature bald eagle hovering above us. It soared in the open sky as the bright sun highlighted its grand white feathers. This was the first one either of us has seen this season and we marveled at its size. A bit further we saw a second mature eagle sitting on ice near the open water of a bay.

We ended up driving past Massena a ways and stopped for diner. When we returned to the car after dark, the temperature had fallen into single digits. Much to my surprise there was a pair of anglers still on the Ice at Coles! They were out in the open air, with a light glowing over the holes in the ice. They huddled closely together absorbing the heat from the hissing lamp. The thermometer in the car read zero. Those two were cut from a much stronger cloth than myself and is it possible… love to fish more even than me?

Friday morning I awoke to an excited wife, proclaiming a huge raft of ducks on the River. Out in front of the cabin I could clearly see red heads and grey bodies bound together like a woven basket. With my field glasses I could see that the majority of them were Red head ducks with a few blue bills on the fringe. I quickly layered up, pulled on my boots, rain coat and my new goofy hat. With camera in hand I began my sneak to the Rivers edge for some photos. There were two rafts separated by fifty yards, with at least 500 bodies in each raft.

I watched in amazement as each of the rafts of ducks reconfigured into one large group. Ducks were flying in, while others kicked water into the air as they dove for food. Mist from the river added to the mystic of the moment. Drifting snow rained down from the sky in bundles like tornadoes. I laughed to myself at the notion of a new word, “snow-nadoes”. The reason became apparent why the raft had chosen to claim the south shore for the day. I could hear the report of gunfire from the Canadian side.

Saturday morning the event became even more spectacular. Over night the number of read heads had increased three fold! The raft when combined extended over three hundred yards, a sight these eyes have never witnessed before. The River was as calm as an august morning without a ripple to report. I could clearly hear the sound of splashing waves or falling rain against the River. It came from the myriad of ducks diving as they kicked their feet to submerge! Just imagine a thousand out of three thousand kids in a pool splashing water at one another, which was the sound…exactly.

Sunday afternoon the wind came in from the south west while the ducks frolicked in the bright sunshine. Several rafts covered the River for as far as I could see. The sun was high and reflected off of the red heads giving each raft the glow of pale roses in a well kept garden. Suddenly one raft lifted into the sky beckoning more to join. Soon the air was filled with clamoring beautiful waterfowl, sweeping, circling and joining in flight. Like a huge swarm of bees the majority of them rose to meet, greet and leave. Whistling wings and soft rapid chatter ended my encounter with the greatest flight of diving ducks I have ever seen! A great start to a New Year wouldn’t you admit?

The River Gives Up Her Heat - 12/26/11 - Written by Mike LaDue

Thickening fog obscures Carleton Island

Ghost like spirits race over the River surface.

Saturday morning the River was in the process of sending its collected heat (as fog) into the winter’s sky. I wrapped myself in a few layers of clothing and topped it off with my new Woolrich cap. It looks like the bomber caps that were worn in the Second World War, with a rabbit fur lining. I think that it was a good investment, very warm and windproof too. Sandy took one look and told me that I look goofy in it. “Between that hat and your white beard you are quite a sight. I’d say that you are all ready for the cover of Old timer’s magazine. Heck you might even get the centerfold!” Her scandalous opinion did little to daunt my enthusiasm, its all about heat retention this time of year, on the River.

  Zoey also found my cap of interest and joined me for a walk. She danced along my side keeping a watchful eye on my head piece until she realized she was not going to get it. Her focus changed to the pert frozen lawn, where she could put her nose to use. The grass crunched under foot sounding like potato chips, being crushed in the bag. There is no snow on the ground and each foot step left an impression of flattened grass. Zoey only went as far as the hill above my dock. She anchored her self close to the ground, while I went to take pictures of the River.

This is one of my favorite sights each year, the River cooling and rising to meet the clouds. The clouds were being pressed down by an unseen hand, ready to greet and collect the air borne moisture. At times the Shore of Carleton Island faded in the mist while the drifting white banks heaved forward, driven by an east wind. In front of my dock swirls of ghostly images twisted and marched forward like spirits skimming the River’s surface. Each toppled over one another creating larger transparent veils courting the clouds. It was a continual dance of fog, wind and clouds rising, drifting and mixing.

We had a cool, that is to say cold day on Saturday. To be honest with you, it was also a cool day to take a trip along the Rivers shore. I persuaded Sandy to join me for some shopping in the Cape and a ride out on Tibbett’s Point. The sun was playing hide and seek between low flying clouds and the fog still rose (but) with less effort. We enjoyed seeing the dark silhouettes of black ducks dabbling along side gadwalls and mallards. I tried in vain to get a close photo of them near to shore. As soon as the car slowed down they bee-lined in the opposite direction to a safe distance.

There were ducks all along the route out to the Lighthouse. Sandy had to watch the road as I tend to put more effort into watching the wildlife than the road, myself. I think she gets more nervous than the critters I try to sneak up on! “Hey get back on your own side of the road, your just as bad as my father was. Would you please pay attention to what you are doing?” I thought I was paying attention to what I wanted to be doing.

Somehow we made it safely to the light house in time to see a ship passing from the river into the Lake. We both were mesmerized by the vision of the large steel hull that appeared to be floating on clouds. It entered the lake and it shrunk in size as the horizon swallowed it up… whole.

The thought occurred to me that a New Year is almost here and that I should set another goal for me, my Lyman and the River. Sandy and I have made trips to each end of Wolfe Island and out into the lake, past Mud Bay. We have gone just past Clayton to circle Round Island and return home. 2012 will be my year to explore the River further. I want to see her shallow bays on each side, smell the air and feel the distinct significance of every location. I’d like to camp in a park or two in a pup tent while enjoying a camp fire. A good many areas of our River is still a wilderness to my eyes and what a fool I would be to not take it all in.

I think that I will also introduce some new people to the River. As much as I enjoy each of my trips they are always enhanced when seen through new eyes. I am looking forward to my eldest Son’s family returning to the River, it has been five years too long. The last time they were here my grandson was but a toddler. He is now ready to get a rod into his hands and a feel for that which keeps us enchanted. You’ll forgive me if I now lean back into my chair and close my eyes, to day dream a bit about the year to come…

Good health, steady work and happiness to you, through out the coming year!

River heat rises to meet the clouds.