So here it is my last article… for
‘2012’. The binder that I put my weekly writings in is grateful to receive the
final one. I have been unusually talkative this past year and the binder is
barely able to hold the contents. I wish to thank all of you for taking the
time to read my ‘view’ on River life. I have met a lot of new people over this
past year and many of them were like minded readers. Nothing gives more
pleasure than to know that my efforts are noticed, read and enjoyed by you!
I went back through my photo files in
an effort to recapture this twelfth year of the new century, on our River. As
you may imagine I do have a lot of photos! It took me some time to get through
them all, as I could not help but reminisce. I paused to admire the wildlife;
loons, waterfowl, song birds, heron, deer and turkey. Photos of smiling faced
relatives and friends captured in and on the River, harvesting the memories of
summer. I can sit here and look out of my Lyman into the summer sun as it sets
with a string of fish tethered to the gunnels. Yes, my photo’s help to get me
through the short days of winter.
I enjoyed a number of ‘first time’
events this year. A call from Captain Ken Hartman of Uncle Sam boat tours led
to a trip to see Singer Castle. My bride and our friends included our little
princess, taking the tour of the Castle. She was thrilled to see an actual
‘Castle’. Then much to my surprise we were invited to return for a nights stay,
so long as we brought the ‘princess’ back with us. You see every castle has to
have a princess! Ours spent a month of dreaming of the event before her return.
I thought that she was going to crawl out of the boat and swim for it, as soon
as she spied ‘her’ castle. That was a gift of great measure for a little girl who
is full of wonder and dreams.
A few weeks back I was invited to
take a charter to hunt autumn Muskie with Captain Matt Heath. During our many
conversations Matt’s dad, Doug asked me what I thought of the trip to the
castle. I told him that it was an experience that I will never forget, one that
everyone (who is able) should do. Doug replied: “My father was the caretaker
out there while Marjorie Bourne still owned the place. I was young and had the
run of the Castle most of the year until ice-up. I look back on it now as a
very unusual experience for a kid to have had, back then it was Dad’s work and
my playground.” I could not help but imagine how grand it must have been! This
River, this place, is a continuing story with personal connections as broad as
the River itself. Whether you camp here for a weekend or are blessed to spend
the whole summer, it will captivate you.
My neighbor Don noticed that a
humming bird was going in and out of one of his cedar trees, last spring. He put
up a ladder to find a tiny nest nestled in the boughs with three eggs in it.
The next day he invited me over to take a photo of the nest. Overnight the eggs
had hatched and three tiny black leathery figures with orange beaks huddled
together. I gingerly pulled aside the branches for a photo. This was my first
humming bird nest and I could not be more excited.
Don said: I’ll put the ladder up each week
until they are gone so that you can watch them grow.” I’m sure that you know
how quickly birds mature from fuzzy little chicks to adults. The first photo I
took was on June 15th and the last one I took was on June 30th.
I think that humming birds, with their diet of sugar have the fastest chick
rearing of all. In just fifteen days they went from naked featherless bodies
with triangular beaks to emerald colored feathers with long beaks. The next
week when I checked the nest, they had already begun life’s journey. From then
on I began to see the yearly humming bird wars take place.
Thanks to Don and the nest watch, I
have come to the conclusion that the hummers that dive bomb one another are the
young of the year. For a long time I have wondered why the tiny pollinators
become territorial over the sugar feeders. They look like First World War air
craft dipping and diving nearly hitting one another in flight. The chatter that
they make is comical. The display is continuous and it is the time when they
throw caution to the wind. At times they nearly hit my head when in the heat of
playful bantering which is another indicator of ‘youthful folly’.
Last winter was iceless on much of
the River. In January we had a winter rain shower which produced a rainbow over
the channel close to Wolfe Island. I missed out on exploring the River surface
across the ice and the isolated, energetic, soothing ripples of wind making
swirling snow-tornadoes. My fishing through the hard water was in the sheltered
bays where the water was shallow and the fishing slow. Very little snow ever
materialized and the ground lay bare (here) all winter. My weekly trips on the
sound ice helped me to maintain peace of mind while the days grew longer.
I took a photo of the river level in
February of last year. At that point it looked like we were in for a doozey of
spring. The River was high and thrashing debris onto my cement pad against the
boathouse. That was the high point for the year, as the River began to dwindle
(down) early. When it came time to set my Lyman up in the River it was well
below the previous season’s level. We all watched helplessly as it continued
into August when many boaters had to call it a season, removing their boats. I
took another picture of the river level in November and you can see the stark
contrast. It will take a tremendous amount of snow, runoff and rain to rectify
that situation this next year.
The river level not withstanding it
was a good spring and summer. I found the perch and bass fishing to be good for
a few weeks in June and July. My son, Steve and I had a great opening day with
us each catching a pair of small mouths. It was a hot day and we each wore pink
skin home after a great day of fishing. We had many other trips on the River
where we were able to share some good talks on all manner of topics. I like
having my boy in the boat on the River. It is the one place where we can
connect and it is where his smile is broadest.
Our garden grew well and we had
enough greens to share with many people. My bride’s flower beds took the prize
with variety and brilliant color, bearing all summer long. I did not have as
many camp fires as in years past due to the dry conditions. The last thing I
need is to race around with a hose and try to contain a catastrophe. When I did
light up the evening I sprayed the ground and kept a pair of buckets filled
with water. Though the fires were few they always blend the River, land and sky
into the souls who sit around them. I also enjoyed the fireworks of the French
festival. I took the Lyman down on the calm surface of the River and joined a
fleet of other boats for the show. The simplest pleasures in life are indeed free.
Summer showers were infrequent and
when they happened I was mesmerized by them. Some chased me off of the River to
wait them out in my boathouse. Lightening, booming thunder and pounding rain on
and over the River, who could ask for more? Sunsets were many and I savored
each one that I was able to. I often found myself casting for pike off of the
east end of Carleton Island, stopping to watch a ship pass under an orange sky.
The throbbing engines were like the beat of a clock calling an end to the day.
Autumn came with the consistent
splendor as it always does. I took my Zoey out to chase birds, her favorite
past time. She is a pleasure to watch in the fields, running, racing and
gracefully launching over weeds and brush. This small Britt is only twenty
pounds and a friend of my wife’s said; “That can’t be your hunting dog, you
must have another one?” Sandy replied; “No she is it, I don’t think Mike would
want two of them, he has his hands full with just the one.” She is small for a
bird dog and will not attempt to pick up a bird. She prefers calling me to the
spot where she has it pinned down by yipping like a coyote. She’s still young
and I will work on that and her ‘big dog’ attitude.
I wish you all the best that the New
Year will have to offer. There will only be some ninety days after January 1st
until the River will be ready to begin a new season. I along with you will be
dreaming of that day and the ones to come there after. The best is yet to come…
