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.

Company on the Ice - 02/19/2012 - Written by Mike LaDue

My Good friend Mike arrived in the early afternoon on Thursday. This was his first trip to the River since both he and I had young children. As with many friendships the tasks of life have a way of separating people, creating long lulls of connect ability. Our children have expanded the family and we each have grandchildren located across the country. Mike dedicates his free time traveling and holds a summer job caring for the ball park in his community. This winter presented us with the time, activity and decent weather to enjoy the outdoors.

Mike is an incidental fisherman, he likes to go, but never seems to have the time. In the summer his garden over takes any urge that he may have to take to the water. He grows his own seedlings in a greenhouse and tends the garden like a mother hen. Autumn takes him into the fields with a bow in hand, to become a witness to that splendid season. I can only say that I am half of the man he is, concerning both of those endeavors. He has been very helpful to me over the years. He has guided me on proper planting techniques and advised me into some fantastic over bearing crops.

I on the other hand would rather be holding a fishing rod no matter the season. It is hard to take a hoe seriously or worry about weeds overgrowing, when the River sings her vibrant song. I liken it to the time when we were both kids, back then I was the siren. Mike would be tending his parent’s tomatoes across the lilac hedge, helping to ensure a good crop for their large family. I whispered; “Mike there is some large pike in the creek, I have two poles at the ready. If we go now we will back before dark with some fresh fish!” Even then he realized the merit of hard work and the danger of retribution for lack of it. “I’ll have to take a pass; Dad is more interested in tomatoes than fish. If I go with you I will hear a whistle and you know what happens if I am not back home before its over.”

This week the only obstacle we faced was a cold front with rain attached to it. We caught up on the time that has passed while watching a light drizzle misting over the River. “Well it is three o’clock, how about we take a ride to Eel Bay to see if we can get onto the ice for an hour or two?” Mike responded without hesitation; “Sure sounds like a plan, I haven’t been on the ice in a long time.” I figured that we had better take advantage of the current weather, it could all change by morning and we may miss the opportunity.

Eel Bay had one truck parked on the ice and two others in the parking area. The rain was soft and the wind was light. A veil of fog stretched across the open water around the islands. Tall pines on rock ledges appeared like castles over looking a European River. “Could you ask for a better view than this? It’s like another world.” Mike nodded his head in agreement while we shuffled out to some left over holes.

His tiny jig no more than hit the bottom of the bay and he had his first perch. “I don’t even have any bait on it! I can see them swimming all over the bottom.” Mike settled down onto a bucket and proceeded to catch one small fish after another. My success was much the same, until an 18” pike nosed its way towards the jig and the perch disappeared. “Mike keep your eye out for northern’s, if the perch leave you should move to another hole.” A few larger perch eventually came to each of us as we changed location with the migrating (harassed) perch.

And then it happened, Mike saw a pike ease into view; “I can see a pike, it is just laying here… watching my jig. That is so cool; I have never seen one below the ice before.” That one took a swipe at his jig and darted off, leaving my friend with a lasting impression. We fished until 5:30 and the sun had all but given up on the day. I collected my friend and we pooled our catch, there was enough for a fish breakfast the next morning.

To my surprise Friday morning dawned with relatively dry skies and some sunshine. I prepared the perch in a bath of browned butter and some olive oil (to prevent scorching). The fish snapped and popped in the oil, while a few slices of onion sautéed to a soft opaque white. My browned fillets were complemented by a pair of over easy eggs and some Alteri toast. It was the first time that Mike has had fish for breakfast and after watching his deliberate devouring of it I will assume not the last! “We have two choices as to where to fish today. We can go back to Eel Bay or try Perch Lake. I have not had the chance to fish that one yet.” Mike pursed his lips and decided that we should try the later.

The parking area was almost full when we arrived and a threesome of anglers was traveling down a muddy trail on an ATV. Two of them rode on the machine while the third sat in a plastic sled. That lucky fellow was directly behind the spinning wheels and he was busy ducking dirt. We walked to the lakes edge against a very stout wind. The lake is expansive with out development of any kind near its shores. Both Mike and I stood still to survey the surroundings, aside from Interstate 81 being near, it was pure wilderness.

We needed cleats on our boots to make any headway across the glass like surface and we only traveled a short distance. There was no getting out of that west wind. We had to keep a firm hold on our equipment the whole time, or suffer a long run after it. Ten inches of solid surface ice separated us from the lake. We each hunkered down over a hole and jigged up a lot of small perch. I’d say the largest was 5 inches and they all had a splendid golden hue. Mike hooked a bullhead and lost a pike, I also had a pike briefly which shook free.

Eagles Ice and West Wind - 01/23/2012 - Written by Mike LaDue

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