An Outdoorsman’s view on the River

This is the best time of the summer season. The majority of tourists and recreational boaters have departed. The jet skis are going into storage along with the tubes. What remains are casual boaters, kayakers, canoeists and serious anglers. These folks have a tendency to take things slower, enjoying the tranquility that the river offers before autumn. The night sky brightens each day as shore line lights are extinguished for another season. You will find me by the river each evening, soaking in the remnants of the day and observing nature. Of course, the day is reflected upon during this time and stored into my memory. Two interesting things happen when you become my age. The first is the gathering of many observations that took place over a lifetime. The second is sorting out what to keep.

Things that seemed worthwhile and relative have become outdated and inconsequential. Meeting deadlines, getting some where on time and saving for retirement once dominated my days. I have all that I am ever going to have and have done my share to get there. Those thoughts are easy to deal with…gone. Looking back it is hard to believe that I actually made a living making film. I had a hand in the process of manufacturing 35 millimeter and motion picture film, even something called disc film.  In a few years no one will even know what those were! Thankfully I have not become a relic of time. The river (and my many days here) has given me a new lease and a new beginning. It is easy to replace my memories of the past while living an invigorated adventure on the river. No day is ever the same and each ‘one’ refreshes my soul.

I will present to you Saturday… as an example. I rose before the sun to indulge myself with two cups of coffee. The sky was full of stars as far as my eyes could see. The air was heavy with the fragrance of pine and cedar trees even while covered in dew. The sun broke free over the horizon, after struggling to stretch its rays across the tree canopy. Mallard ducks came to the river and swung down to dine, on a free corn breakfast next door. One boat was on the river and anchored over near to Carleton Island. A hum came from the east and soon a series of bass boats zipped by. It sounded and looked like a Nas-car race while I prepared my boat to fish. The disruption did little to disturb the river and the wakes soon dissolved along the shoreline.

Oh what a morning to be on the river! I motored out at quarter throttle with the new day’s sun at my back. I dropped a jig and caught a number of perch, all of them of good size. It did not take long for some other anglers to join me on the river. I could hear the joy of children catching perch and their delight in getting them to the boat. “I had a big one right next to the boat and it wiggled off.” Her laughter grew a broad smile on my face. The waves were gentle and rolled me down-river with a slow relaxing pace.

I watched a series of monarch butterflies using the wind to navigate to South America.  Some of them danced while in flight, cascading upward and then swinging with the wind current. Dragonflies also passed by and a few lit onto the boat hull to rest. Ospreys are few in number now but I did hear one calling in the distance, out of sight. The majority of blue herons has turned their backs to the river and has left. I did not see a single one.  A mature loon with its dark graceful head flew not ten feet above the river (such a distinct flight they have).  By ten o’clock I had my goal of twenty perch and headed back to fillet them. I froze just under two and a half pounds of fillets for the coming season. Life is good, but it is always better with some perch in the freezer.

My bride prepared me a treat of Alaskan king crab for dinner that day. I ate out on the upper deck of the cabin, savoring the crab as it is a rare occurrence. Above and around me a recent hatching of bugs formed a smoky circle of activity. The tiny winged specs were not alone. What looked like bumble bees invaded the swarm of bugs, apparently scooping them up for dinner. With the precision of a jet aircraft the bees struck, swung and darted away. My own dinner was complete, so I poured a glass of libations and headed to the boathouse deck. The evening was young and I still had a day to fill.

On that deck I watched two kingfishers over the river. They reminded me of young humming birds participating in playful banter. Like the hummers they were chasing one another. The lead bird rose and the second followed. The lead bird then darted to the river surface to skim it with wing tips and the other followed. All the while they both chattered with a rapid series of loud chick-chick- chick sounds. I was hoping to see a bat but not a one ever materialized. The sunset was as vibrant as the sunrise, with an orange glow that swallowed the summer heat as it melted away. It was time for a campfire.

  With the price and rarity of King crab I seldom find the satisfaction of being full. To fill that void I roasted two Glazer franks over the open fire. I placed two New England rolls on the warm rocks while each of the franks sizzled and snapped open. The stars greeted me just as they had in the days beginning, looking more intense under the darkening sky. That evening like many others, soothed my soul and I replaced my old memories with new ones. It really is not all that hard once you get a handle on what is important and where to find it. There is much reflection to be had on our quiet river…

Mike LaDue, Monday, September 08, 2014