A couple of weeks have passed since the return of this magnificent Bald Eagle. There are two, though often only one is within sight. Perched above the river bank, patiently glaring down with angling anticipation of returning rainbows from t;he lake system and the sloth like char that meander the shallows. I knew it was getting that time and it was only a matter of when. Would it be days or weeks until that first rise in the water. The first hatch of bugs.
Growing impatient by the day, the eagle nearly plucked out two ducks from the river while diving and grazing on algae underwater. As soon as they submerged themselves, the eagle gently leaned forward off its perch, falling with grace into a diving flight, swooping down and arching upwards, giant wings frantically flapping to stay in place, a brief hover and then dive! No luck. Again for duck number two and again no luck. A sight to see. The ravens usually chase and harass the eagles, the fox harass the otters, otters harassing fish and finally there is lone fly rod to complete this lively cycle.
The first rise, was seen more than a week ago, but not until today did a solid hatch of small moth like, semi stonefly looking bugs appear and so did boiling, swirling rings on a glassy water. The rise would be to the left, to the right, ten feet in front of me or fifty yards upstream. Between the intermittent rain and sleet, the calm would produce great signs of feeding fish, and then like a switch, turned off again. On and off all afternoon and finding the right combination of fly in these short windows of opportunity was four times a charm. Finally an all black size 14 black dun fly did the trick, though not before considerable effort. I think it was a fluke really. Mainly relying on the hunger of the fish, seeing as my casting and presentation wasn't nearly what it should be. Nevertheless, "fish on" was said mumbled to myself, or in my head I can't recall. The excitement to bring in the first spring rainbow on a fly, not to overpower it and not to underestimate its size and current speed against the 5x tippet. I've got the knot down, never worrying about that, only my eagerness to retrieve and over aggressive stripping of the line. This particular fish was a beauty, about eighteen inches and quite healthy. No real shoulders on it, but there are plenty more to come.
I expect the challenging parts will be to keep control over my fishing territory from the wildlife that will certainly decimate my odds at catching if they have their way of feasting.
The other morning I launched a real lunker of a lure out and pulled in a nice char, twenty inches and a real treat for the fox. Didn't see him again for two days and when he returned, he was smiling.
The woodcutting season is finally over! Closed April 10th, I was thrilled to have cut when I could given the weather and finding perfect snow conditions along with the ever elusive dead tree. I'd venture to say that these parts of the woods are picked over near clean for the standing dead spruce. There were some questionable places I went in search of that great trailer load of firewood and next years warmth. Some hills were more forgiving than others and some were down right beastly. There was one area in particular that from the lake was an immediate fifty foot climb, a shelf followed by another steep climb and another and another until reaching the designated cutting area and available trees. I was happy to launch myself up the hill but coming down with four or five hundred pounds in tow was a wild ride to say the least. It was slow moving until that last drop that shot out onto the lake ice… and it truly was a one, two, three give it all you got sort of run down the hill. The trailer pushing its weight onto the tracks of the machine… speed was the machine's friend. Once out on the ice, it was a nice easy slow down and turn around to dump the wood and go back up again for more. I have to say that gathering wood from this particular area was the most challenging and the most fun I've had up here during the cutting season. Another of the best times was cutting a tree just shy of three feet in diameter and getting it down exactly where I wanted it. The fifteen inch length rounds were nearly too much to handle and I contemplated having to cut them in half just to load the sled. It wasn't a very tall tree, coming in at about sixty feet and probably having a full cord of wood in those massive branches, I took great satisfaction from getting this haul completed. Probably a total of twenty five to thirty trees were felled by this lumberjack for the 2014 spring season. The stack as it stands is about fifty feet long by four feet wide and four feet high. Some large trees, some smaller ones and a few random ones from the property make up this years quota. I saw a few others out there that will be future giants to harvest, but still growing healthy enough to keep out of my saw's reach.
The trailer by Northern Sled Works is absolutely a workhorse and worth every penny of the thousand bucks that it cost. Even with the small 340 Polaris, hauling anywhere from seven hundred to a thousand pounds was quite within the machine's capability. My stacking skills will fail long before that trailer gives out. Fantastic in every way.
I still enjoy my days devoted to second breakfast -
And I enjoy my leisurely afternoons -
While out scouting timber for those cold days inside by the fire, I came across an unusual track that has been seen and agreed with that it has a good chance of being a Lynx. Given its gate, weight on the snow and track depth from pressure, lack of claws, fairly circular (though this picture wasn't the best) and the overall size, this seems to be the best guess. Although I was only less than a full day too late to see or follow, this track belongs to another wild encounter I hope to have someday. The local ranger has confirmed seeing Lynx and further settles in my mind that I'm sharing this river corridor with the presence of a feline nature.
Nearly the middle of April, I grow weary in the daily tasks of hauling buckets of water to the cabin. The showers are well worth it, but I feel about due for a real, on demand hot shower without having to haul, heat and empty the water. I do however have that magical degree of 142 that feels just right for my quick daily dose of clean. Food supplies are ample and amazingly so. The options are limited and have rapidly lost appeal, but nothing a quick trip into town didn't fix. Only going twice this winter, I stocked up on fruits and a variety of sauces to accompany and revamp the daily one pan wonder of quinoa, halibut and either corn, peas or broccoli. I do get creative, though rarely for dinner. A few weeks back, the neighbors joined in on a caretaker dinner night over at my cabin, dining in style with a nicely made soup and fresh bread with a little touch of the cookie variety for dessert. Again, two nights back I ventured over that way for a wonderful pizza night done just right in the cast iron pan. What a pleasant change to have a real homemade pizza!
With approximately five weeks of the good life remaining, days are becoming increasingly difficult to endure with the anticipation and anxiety of leaving my little safe haven of paradise. Paradise really shouldn't contain anxiety, so maybe this is just a really good place to be for nearly eight months. Anxiety over what to do with the stress of day to day life that everyone has been living. Coming and going, using money and cell phones, dealing with things I've happily left behind. I probably only share in fifteen percent of the things that most everyone else lives daily, though up here I still have a phone and some meeting times to speak with people, I'm not too envious of the remaining eighty-five percent that I left back in October. Soon enough, I'll join the ranks of society, working and scrambling, living at the foothills a beautiful mountain range, rarely having a moment to look up and enjoy the view. Always pushing through traffic to get somewhere to do something, at a cost to my wallet and to my soul. It's a safe thing to say that I'm missing this cabin already. On the days when I don't numb the anxieties, for whatever reason it isn't called for, I enjoy the solitude and quiet far greater than the beauty of this geographic location. Having grown accustomed to the life lived alone, I feel a bit like a toddler might on the first day of kindergarten when confronted with sharing a toy for the first time. I truly don't feel like playing with others, hoping that when I do, I'll do it well. There will be no escaping back to my cabin. There will be no cabin. This privilege to experience life as a caretaker has either ruined me or enlightened me. I feel both.
Not going down the roads of sorrow for a life about ready to lose, staving off the alluring shine of a bottle next to me in the dim light that says, "carefree times ahead", I'll refrain from becoming too anxious, worried or melancholy about anything that isn't happening right this moment.
