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?
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