Baby Hummers and Opening of Bass Season - June 18, 2012 - Written by Mike LaDue

Baby Hummingbird

Last week was one of those weeks where everything came together nicely. Any project that I started ended with success. Just as I was finishing up my last item from the list, my neighbor dropped by. He has a humming bird nest and invited me to take some photos of the babies. He even set a ladder up right under the tiny cup that the chicks call home. I was amazed at the integrity of the construction. The Hummers gathered flecks of lichen and I have no idea how it is all held together. It looked like something that the mythical fairies would make.

The inhabitants barely had two wispy feathers each. Neither of them had a pronounced “hummers beak” and looked like any other chick. Of course there are no other chicks that would fit into a nest that is the size of a quarter dollar! They each were situated butt to beak and there was room for them to grow. With a diet of sugar I’ll bet that they will become adult size in no time at all.    

After my list of items “to be done” was complete, I was able to concentrate on the opening of bass season. My son Steve made arrangements to get here (late) Friday night to join me. I turned my attention to straighten up the Lyman and the associated terminal tackle. I stripped all of the ultra light reels of old line that became twisted from the last month of perch fishing. I go through a lot of four pound test… It is great for sensing a light biting fish and setting a hook, but it gets worn out in no time. I rigged up four rods, two for each of us. With my eyesight it is a lot easier to do while sitting on dry land. When I attempt to do it in the boat it is like watching an old man thread a needle. Then again that’s exactly what it is!

My boy and I were up and on the river around 7:00 AM. There were already a number of other anglers out enjoying the early morning heat. The first spot we tried held a few perch; it had been loaded with bass the previous week (honestly). He has heard it all before, “You should have been here the other day; I could not keep those huge bass off of the jig.” My son’s confidence soon waned in me as he realized that I did not even bother to add a net to the boat. On the ride back to the dock he lathered up in sun block, anticipating a scorcher.

With net on board we headed to another spot where the bass were last week. A few good perch came our way and Steve broke the ice with a big small mouth. She came straight to the surface and abruptly threw the jig back to the Lyman. With an astonished gaze Steve said; “Wow that fish was the biggest bass I have ever seen. How big do you think it was?” With all of my years of experience at loosing just such fish I told him “That it was a solid six pounder. Any small mouth that is over 20” is five pounds or better and she was all of that.” His next cast hit the mark again and he landed a three pound fish. He was all smiles and the joy that that gave me cannot be put into words. I added that one to the stringer of perch, at least one of us would be enjoying some jalapeño bass. Boo-hoo poor pitiful me, I really didn’t mind, his enthusiasm was infectious. The next bass he got into snapped the line at the jig and I handed him the spare rod.

“I’ll strip some line off of this rod and tie on a new jig. You just keep on catching em.” Fifteen minutes later I had it ready for him. Waves always come out of nowhere when I try to tie on jigs. I would almost have the line through the microscopic eye and doink… another near miss. By the time I was done he had parted company with the jig on the spare rod. Did I say that things came together nicely all week?

When I got back to holding a rod myself I saw the shadow of a bass dart past the boat and cast to the image. The jig did not fall far and it came right to the surface locked into the boney lipped bass. By the time my son netted that one my arms felt like rubber bands. At least the knot held and I now was looking forward to some hot grilled bass too. By this time it was near 11:00 o’clock and I motored us out to the channel to watch the poker run come up River and then down. The sounds were deafening but the rooster tails made it all worth the irritation. I took a lot of blurry photos as the waves from all of the commotion rolled us from side to side. It seldom works out that I am able to catch those missiles in flight.

I filleted our catch and prepared my favorite jalapeño brine, allowing them to absorb the heat before grilling. Steve took a swim and tried to introduce his pup Darby to the River. The dog may be young but knows that when there is nothing under his feet it is not any place he wants to be. Steve coaxed Darby to the edge of the dock with a wad of weeds and then snatched him off. The pup was paddling well before he ever hit the drink and the one “new experience” was enough for him. He stayed with me while Steve took the kayak out for a ride and was content to watch his boy from the dock.

This morning I was on the River by daylight. The sun broke the horizon to the east and split the clouds with a banner of pink and orange. I had it all to myself for three hours and in that time I caught six bass. One was 24” and the biggest one that I have landed from the River. We wore each other out and it took some time to revive her so that she could return her to her nest. There are two smaller bass and six perch hanging from my stringer that need my attention. If you will excuse me until next week, I have a hankering for some smoked fresh River fish.

My First North Country Brook Trout - 4/30/12 - Written by Mike LaDue

Sunday afternoon I sat on my dock absorbing the waning sunshine, while I waited for a heron to happen by. I have spent each available evening waiting for a heron to skim the Rivers surface for a good photograph. To date the event has not come to fruition but the time spent has been relaxing. Yesterday my time on the dock gave me the opportunity to look back at the events of this past week.

Thursday morning I took a trip south of Adams to search for a brook trout. I utilized the DEC’s website to locate some listed trout streams three weeks ago. Since then I have dedicated one day each week to explore a new area. I have seen some wonderful scenery and a variety of flowers and animals. Finally the most recent trip paid off this week in the form of a nice brook trout. It came from under a log chasing my Rapala lure and nearly leapt to my feet during the pursuit. The current was strong from a recent rain and the fish took full advantage of it. I was treated to a colorful show from the brookies flashing drives. There are few things more beautiful than a brook trout.

I came upon a beaver dam where a creek had a dramatic change of flow. The creek above the dam was a good four feet higher than the stream below it. Water purged from the sides of the dam and gurgled underneath. Two Canada geese paddled in the smooth water above complaining of my presence. I could see where the beavers had been busy during the night adding new logs to their home. A formidable cherry tree revealed the efforts of the sharp toothed beavers. Sunlight must have come before the job could be completed as it was nearly half way done. Beavers are nature’s engineers when it comes to building a dam. I can’t imagine the strength required to hull and place such large logs…amazing.

In another location I was treated to the songs and the flights of a pair of bluebirds. They were utilizing a nesting box and preparing it for a new brood of babies. It is so refreshing to see our state bird making strides in an on going recovery. The box they were using was placed by the DEC, but a good many concerned individuals have also taken up the cause. I see them all over the North Country along fields and in yards. My “bluebird” houses are always taken over by wrens or chickadees. At least they are being utilized and the birds bring their songs close to home.

While walking through a grove of hemlock I noticed some orange tree fungus growing on a decaying log near a creek. It was the first time that I have seen an active culture of fungus. I am used to seeing the white expired fungus (shelves) where growth has long stopped. The contrast of the orange fungus to the green vegetation on the ground (below) was a striking. Flowers are not the only enablers of color in the woods, even the emerging buds of maple trees are adding a soft red color to the skyline.

I found a pair of odd fellows hanging together, like long lost pals on another creek. A drake wood duck was joined by a drake blue wing teal. Both of them were fine examples of their species. A drake wood duck carries what I would consider all of the colors of the color spectrum. The drake blue wings most defining marking is not his wings as indicated in his name. What is most apparent on him (in the spring) is his white crescent moon separating his eyes from his bill. Waterfowl come in an array of colors and it makes them my favorite species to watch.

Saturday morning I set about building a campfire to smoke a wild turkey breast on. It is a tradition that I started last year. The event yields a fine dinner and gives me the added enthusiasm to get up at 4:00 AM during the month of May. I added briquettes to the flaming logs after the fire was well under way. I do not like to use lighter fluid and the confines of my campfire pit helps to shield the wind, keeping the coals under control. The trick to smoking is to have a moderate heat and well soaked wood chips.

I soaked the turkey in a brine of apple juice, pickling salt, brown sugar, maple syrup and honey over night. The acid in the apple juice helps to tenderize the bird while the other ingredients give flavor. I allowed the bird to warm over the fire for a half hour and then applied the first coat of honey. Every time I added wood chips I gave it another coat of honey. Four hours later a golden sweet Turkey graced my serving dish, almost too pretty to carve… almost.

After dinner I shared some of the warm delicacy with neighbors. The pan I carried over lasted about five minutes. One of the ladies remarked: “That would be good on a sandwich for lunch tomorrow.” As she spoke there was but one slice left in the pan and it found its way into her husband’s mouth. The next day I delivered some more to them and to other friends along the River. Being an outdoorsman along the River has its rewards, the best being good friends who share the same admiration for River life.

Spring's March - 03/26/12- Written by Mike LaDue

Spring has sprung like a yet to be photographed North Country cougar! There are green buds popping out of both brush and trees. Pussy willows have already developed and are now turning into flowers. New arrivals continue to appear each day while I observe the River. The past week enticed me to enter the raised bed gardens and see to some early plantings.

I used my antique hand cultivator to work the raised beds. It has five long metal fingers with tear drop ends and works the beds as well as a modern tiller. The best part of using it; the fuel comes from my arms and not some foreign country. There is no sweeter aroma than the worked earth rising to meet the spring’s breath. After a few days of allowing the soil to dry, I sowed some frost tolerant seeds. I marked two rows of collards and spinach, with short cedar sticks that had fallen during the winter. My pup Zoey determined that those sticks would be better used in her mouth as chew toys. I’d place two into the soil and turn to do the other end… only to find them gone! The dog lay on the ground with one in her mouth and the other between her front feet.

A number of chipmunks have emerged to scour the ground for food, preferring newly panted seeds. I placed a fence around the spinach to discourage the loss of tender shoots to the brown stripped invaders. They don’t have a taste for collards and have never bothered them. In another bed I used the better part of a pack of pea seeds. Five rows in all will be next to the asparagus and ready soon after I get the last of the asparagus.

A warm rain one evening brought out a number of frogs that took to crossing the road on my way home from work. As I traveled I could hear a chorus of peepers serenading from puddles and ponds. They were even on the hill behind my cabin and the sound was soothing to hear. I took Zoey out for her final walk of the evening and carried along a flash light. Dozens of night crawlers lay across the warm ground and it is still March! I am seeing things that usually occur two weeks to a month later.

The improved weather drew me to my dock for a little fishing one morning. Bluebill ducks were everywhere, casting about in short flurries to settle down with another group. They rise from the River like they have a butt full of lead, dragging it along until air-bourn. The landing is much more graceful and they glide on the wind like a kite. They were busy diving to the bottom of the River for crustaceans. Canada geese rose in the early morning light collecting the sun on their feathers. They headed inland to seek out a field where they could search for spent seed. A lone king fisher flew over head with its raspy voice trailing off in the distance. The silent short days have given way to an early rebirth on the River.

I even spotted an osprey that had returned to its nest on a tall pole. Last year I did not see one until mid-April. To date I have heard one pair of killdeers as they traveled under a night sky, migrating to some far off breeding ground.

Saturday morning a pair of blue herons flew just above the Rivers surface. Their wing beats nearly grazing the rising white capped waves. Long lumbering silhouettes with a steady wing beat of black and grey cast their shadows over the River. Not a minute later I was privileged to see another pair of them following the same course.

Anglers have been out in good numbers along French Creek seeking bullheads. They have had some of the best March weather that one could ever hope to enjoy. Sandy and I enjoyed breakfast at Bella’s one morning, while watching perch anglers in boats, just off of the docks. They were bundled up with coats, hats and gloves catching fish with regularity. We pretty much had the restaurant to ourselves and it was strange. When we visit there in the summer months the proprietors do a bustling business. Getting to enjoy their waterfront view can be a challenge. We wish them the best of seasons but must admit the experience was unique. Good food, a warm reception and a casual demeanor.

I noticed an early influx of seasonal folks over the last two warm weeks. New faces appeared at the grocery store, to begin another season on the River.  On Carleton Island an early islander took advantage of this unusual weather. He was there for a couple of weeks and departed yesterday, just ahead of the cold night that followed. I enjoyed and was envious of his travels across the blue shimmering River.  Pleasure boats have been out and the ice free River posses no emanate danger. Shipping opened up as well this past week and I saw a few freighters with freshly painted hulls, travel in both directions.

March has flown by with all of the activity. This month is usually the longest for me. A do nothing month that lingers on into April with melting snow, muddy yards and reluctant ice… that melts at a snails pace. I have been so busy outdoors that I have yet to get ready for the trout opener this Sunday! Now that is a serious situation that I will have to rectify immediately. If you will excuse me, I have reels to wind line on and lures to sort and dancing trout to tame, in my imagination. My imagination seldom resembles reality, much like this month of March “2012”.

The Song of Spring Returns - 03/12/2012 - Written by Mike LaDue

Songs in the morning give rise to a warming sun. Singing in the evening settles the last rays of daylight over the River. Sweet feathered fluttering birds and waterfowl add romance to the return of spring! The bland days are now behind us with the returning migrants (whose) tunes glorify and solidify that a new season is upon us.

Robins welcome the early light with single notes from over night perches. Soon there after a blending of other songs create the chorus of a new day. Red wing blackbirds and grackles swoop into the bird feeder to fuel up for nesting. I watched a foursome of grackles waiting their turn to the feeder. They stood in a chorus line facing the cabin from large stump. One expanded its girth and extended its neck to call (out) with an iridescent blue head, which was punctuated with gold-yellow eyes. Once he had finished each of the other three followed with the same performance. Not one of them displayed at the same time. This show went on for a long while, one volley after another from each individual. It soon became apparent that these “boys” had something other than food on their collective minds.

I have been seeing robins wrestling in the yard; they do not posses the same demeanor as the grackles. Robins like one another when it comes to migrating; they travel in large flocks without controversy. Nesting time changes them into menacing defenders of a defined circle. Any interloping robin will be banished without delay. I find it strange that any other species is tolerated and seems to be welcome in the robin’s home range. If they were humans would they be accused of “reverse” discrimination? There would be so many lawsuits that the robin lawyers would tie the whole matter up in court for years. Thankfully nature does not require any intervention. Once a male robin had been throttled by another it seldom returns for another lesson

Canada geese are all over, in the fields, on the River or in the air. I can not go anywhere without hearing or seeing them. Returning from Clayton yesterday at around 7:30, I watched an unending flow of geese returning to the River. For over two miles the sight of Canada’s with set wings descended over the tree tops. It was as if someone had tripped a switch calling the fowl to the River. At one point I could see the River surface which held a few hundred geese. Overhead waves of cupped wings darkened the blue sky as some geese flipped to decelerate. What a delight to watch thousands of Canada’s returning home.

As soon as I walked in the door my bride was on me like a cat. “I watched a boat head out to Carleton this afternoon. It swung out to the point and then went up towards Millen’s Bay. Suddenly it was racing past our dock. I think someone is trying to rub sand in your eyes and I was jealous!” There was no way to respond without sounding envious and so I did not even try. “I’ll bet that wind is cold, not to mention the seats. Some people are just impetuous; have to be the first out and all of that. I still have ice on the boathouse floor and we might still see a freeze up this month. In as much as I would like to put our “gal” back into the River I can’t justify the risk.” Sandy looked over her glasses and gave me a slight nod. I detected that it was not a nod of agreement but one of promiscuous taunting. The longer I stared at her the longer the head nodding persisted. I’ll have to see how the coming weekend looks. It would be wise to get everything back in order before the river rises to much more. “Put the Lyman in mid March is an intriguing idea worth exploring further.” Her nod stopped and was replaced by a broad smile, smooth… real smooth.

The evening skies have been spectacular for star gazing this past week. From sundown to midnight the heavens change and transform as we turn away from the dwindling sunlight. I was present to see gold grow on a neighbors dock. The sun angle was such that it bounced off of the river and clung to a band of water rippling against the boards. A purer hue of gold I have never seen before. It danced across the lumber as if it was a tangible substance, one that I could hold… if near enough to touch it.

The heavenly show has been second to none. We almost seem closer to the planets than normal. They stand out brilliantly for some reason; perhaps it is due to the recent solar flares. My neck has a bit of a cramp from leaning back and looking towards the sky on recent nights. As the nights begin to warm I’ll take my star gazing to the dock, where I can lay on my back in comfort.

A full March moon dictated most of the night sky all week long. One evening while I watched my television the moon rose from the horizon through the trees behind the cabin. The orange globe caught my eye and kept me captivated through out its rise. Soon the earth’s original satellite went from orange to yellow, to an off brown before becoming milk white. Clouds drifted across between us scattering the emitted light like a tiffany lamp shade. They say that planting by a full moon promotes germination. My raised beds are just now soft enough to aerate with the hoe. I think tomorrow I will sow some seeds of spinach, peas and collards for an early crop of each, at least it will be something for the emerging chipmunks to dine on.