Frost & Fish

                                       Fishing has been catching!

I reluctantly got out of bed this morning to see my breath and 42 degrees. Outside was l8 so by contrast I was pretty warm. It's one of those very rare  mornings without a breeze, a calm flat water that is glassed over mirroring every tree branch and mountain side. A calm before the storm perhaps.
The past week has been beautiful and sunny with never ending blue sky and what I would soon be saying, warm. I know these days are not cold by how many bugs are flying about, trapped in my window and buzzing around my head as I fish.
Warm days are almost a dream, I know they will pass quickly and soon become sub zero days and anything over ten will be a reprieve.
    
      A nice fire is roaring and tea water is on the stove, my hat is down over the ears and I even have fingerless, wool gloves on writing this post. Today I woke to find heavy white frost weighing on the trees and grass, all over the cabin and my boat. The gravel along the river bank is even cemented down by how thick and consuming that frost was. It's not a pretty frost, with snowflake like design or extravagant formations of ice, but just heavy.
The other day, two moose were trotting along near the cabin, going up and down the river bank, behind the cabin and by the windows. Then down into the water and for a swim across to the other side. Both were mature adult females "cow" is the proper name and both looked quite healthy and large. Also in the wildlife department, a new fox is around, friendly yet uninterested. I call and he pays no attention, I throw food and he looks displeased. The other day I left a few fish carcasses for him and all he left me was bowel movement of content. Very rude.
I came quite close the other day with smoked trout in hand and he became uneasy at about six feet distance. I either move to suddenly or he is not keen on the idea of becoming a domestic pet.

Once again, mice/shrews are or were invading my cabin, foraging on crumbs from my over zealous appetite of crackers and cookies. I'm sure they would have been more satisfied had I left slightly better or larger quantities of food to pilfer. With a trusty bucket trap and peanut butter, along with the traditional back breaking trap, seven have been caught, tried, found guilty and executed in a very satisfying manner. I sleep better at night.

Smoking trout and salmon have been the best way to preserve the fish for snacking and freezing. When the hard winter months come and most of the fish have gone away or do not have firm meat, these fillets and pieces will tide me through until the spring. The brine they marinate in is one part salt and three parts brown sugar. Usually a full day in the brine produces a nice tasting and good consistency flesh without becoming tough or dry. I seem to be pleased and haven't heard any complaints from the fox either.

      Having the open forest and wilderness at your fingertips is not nearly as overwhelming as it may seem. I know the geographical location, even the pinpoint GPS coordinates of where my cabin is. I know the 1.2 million acres around me in a rough layout but none of that increases the feeling of day to day life. The isolation doesn't extend past a few mountains across the river, a lake to the right and left of our lodge and the mountain behind us. I have relatively limited vision of my surroundings and therefore don't have a care in the world beyond what I can see.
It may as well be the whole world, uninhabited or a small island, which one could argue that it is. An island is usually thought of as surrounded by water, but I feel that the word and term "island" is only a feeling, a sense of being isolated by distance or by civilization, not a physical place.
My location is on a peninsula to be exact, and I wouldn't know that if not for exploring and maps.  Daily life and routine consists of an island feel without the fever. I spend more time examining the land opposite my cabin, separated by rippled waters from migrating ducks or a feeding fish.
Moose seem to prefer that side of the water, the otters do as well and so did the wolverine and bear. On this side of isolation, myself and a fox who is here merely because he doesn't swim.
Out here, life is very large in regards to quality and quantity, very small when it comes to perspective and very normal sized once I've settled in. Adjusting to the change of pace takes a few weeks. One can not simply slow down to the speed of life out here overnight. It takes a bit of knowing yourself, a bit of restraint and a whole lot of to do's in order to avoid destructive boredom. It's been three weeks and I feel that the adjustment is almost there. No rushing about to and from, no places to be or people to see. There is life to live and not much more.
Head games are a big struggle, mind over body. There are days with extreme energy and enthusiasm and days where you stare at the wall. This year books have been added to the mix and what an interesting experience that is. To say I don't read much is understating that fact. I like what I'm reading and maybe that's all it takes, a likable subject, good words mixed with a tolerable page count and a few pictures here and there to keep a wandering imagination on track.

The fire is burning down, and time to add another log or two. Cold weather is predicted and by all signs looks accurate. Dinner for two this evening, though I am just one.