Monday, March 18, 2013

Ice In - Ice Out Vintage Sleds - 02/04/13 - Written by Mike LaDue





A brief warm up curtailed my ice fishing efforts until a week ago Sunday. It was a sunny cold day and I had been cooped up in the cabin long enough. I was itching to get in at least a couple of hours, resting my behind on a bucket. The ice was much different from the last that I had sat upon. It had been broken and splintered into large chunks that lay strewn across the shore. A new episode of cold had cemented the old ice with a new layer which was black and clear.
There was very little snow on the surface, so the ice cleats came in handy. I carefully chose my steps. I crossed a series of heaved up ice burgs using my auger for stability. A stinging wind took to my face like lint to static. I could feel the redness replace my otherwise peaked winter face. Black ice is actually clear, very clear in fact. Walking across it is like traveling in a glass bottomed boat. I could see weeds frozen and suspended below me. It can be an unnerving experience as you feel like there is nothing between you and the bottom.
I ended up on a spot where there was some remaining snow. I felt much more comfortable there, not seeing the bottom. A little snow helps to keep the bucket in place and I like it for coating any fish that I may catch. When the wind is strong it will dry them out and freeze a fish quickly. It turns out that that was not going to be a problem. I sat for two hours (jigging) and even switched rods with out so much as a bump from below. Yes I got skunked, not a fish, not even a tiny one.
Monday morning the wind was blowing and the cold continued. The River was iced to and beyond Carleton Island. It had had time to grow and was getting close to a foot in thickness. I was getting excited about finally getting to walk on the River. Then Wednesday came and 50 degree weather. I went down to my dock to see how the ice was faring. It had become clear and there were small pockets of water purging through a few cracks. I did not see how any wind would be able to dislodge that large new piece of real estate. It should make it through the heat wave, I was sure…
Thursday morning on the last day of January the River was roaring. There was not a bit of ice left from the expansive flat surface that existed the day before. Oh what a wind, I seldom have seen the river with waves that rival those of lake Ontario. It blew in from the west, mean, nasty and vengeful. As the white caps tumbled to a crest the sunlight of the morning ignited the mist. I watched as tiny rainbows, prisms of light cast across the surface like halos. The waves on the River carried waves of color like a crown, it was amazing!
Friday February 1st, I looked out to see that the wind had stalled and dispersed over night, leaving a new layer of ice under construction. The large expanse between my place and Carleton was attempting to weld the two shore lines together with a solid surface. What a difference a day can make. I am left scratching my head, got ice, no ice, oh wait there is ice. So far, the up coming forecast is in my favor for some ice fishing this week, so far.
My Bride and I went up to Alexandria Bay yesterday for breakfast and to stock up on steaks. Along the way I noticed some ‘vintage snowmobile’ signs along the road. I thought that it had been the previous weekend for (some reason) and I got excited. “Oh we have to go down town and take a walk; I’d like to see this.” “You go right ahead; I’ll stay in the car and keep it warm for you while go watch your breath.” My gal has got to be the most thoughtful creature on earth, always looking out for me.
I seldom leave my camera at home and I sure did regret it yesterday. I saw some sweet old sleds that brought back many memories. Tiny sleds for kids, with engines from 16cc to five horse power. Early snow machines painted red and looking like new. Single cylinder late sixties ski-doo’s that I remember the intake sucking my scarf into. There were Sno-jets, Moto skis, Polaris and Arctic cats. I saw a couple of Chaparrals and one Massey Ferguson ‘Ski-wiz’. The best and worst part was one owner attempting to start his sled, pulling and pulling on the recoil rope. Oh, that sound and struggle I remember well. My shoulder hurt from just watching him.
I think that he put thirty strokes into his effort before the ancient temperamental machine succumbed. Blue/ white smoke puffed out with each ping of the two cycle engine. I remember a time when that aroma filled the air all winter long. He revved the engine to warm it and the sound was something that I had forgotten, it was damn loud! No wonder I have lost my higher pitch hearing. But back to the memories, I never had a sled but my neighbors on all sides did. On weekends waves of the ‘snow machines’ would pass by the house. They traveled the fields, zipped down the road shoulders, and traversed the railroad tracks.
As I said they were loud and I could hear them coming long before I could see any. The ones in the fields were the most fun to watch. Each one had a single dim lamp on the front cowl that bobbed across the drifts like a horseman carrying a lantern. I watched them through wavy window panes that were a century old. Often a caravan of twenty sleds followed one another, over drifts and through an orchard like a long winter snake. I am pleased to see that some of those original machines have survived. This was the first event for them in the Bay and I hope it is able to continue to grow. I will remember my camera and the date next year!

This morning I went with a friend to join the folks from TILT (Thousand Island Land Trust) on an eagle watch over to Wellesley Island. We arrived early and my partner saw the first eagle of the day. It flew onto a tree to roost, overlooking a small Island with a red cabin on it. We were off to a good start! The sun was out though; at times it was under the cover of light misty clouds.
We were joined by a surprisingly large number of fellow enthusiasts. Our names were taken by Corrine Mockler of the TILT staff to make sure all who signed up were accounted for. The chariot provided was a hay wagon loaded with bales of fragrant hay. Binoculars and blankets were also available for those who needed them. An Ornithologist named Gerry Smith provided us with (his) fifty plus years of birding experience. He gave us insights on how to identify juvenile eagles from the mature and the rarely seen Golden eagle.
There were a number of stops where we delighted in seeing some individual eagles. Some of them were on roost while others were in flight, one even landed onto the frozen River surface. Our driver and host Jake Tibbles joined Gerry in explaining the importance of preserving large tracts of undeveloped land. I found out that TILT also has some large parcels on the lesser known islands. Each uniquely formed and preserved area provides a traditional habitat for all that is wild. How refreshing to see an entity of private influence protecting the Rivers ecosystem through sound property management.
I met some new people on the adventure and had a relaxing time while we all enjoyed the outdoors. A very nice couple even invited the wagon load of hay and snow covered strangers into their home. Mr. and Mrs. Smith had a house full of bird watchers, who were extremely grateful to share both their heat and the splendid view on the River. Our group enjoyed watching a mature eagle go to roost, swans, various ducks and a number of eagle fly-bys. I was so grateful to our hosts that I even shared some of my dried apple chips with them. One of my new acquaintances commented on how nice it must be to live on the River year round. I cocked an eyebrow and with a smile said; “You wouldn’t like it, it’s boring, there is hardly ever anything to do.” That’s funny she said; “It seems to me that some ‘guy’ often writes in the T.I. Sun about just how marvelous it is to live on the River all year.” Humm…

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Icing on the River and a Grouse Hunt - 01-18-13 - Written by Mike LaDue






I ventured out this morning with my camera, to show you the current River conditions. It was breezy, brisk, sunny and bright. The sun this time of year can be a grand deceiver; she keeps her heat to herself. The wind cut through my gloves and stung my fingers so I limited my exposure to just a few minutes. Any snow that remains is crusted, crystallized and crunchy. It easily held my over laden stature without yielding a millimeter. I have been spending too much time inside as indicated by my digital scale. Each day it shows me an increase in body mass from the previous day (dang scale).
I could see that ice is beginning to grasp the River surface, in the sheltered area between Carleton drive and Burnham Point State Park. Overnight the ice pad grew three fold in size extending to a fingerlike point. The River is reluctant to concede the inevitable. A west wind defies the long outstretched ice pad tearing at the seams. The pad looks to be firmly established staving off the continual assault, but time and temperature will tell. Fragments of ice are surrounded in slurry of slush pushing against the shoreline, below me. It sounds like a margarita being prepared in a blender and then poured. Like a cake that has been properly cooled, the river is ready for its icing. With the weather forecast being predicted for next week, I expect to see the transformation expand to the shores of Carleton Island.
The bird feeder has welcomed a number of new visitors. A tit mouse made an appearance last week for just a day and then traveled on. At least four different wood peckers have settled in today, both hairy and downy. I will have to add another suet basket to give them all an equal chance to dine. I snuck down to my dock to get a photo of a pair of common golden eye ducks. The drake saw me and took flight; he was striking in color as he flew above the river surface. The drake golden eye has such a distinctive face. I have not seen an eagle this week but expect the sightings of them to grow with the coming ice.
I received a phone call from a friend last week inviting me to join him on an eagle watch. He thought that I might be interested in joining a group from TILT (Thousand Island Land Trust) to observe some of the big raptors. As you might expect I will jump at any chance to get outdoors, particularly when it is next to this River.   I am excited about joining the group on February 3rd at Thousand Islands Park. I have taken a number of trips to Wellesley Island in past winters to enjoy her unique solitude. I have watched deer feeding, eagles soaring or resting and numerous other creatures. It is one of the many treasures that make this a premier place for an outdoors-person to live.


With the first snow pack gone I am finally able to get back into the fields and woods. There in lies my problem with the previously mentioned (evil) weight scale. My lack of outdoor activity directly impacts the growing girth of my waistline. I know that exercise is good, but I find it boring and mundane. Give me a decent day and a good pair of boots and I can put miles behind me without regret. With some coaxing, my Britt Zoey was willing to join me on a bird hunt. To be honest, all I had to do was bring my canvas pants up from the basement and she went into frenzy. She put on her happy face and exhibited a lack of patience while I dressed. Her little tail danced on her behind while she crouched with her face on the floor. Little miss attitude tells me off at any given opportunity.
I took her over to the Ashland Wildlife area and set her free. She raced over the open field taking pause to relieve her intestinal contents several times. Every dog I have ever owned has always done the same routine. That is all except one, a water spaniel named Bow. He preferred to do it in the back of the Mazda station wagon while in transit. I could not open enough windows or get to my destination fast enough!
Zoey sized up the area and took to the thickest brush that she could find. I could hear her bell clanking as she slipped out of sight. What a perfect day to do some exploring, it was sunny and relatively warm too. I soon unzipped my coat and dropped the hood that covered my ears. I wondered in and out of thick overgrowth, seeing one rabbit that escaped undetected by the dog. This is also an area where I like to setup and call tom turkeys in the spring. I took note of some excellent looking spots for that upcoming season.
On my way into some good looking grouse cover I noticed some fresh blood on the snow. Zoey came zipping past and I took a look at her for any sign of a wound. She seemed unaffected and continued into more thick growth. When next I saw her she was favoring her front left wheel and began to chew on the top of her foot. She gnawed on it, got up and stopped to gnaw on it again. I called her over and flipped her to her side finding a two inch thorn protruding from the pad of her paw. With a quick jerk I removed the annoyance and she let out a soft yip. I figured that I was going to carry her back to the truck. She jumped up and proceeded about her business. Next time I’ll try her out on some leather boots to prevent any further problem.
During her exploration of a tight patch of bushes she became aware of some scent. She circled the area in tighter and tighter circles closing in on a reluctant ruffed grouse. I then heard the wing beats of a frantic grouse break the silence. It had some trouble breaking free of the brush, but it knew exactly where I was. I followed the sound and watched as it broke free of the cover almost, forty yards away. There was no way that my 20 gauge was going to catch that rocket! If I was carrying my long gun, dimes to doughnuts it would have risen at my feet. You have heard of Murphy’s Law?  Well LaDue’s law goes like this; “No matter the situation the fool with the gun will not be prepared or in the right location.” It’s genetic and follows me like my Pap’s shadow. I travel in good company and can hear his laughter still…