Christmas Mission

            It’s the holidays.  It’s a time of reflection and wonder.  That wonder and contemplation can bring reassurance when expectations become overwhelming and life tries to snuff out the spark that normally keeps us going.  It also helps to seek someone to rally around.  Jesus is the model leader; without flaw.  Sometimes that’s what we need.  Purity is the peace for a muddled world.

            A quote from church this past week said, “The child in the manager became a man on a mission.”  That child came to provide freedom for the captive.  Hillsong United sings a song called “Seasons” that describes this phenomenon.  The lyrics say:

"Like a seed You were sown

For the sake of us all

From Bethlehem's soil

Grew Calvary's sequoia."

Jesus is like the seed that sprouted from soil and grew the tree for the cross he eventually died upon.  That sacrifice was for our sake.  It was the ultimate mission of love.

Click For The Video:

            We are all captives of time, pressures, and worry; at least to some degree.  We can become bound and crippled by each of these things.  The “Silent Night, Holy Night” so often sung about this time of the year, can easily become “chaos and turmoil” if we are anxious, stressed, and trying to carry the load and burden of life on our own.  Relief and comfort can come when one focuses on the promises that God has left behind for us.  Some of those promises can be found in these verses:

·        “The joy of the Lord is our strength.” (Nehemiah 8:10) 

·        “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.” (Psalm 34:8) 

·        “Because of the Lords great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:22-23)

            About 700 years before Jesus was born, the prophet Isaiah wrote these words: “For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.  And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6)  Relevancy can be found in a leader who can listen like a counselor, exhibit strength, and yet be an advocate for peace.

            As Jesus himself began his ministry, he quoted from Isaiah when he spoke in the synagogue: “The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.  He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor…” (Isaiah 61: 1-2 & Luke 4:18-19)

Click For The Video:

            The “year of the Lord’s favor” was also known as “the jubilee year.”  It was an actual time when all debts were settled and paid off; slaves were set free.  At that time it was in a literal sense.  Now this can be done in a spiritual sense.  I sometimes forget this promise.  Jesus is the leader that provides that freedom; something we all long for.  Jesus gives us freedom that transforms and restores.  It is, however, something that is miraculous considering God sent us hope in the form of a baby; a baby that was his son.  It was a mission of love, and something I like to think about on these cold winter days.

            See you along The Way…

Click For The Hillsong United Song "Seasons":

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*The pictures I took for this blog entry were taken while hiking on Christmas Day with my daughter Jodi on the "Nature At The Confluence" property where Turtle Creek empties into the Rock River (On the Illinois - Wisconsin Stateline).

It was nine degrees, but felt like -8 with the breeze.

"Like the frost on a rose

Winter comes for us all

Oh how nature acquaints us

With the nature of patience"

-Hillsong United "Seasons"

Setbacks

(A Blog Entry from an adventure 

on Monday, October 9th, 2017)

            After waking early, I checked over the gear I had set out the night before.  I needed to get my kayaks out of the garage, so I went out to start my Jeep and back it out into the driveway.  Unfortunately there was no response when I turned the key.  The Jeep was dead.  Setbacks.  The sky was beginning to show signs of light as I pulled out some jumper cables and tried charging the battery by using another vehicle in the garage.  After several attempts, I finally got the engine to turn over.  I let it charge for a few minutes, and then backed the Jeep out.  Just to make sure it would restart, I turned off the ignition switch and immediately started it again.  It worked, and I allowed myself a smile knowing that I would now be able to use it to escape onto the water for the morning.  My friend and I would both be escaping into an area setback off the main thoroughfare of most people.

            Scott arrived a bit later, as the sun edged its way toward the horizon.  We loaded the gear into my Jeep, and threw the kayaks into the back.  They don’t fit all of the way in, and instead extend a foot or two out of the back, but we just tied the hatch down and called it good.  I jumped into the front seat of my Jeep with my dog Kora, while Scott got into his car.  We would need the two vehicles to complete the “put in/take out” transition.  I took a deep breath.  Everything would be ok now, and we were about to head out.  Granted, we typically go with a decent sized crew on this fall day we have off from school, but after a group outing on the river a month or two ago, it was down to just the two of us this time.  Regardless, Scott and I planned on making the most of it, and set out on an adventure.

            I turned the key in the ignition.  Nothing; the Jeep was dead again.  I got out and glanced at Scott sitting in his car, giving him a look that basically said, “You’ve got to be kidding me!”  Kora was confused, and gave me a look that basically said, “What’s going on, I thought we were going to go do something fun?” 

            Of course, my jumper cables were under the folded down back seats which was also under the gear and kayaks.  Unload the Jeep.  Pull Scott’s car up.  Grab the jumper cables.  After charging the battery for a while, there still was no response when I turned the key.  Setbacks.  On a whim, I popped the caps off my battery.  I always tell people that I know more about harnessing a horse to pull logs out of the woods than I do about engine repair.  I say that because it’s absolutely true.  I grew up in the country on a small farm, where I did harness our horse for such endeavors, and I really don’t have any interest in tinkering with cars.  But somewhere throughout the years I’ve had others check the water level in my battery, and the memory of that triggered something in my head.  The water level looked low.  I ran into the house and hopped down the stairs for a jug of distilled water I keep in the basement.  I rolled a sheet of paper into a makeshift funnel, and filled each of the cells in the battery.

            We tried jumping the battery again.  If this wasn’t going to work, our other option was hiking into the woods somewhere and cooking a meal.  It would feel second rate, however, so we hoped for the best.  We needed to get on the water.  It was shaping up to be a good looking day if we could just get out there!

            When I turned the key this time, my old Jeep came back to life.  The sticker on my battery says, “8/11;” as in August 2011.  The average life of a car battery apparently is three to five years; give or take.  Seeing as though this was 2017, I was living on borrowed time; but aren’t we all.

            Reload the Jeep.  Back Scott’s car out of our driveway, and onto the street.  Get back into our vehicles, and we were finally off to a favorite section of a favorite river; a river that’s set back in a forgotten section of Northern Illinois.  Kora sat leaning forward, shaking with anticipation.

            After completing the kayak/gear drop-off, and taking my Jeep to the take out location, we climbed into our vessels and shoved off.  The quiet of a river has a way of wringing out the frustrations that can creep into your soul.  Both Scott and I weren’t bogged down by the setbacks from the morning; those were a minor inconvenience compared to the wider scope of life.  Ours were on the level of morale and changes.  I don’t believe we solved any problems, and I don’t even remember the whole conversation.  I do know we talked some, and caught up a bit on life and our perspective on things.  After having run a few thousand miles together over the years, we usually are fairly in tune with what the other person is thinking and feeling for the most part.  Since it has been a while since we have had the opportunity to lace up our shoes and run a path, it was a good reconnect.

            Although our area had been in a drought, recent rain had raised the water level.  We stopped when we finally found a small strip of sand where we could cook some food.  I’ll admit I had some trouble making the fire from my traditional flint and steel.  I could get the spark on the char cloth, and produce lots of smoke, but I just couldn’t get it to pop into a flame.  Setbacks.  When I finally did get a flame going in the nesting material, it quickly died out and wouldn’t catch onto the tinder.  The twigs were a little too damp.  I had to resort to a backup solution and a small roll of emergency toilet paper I keep in my pack.  Desperate times call for desperate measures.  We were hungry, and the sun was at about a forty-five degree angle in the sky. 

VIDEO:

            In the end we ate.  In the end we overcame the goofy obstacles and setbacks of the morning.  In the end we enjoyed each other’s company and time in the out of doors.  In the end, Scott and I paddled the snaking river; a river set back in the lush green bottomlands under a beautiful blue sky.

            See you along The Way…

MoonShadows

Oh, I’m bein’ followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

Leapin’ and hoppin’ in a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

-Cat Stevens

            I’d been a bit stressed about some things at work that day, on Thursday, October 5^th.  It was an afternoon that was leading up to the Harvest Moon that would be rising in just a few hours.  I decided to take off from school, with the encouragement of my wife and team, and head out for what was most likely my final trout fishing endeavor of the season.  I decided it would take an outing to regain the spirit within me.

            I zipped home, grabbed my gear and some food to eat, and headed out to a favorite creek a couple of counties northwest of the Stateline.  For me personally, getting out can sometimes help me clear my head, and realign what’s really important.  The skies were overcast, and were suppose to stay that way.  This meant I probably wouldn’t get any glimpses of the full moon, but it did promise to be good fishing.

            The creek isn’t much.  None of the holes in the bends are over my head.  In fact, the deepest hole only comes to my waist.  It isn’t very wide either.  The water itself doesn’t move very fast.  The creek is so thick with bramble that it’s nearly impossible to fly fish (although I’ve tried, and have managed to catch some trout there with my own hand tied flies once upon a time ago…but not without some major frustration and spending most of my time snagged in branches).  For this reason I fish by flipping spinners up along the grassy banks or under overhanging trees.  I could scream at the top of my lungs at any one time in that creek, and no one would hear me; it’s too far from anything through that long stretch of trout water.  For these reasons it’s perfect.  In fact, I love it.  I can fish.  I can be focused and precise.  I can stumble and bumble while walking in the water, or as I hike in and out, and yet through it all I feel safe.  More precisely, I know it personally and intimately; each bend, riffle, and the hidden underwater structure.  Because of this, I can think while I fish or fish while I think; either way I know what I’m doing and where to look while soaking in the experience and environs.

A Brown Trout

A Brook Trout

A Twelve Inch Brown Trout

            On that afternoon, I caught several brook and brown trout.  That in itself is pretty cool, but beyond that is the fact that it’s been twenty years now since I caught my first trout.  It was a little brook trout; wild, and crafty, and living in the headwaters of a blue ribbon trout stream just east of where I grew up.  I guess that evening was a way to commemorate my inaugural outing.  I caught that original trout as an adult just after my son had been born.  While our young family was up visiting my parents, who still lived in Northern Lower Michigan at the time, my Dad took me out.  He had taken me trout fishing off and on as I was growing up, but I just hadn’t gotten the knack of it, and so I usually stuck to pan-fish, perch, and the occasional bass or pike when I did go out.

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            As much as the excitement behind catching that first trout, was the awe I felt for the place where I’d caught it.  It was the place that had hooked me.  Twenty years later I still remember that it was dark, it was tight, and it was almost stuffy.  The water gurgled through thick, old growth white cedars; they were huge and sacred.  The trout itself was very small and I had caught it in a style not much different than what they might use for ice fishing, as I let a worm drift with the current in short little runs under red colored cedar roots and needle laden embankments.  It didn’t matter as I was simply elated that I had finally caught one.  I still remember that brook trout’s dark greenish-black colors with yellow spots, and red dots surrounded by blue hallows; a hint of orange running along its belly.  You simply don’t find a fish better colored than the brook trout.  Its creation is perfect.  I looked at that first trout and then eased it back into the cold water.

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            I thought of these things, and remembered these details, on that Thursday a week or so ago.  I fished until it was dark and I couldn’t see.  Two great horned owls called to each other from different areas of the surrounding forest.  I elected not to put on my headlamp, but instead used the moonlight that filtered through the thin layers of clouds to hike up through the creek, out through the woods, and on to the path that would lead me back to my Jeep.  The woods and trail were mine alone.  Some would probably find that frightening.  I found it tranquil.  It was a great evening to be out.  It was a great night to let the expectations, which can sometimes weigh on a person, simply fall away.  It was a great last run of the trout season.  By the time I had driven home, I was able to see distinct shadows of myself from the moonlight.

            See you along The Way…

Three Ventures Forth

Trout Waters Where Two Forks Converge

            I’ve written and posted at least one entry every month since I’ve started this blog.  I’m at the bewitching hour this month; on the last day, in the last few hours, in this month of September.  I know they say life is an adventure, so I suppose that alone could qualify if I put those memories to words.  It’s just that sometimes it’s difficult to write simply on life stuff.  Not that I haven’t written about life at various times; either in its purest form, or intermingled within the confines of time spent outdoors.  When I think about it though, it’s been more of an issue of time than motivation that’s kept me at bay from typing in an entry this month, because I have had adventures over the last few weeks.  It’s with these thoughts, and the hope that by getting this in before midnight, that I’ll be able to reopen the flood gates of creativity and continue blogging into the future. 

Tonight I’ll type up a few outings I’ve had while trout fishing.  The outings in which I ventured forth came from three specific excursions; an entire day spent before the first week of school kicked into gear, on the morning of Labor Day itself, and throughout an afternoon following a full day of teaching school.  They are ventures complete with pictures and videos.  Unfortunately my phone died a few weeks back and I lost all of my pictures from the end of June until mid-September.  Yup, I was just about to save them to an alternative folder, but as Maxwell Smart used to say, I “Missed it by that much!”  I’ve had some family members send a few of them back to me the last few nights, however, so I should be able to aptly share what I experienced.  This entry will be comprised of pictures, videos, and captions.

            See you along The Way…

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 Friday, August 11, 2017

Mid Wisconsin's White Pines, Oaks, And Trout Streams

            After waking very early, I drove North for a couple of hours.  I was in the water shortly after sunrise.  I fished an area that was familiar, but within water that was new.  It was an upper branch to a creek that I've fished many times before.  At one point, seconds after taking a video of the creek's moving water, a huge beaver came around the bend and swam within two feet of me before lurching backwards, sweeping over to my right, and following the current on passed me.  I just missed capturing it (figuratively and literally).  That day I caught a "Trifecta" of trout; a brook trout, a brown trout, and the fabled tiger trout.  The tiger is a sterile hybrid that can occur when the egg of a female brown is fertilized by a male brook trout.  I have heard about these hybrids, but had never caught or seen one before.  I took a picture of this trout and then released it.  That day I caught enough fish to keep it interesting. Once I got back to my Jeep, I cooked up some food in my little "Emberlit" stove.  I had a great picture of me kneeling beside it cooking a delicious meal, but it's been lost at this point.  I may have sent it to one person, so if it shows up, I'll post it here later.  Following the meal, I took a nap, read from a book I'd been reading throughout the summer (Beautiful Outlaw by John Eldredge), and then headed south.  I did stop and fish one more creek until I couldn't see anymore.  It was my last outing of the summer.

The Tiger Trout

Resting, And Recharging In The Back Of My Jeep

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Monday, September 4, 2017 (Labor Day)

            On this day I drove northwest, and arrived early.  My hope was that I would cover a lot of water, and get into some big browns at some point.  The score that day was 12 to 7; brook trout won over the browns.  The "Brookies" were entering their brilliant fall colors.  Soon after a lunch on the bank, I caught what would be my last trout; a spunky 16 1/2 inch brown.  While thrashing through the brush trying to find a way back to something resembling a trail, I caught my boot on some sticks and sprawled spread eagle onto the ground.  It would be just a few days later that I would notice big bruises on my shins and arms. Waders are a blessing and a curse.  For dinner that evening, my wife Cindy and I ate two of the fish for dinner.

I Love The Coloring On Those Brook Trout

I Also Love Those Autumn Browns

Monday, September 11, 2017

            After a day of teaching, I headed back northwest.  I didn't leave school as soon as I would have liked, but I had some things I needed to do first, and then I stopped by the house to let our dog out and grab my fishing gear.  When I arrived at my destination, I fought off the mosquitoes, and fished a different section of the creek than I had back on Labor Day.  The section was further up stream.  I again caught some brookies.  I also managed to hook into a twelve and fourteen and a half inch brown.  It was enjoyable being out on the water until dark.  The sounds and smells of the woods and creek always give me energy!

For Whom The River Tolls

“The wind of change blows straight

Into the face of time

Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell

For peace of mind.”

Scorpions: (song) “Wind Of Change”

            Some guys and I answered the bell and went for a trip down the Kishwaukee River three days ago.  It was a good change of pace; necessary in many different ways.  The river itself is the reward for those who answer when the freedom bell tolls.  Moving waters help flush away the pressure of unwarranted, or unnecessary expectations, if only for a few hours.  I’m all for the wind of change and marching onward, but it takes time to sift through and glean what works.  Luckily the river we paddled was on a give and take relationship; we gave our homage, respect, and strength while taking away a good workout and refreshing memories.  Anyways, the river called six of us on Saturday with a gurgling voice.

            We woke early, almost earlier than we do for work.  Four of the guys met at my house, and after loading up gear, my dog Kora, and driving down to Cherry Valley, we met up with two others who lived closer to our put in point at Baumann Park.

            Using the limestone fireplace on the north side of the shelter building, I cooked up a breakfast while we all talked.  It was a time to catch up and get to know each other a little bit as two members of the group were new to the Gulo Adventure Clan, and some of us hadn’t seen much of each other in the madness of school starting.

            After eating, we lovingly heckled another member of our group who was skipping out of our gathering to play softball in a tournament on the ball field next to us.  It was humorous, and he laughed.  Apparently his team won the game; mark one up for the old guys as they were able to muster up the energy to school a team of younger players.

            We dropped off a vehicle and trailer at the take out site and then returned to Baumann Park to venture forth.  My dog Kora was so excited to get started down the river that she crept out onto the bow of my kayak; toenails gripping onto the hard, slippery plastic.  I made a mental note to devise a softer pad that I could bolt on in the future, and give her stable footing, as it is fun to have her along on our adventures.

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            The guys talked and laughed and paddled.  We also stopped to jump into a favorite swimming hole I’ve visited in the past with other friends and family.  This trip is one we’ve wanted to take for the last few months, but due to high water that we’ve had most of the summer, it got pushed back until now.  The water was exhilarating, but doable, so jumping in was necessary.  Kora absolutely loved swimming in the water with us, but used a lot of her energy pushing against the current to get back to us each time we dove in.  It was at that time that we presented our unofficial membership cards to our two new guys.

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            Only one of the six of us decided not to jump in.  Only one of the six of us tipped over and went in anyways; it was poetic justice indeed, and a great way for him to ceremoniously christen his new kayak.  The only thing he hurt was his pride, but he laughed it off good-naturedly.  So in the end all six of us went swimming on what amounted to a beautiful, cool fall day.

Justin, Tyler, Andrew, (Kora), Zach, Doug, and Me

            We finished paddling in two hours; a perfect amount of time that allowed us to pack up and drive back, while still giving us the rest of the afternoon to do what we wanted or needed to do.  We’re already looking forward to the next time we get to paddle a river together.  By then the river will ring its freedom bell and call us to its bank to find peace of mind once again.  I for one plan to answer that call when the river tolls.

            See you along The Way…

Two Short Stories On Fishing

1.

            A week ago I got off the highway looking for some public access to a creek in Southern Wisconsin that I thought had the potential to hold trout.  What I found was a nice looking little pond that from what I could see held a decent amount of pan fish.  I had completed this scouting endeavor before the sun was even cresting the horizon; having dropped my wife and daughter off at the airport in Milwaukee at some ungodly hour beforehand.  I planned a return trip to check it out, figuring not too many people fish it very often.

            That opportunity came 4 days later when I decided to leave a few hours early to fish that pond before picking up my two favorite girls; back from their adventure together.

            It was warm and humid, and while I was there it even rained off and on, but I had a lot of fun.  I tried keeping count of the number of fish I caught, but lost track of the specific number, knowing it was somewhere between forty and fifty sunfish and bluegills.  My first sunfish was beautifully colored with blues, yellows, black, and red.  I had decided to fish like the days of old using a #8 hook, two split shot sinkers, and a little red and white bobber.  On my way up to the pond I had stopped and bought a dozen crawlers and simply pinched them into sections as needed.  Remarkably, I caught all of those fish, and still have four night crawlers left in the fridge (appropriately marked so as to not mistake them for food).  I will use these for another outing; next time with a friend and his boys.

Northern Sunfish

            Most of the fish I caught can only be described as bait stealers that would easily fit inside of the palm of an 8 year old kid.  Still, I loved the simplicity of it all and setting the hook when the bobber started to dance.  From the multitude of fish I caught I kept four; three because they were halfway decent size and one because he had hooked himself too bad.  I’ll have them for lunch sometime before school starts a month from now.  I also caught and released four largemouth bass; one small one, two at twelve inches long, and one at thirteen.  One of them had another fisherman’s leader, line and soft, plastic lure stuck down in its throat, but I managed to free him of it before I released him back into the pond.

A Largemouth Bass With Some Extra Hardware I Helped Remove

            Fishing with worms and a bobber brought back some good memories.  It’s been a long, long time since I’ve fished like that, but I decided it was a good idea to periodically reconnect to that setting which most people who fish started out with.  It was about as “All-American” as country roads and apple pies; just short of having bare feet, cut off jeans, and a can pole.  Maybe I’ll do that next time for posterity’s sake.

2.

            I was in the water by 7:30 and fished for a half hour or so before I caught my first trout; a brown trout.  The water was high and running cloudy yesterday after heavy rain fell earlier in the week.  With the overcast sky and cool air, it provided perfect conditions to fish.  I had sprayed for mosquitoes beforehand, when they had been a nuisance while I was putting my waders on, but once I stepped into the water with my sweatshirt and hat, they no longer bothered me.

My First Trout Of 2017 - A 13" Brown - Caught & Released

            That first fish that I caught was 13 inches long, beautifully marked and feisty.  I marveled at it, took a picture of it, and then took a video while releasing it.  I fished for a little over five hours.  In that amount of time I caught twenty browns, and released twenty browns.  Their sizes are as follows (according to the order in which I caught them): 13, 16, 12, 17, 13, 12, 12, 14 (this one jumped six different times; all in the same hole where I had caught my first trout outside of Michigan back in 2000), 12, 14, 11, 12, 12, 8, 12, 6, 10, 9, 7, and 8 inches.  I had stretches throughout where I didn’t catch many, but I had others where I simply did everything right.  I used a copper colored #2 Mepps for most of the fish that I caught.  Unfortunately I lost it on a simple snag in shallow water and couldn’t find it in the murkiness.  After switching to a #2 blue and silver Mepps I still managed to do all right.

A Beautiful & Chunky 16" Brown Caught In Fast Moving Water

This 17" Brown Jumped Twice Before I Could Bring Him In

The Crazy 14" Brown That Jumped High Into The Air Six Different Times

            Towards the end I almost kept a few to bring home because I was getting tired and hungry, but today was all about the first outing of the year.  The recent high waters had blasted out most of the log jams that had built up in recent years, so the deeper, open holes in the bends were awesome places to cast for trout.

            It was my official “Opening Day” of trout fishing even though it was the middle of the summer.  Next week I will be up North with my cousins fishing some “Blue Ribbon” streams, and I needed to make sure I still had what it takes to get it done before I headed up.

            Yesterday’s outing will forever be earmarked now as a memorable story, on a perfect day, catching a number of great fish, in one of my favorite creeks.

            See you along The Way…

A Slug And Centipedes In A Rotten Log

An Unexpected Prize In The Water

Half Of An Eight Pointer