An Outdoorsman’s view on the River

Autumn is in the air today! A west wind has blown away the rain (for the time being) and it is cool. The river has had her back up since mid-morning yesterday and the white caps have been rolling to the east. Earlier this morning a brief shower of ice pellets pelted the metal roof and it was a distinctly different sound. There was not enough of it to gather or do any harm, to my remaining plants. Yes, today has been a turn around from the past week.

Company came on Tuesday night, my friend and his son (Jeffery) arrived for the opening of pheasant season. Each year they make the trek and we enjoy the company. We do a bit of hunting, a lot of eating and find time to relive the past too. This year was no different than in the past, other than Jeffery getting his first rooster pheasant. His father was first to connect with a rising rooster taking it with one shot. I helped him stuff it into his game bag and we walked on. A good number of other hunters were in the fields with dogs and I did my best to keep clear of them. One fellow had a dog named Joey and it sounded like he was calling to my Britt, Zoey. His dog ended up with us, while he spent time shooting by the road, it was his way of calling the dog. That’s one expensive way to call a dog!

After Joey was reunited with his master we proceeded to circle the field. Jeffery told me that he had seen a rooster land there earlier. Zoey got busy with her nose, testing the air until she found a scent. Some distance from us the rooster launched into the wind and passed to my right. From the time it left the ground I listened to its unique cackle. It is a sound that is dear to my heart and seldom heard anymore. I raised my gun and followed the brilliant colors of the rooster, waiting to hear a shot. It was getting to my maximum range so I pulled the trigger. More accurately both Jeffery and I pulled our triggers at the same time. The rooster rose straight up indicating that it had been hit and then dropped into tall grass.

By the time I got there Zoey was laying over the bird panting like the dickens. The day had turned warm and we were ready to head home for breakfast. She needed a break as much as we did at that point. I handed the young man his first rooster and he smiled with pride and admiration for the long tailed bird. One the way back to the truck he spoke to Zoey; “Get job girl, good job. You’re a good little hunter aren’t you?” Jeffery is in his fourth year of collage and has become an active man in the kitchen. He likes to surprise his roommates with unusual fare. He dressed out the pheasants and bagged them for the freezer, to share with them next week. It was nice to have someone else do that chore for a change! He took his time and worked like a surgeon, to make sure that the birds would be presentable. He has come a long way from the knee knocking twelve year old who could hardly carry his gun.

My garden is near the end of the bearing season. The last patch of yellow beans will be done after the first frost. I already have enough to carry me into next summer. I cooked and bagged a batch of Swiss chard this week and the collard greens will be next. I’ll squeeze them until the bitter end; I can never have too many vegetables in the freezer. Our company brought us some Empire apples… a whole bushel of them. They also carried in four of the biggest butternut squash that I have ever seen. These beauties are each over six pounds apiece. My bride has already made me a batch of butternut soup, her finest. I could eat that soup everyday and never get tired of it and I probably will.

Saturday morning I went to the river to watch and listen to the opening day of the duck season. The only thing I saw flying were rain laden clouds in a hurry to get east. The clouds flew by close to the river and soon opened up. I watched the rain smacking the river surface and bouncing off of my dock. The strangest part of the morning was the lack of gunfire and high flying ducks. I can’t believe that the water fowlers were not there. They tend to be a hardy bunch that enjoys the bitterest of weather. Maybe the first wave of local ducks has left and yet to be refilled by northern migrants. I did notice four flying flocks of diving ducks at sunset, so that may be the case. They held tight to the river, beating their wings just above the whitecaps.

That chop on the river began Saturday afternoon. I strolled down after diner to absorb the rivers air which was saturated with flavor. The pounding waves drove deep up the now barren rocks creating a misty spray. That flavor drifted into my nostrils like a sweet baked roll. My ears were also enchanted by the drumming sound of those waves as they crested, crashed, unobstructed and defiant. Many people come here to relish the warm days of summer and the rivers pristine calm days. They do not fully appreciate her power, her beauty and the force that she can be while they are away. I prefer to face her when she is at her meanest, for better or worst till death do us part.

Mike LaDue