Immersion

The Transparent Waters Of A Wisconsin Trout Stream
An Adventure From: Monday, August 24, 2020

Breathless is the air.  Stagnant.  I can feel the heat inside and out and yet throughout today I have been totally immersed within the nature surrounding me.  For several hours this morning I was fortunate to have waded a Wisconsin trout stream and it’s cool, clear waters.  And for several of those hours I actually managed to wear a long sleeve shirt.  It’s a shirt from a small country store that’s nestled in the valley and community I grew up in, beside the white cedar swamps of a blue river trout stream further Up North and on the Eastern side of Lake Michigan.  It’s a connection.

Now I sit in my camp chair with a book in my hand beneath towering white pines, their needles without a quiver in the unwavering heat.  It’s what remains of a once planted grove.  Yet beneath their lofty branches is the thick brush of maples, oaks, and wild, young, white pines now taller than me.  The first time that I came to these woods beside this creek, the sapling conifers were only knee high.  How magnificently these trees are able to leach the nutrients necessary to grow from this sandy, acidic soil.  While finishing chapters from Sigurd Olson’s book, Listening Point, a doe stuck her head out of the thicket and into an overgrown lane.  Although she could not smell me, she watched me stock still for several minutes; only the occasional twitch of her tail and ears gave her away, a reaction to the flies.  Once she deemed me as non threatening, she turned and disappeared, immersing herself into the wall of plant life.

It was at this time that I pulled out my journal; the paper and pen my means of capturing moments.  Although today’s cloud cover is thin, a few light sprinkles have occasionally spit down, and I pulled my chair under the open hatch of my Jeep.  Earlier, following a packed lunch that I had brought along in a cooler, I had opened the back of the Jeep and lowered the windows before taking a short nap.  Even in the thick air I was able to close my eyes long enough to take the edge of sleepiness off and revive my senses.  The culminating activity, before I put my waders and boots back on, will be to swim and immerse myself within the creek.  Its spring fed waters will cool and cleanse me enough to have one more go at the stream’s wary trout before nightfall.

Today, in addition to immersing with the air and water, is the immersion of time spent without restraints for one last summer day.  While it’s been a difficult last couple of months for associating with people and building relationships throughout social distancing, I have honestly got to say that I have thoroughly enjoyed every second of the summer.  It’s the first time in decades that I haven’t had to take a class, or lead a camp, or prepare lessons.  After teaching through this past spring and it’s remote e-Learning, I put every aspect of that experience in a box and crammed it towards the back of the top shelf in my brain.  It felt good.  It was refreshing!  In its place I ran, I worked outside and inside of our home, I spent time with my family, and I read several books.  I immersed myself into other things for once.

And with that immersion I am now ready.  Ready for what exactly, I’m not quite sure.  Teaching school will look much different than what I’ve grown accustomed to for the last three plus decades.  And while the unknown can be scary, beginning tomorrow it will be time for me to take that box full of school experiences back down from that top shelf in my brain and begin to sift and sort through it to see what I can use.  I’ve literally left it up there for as long as I possibly could, and it felt great.

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and perhaps it does.  Whatever I do, I strive to do it well; it’s how I’m designed I suppose.  And so as a light breeze begins to stir out of the west and the sun finds a small seam to shine down through the thin layer of clouds, after this summer I’ll be ready to teach again and find the energy to make a difference.  But before I do, I still have this afternoon to finish strong with some unfinished business.  It’s time to go jump in the creek and immerse myself in the refreshing waters of the creek!

See you along The Way...

An Early Morning Sunrise After A Two Hour Drive North

Sandhill Cranes In The Early Morning Fog

In The Middle Of Nowhere, A Pipe With Fresh
Spring Water That I Drank From...

A Beautifully Colored 14" Brown Trout

With The Hatch Open I Took A Nap In The Back Of The Jeep!

Despite The Heat I Was Able To Sit, Read, And Journal

A Lane Through The White Pine Grove

Click The Video To Watch My Immersion In The Creek

It was Refreshing!

(To watch the video you may need to change the "view version"

at the bottom of the page)

The End Of The Day & Summer

Centered On Northwoods Simplicity

        I’ve been here a million times before; under the needled boughs, alongside the lake, and upon the pine duff.  That is the landscape.  It’s a cabin setting that doesn’t require the manicured lawn and it’s combination of fertilizers and pesticides meant to beautify the extremities but destroy the water and its inhabitants.  Instead it’s simplistic and all natural; moss, lichen, and the plants that grow under the branches of the Northwood trees.  It’s the pieces to the puzzle that fit.

        Although it was the first time on this plot of land, the familiarity came from deep within.  It was authentic and resonated throughout my soul.  Having been born and raised in the Northwoods, its secret allure and branded trademark shape my heart, my character, and is the core of who I am as those who know me well will attest to.  I share excerpts of that spirit with family and friends.

        Several weeks ago, together with my wife Cindy and daughter Jodi, we found such a place to stay.  It was about as last minute as possible,  just short of showing up on some random person’s doorstep.  In the midst of social distancing and wanting to do something together with the girls after five months of being here at home, I spent almost three days searching, calling, and emailing various resorts trying to find openings or availability.  What we found was a blessing  in disguise, but God didn’t seem to work too hard to hide it.  Nestled between Tomahawk and Hazelhurst in the small community of Harshaw, Wisconsin, we found ourselves the proud recipients of a week’s stay at Jung’s Birch Lake Cottages.  Nicer hosts you’ll be hard pressed to find!  Don and Betty Jung were gracious, accommodating, and easy to talk to and share stories with as they showed us the cottage.

        We quickly melded with the cabin and its sacred frontage.  Spending time on the lake allowed us to take a deep breath, shrug off the last of the harried pressures of what we have endured over the last half of the year, and put a capstone on the close knit time we’ve spent together throughout this pandemic ordeal.  

        While our activities were varied and numerous, they centered on simplicity with the result being relaxation.  We enjoyed things such as cooking, running and hiking the Bearskin Trail, fishing, and taking a couple of evening drives.  We explored the waters by kayak and canoe, journaled, took pictures, and watched absolutely no T.V.  While we did watch two classic old movies, we also read at least 2 to 3 books apiece, and found a great little place to get ice cream cones (twice).  We went swimming off the dock, sat in our hammocks, and helped rebuild the cabin’s land-dock.  We enjoyed campfires, cool evenings as the fans drew the fresh air indoors, and listened to the sounds of the lake.  We looked for wildlife and saw numerous deer each and every day, along with mallards, mergansers, eagles and loons at close range, huge fishing spiders, bear scat, hummingbirds, chipmunks, painted turtles, and the black, gray, and rowdy little red squirrels.  We launched into space on the swing, watched sunrises and sunsets, and reunited with the many trees, plants, and flowers so familiar to my Northland upbringing.

        Life “Up North” was exactly that; life breathed into us while Up North.  Without a doubt the time that the three of us spent in Jung’s “Tranquility Cottage” was a culminating activity that helped bring our summer slowly to a close.  The whisper of silence permeated us the week-long.  While it was tranquil, it was also full of simplicity; simplicity centered within the sacred Northwoods.

See you along The Way…

“This was a time for silence, for being in pace with ancient rhythms and timelessness, the breathing of the lake, the slow growth of living things.”

Sigurd F. Olson (The Listening Point)

CHECK IT OUT!

TWO GREAT VIDEOS

AND A FEW SELECTED PICTURES...

Cottage Life Video:

Wildlife & Nature In Warshaw, Wisconsin Video:

Pictures:

A Rookie In Tight Quarters!

When we were kids the first thing that my sisters and I would inquire of my Dad, upon his returning from a fishing adventure, was if he had caught anything.  He’d usually reply, “Well, I swam as fast as I could, but I couldn’t catch any.”  Our typical response to him at that point was, “Dad, you know what we mean!  Did you get any fish?”   It was a standard “Dad Joke.”

This morning, after sleeping in a bit longer than expected to make sure potential storms had moved northeast of us, I prepared my gear for fishing.  As my wife, daughter, and I are staying in a rented cabin this week, I flipped over the kayak included in the package deal.  I had already grabbed a life jacket from the hallway closet, and picked up both my pole and backpack full of lures and other helpful equipment.

I started southeast from our dock and pitched my six inch Rapala towards the shore and neighboring docks, reeling it back out over the drop-off.  I worked my way around to where I knew a twenty foot hole extended diagonally across the lake.  Once lined up, I continued casting ahead, allowing the drag of the lure to pull me slowly ahead as the paddle lay across my lap.  After reaching the opposite shore, I proceeded through a channel into a wider, enclosed bay; working lily pads as I entered.  I hadn’t gone too far before a bald eagle flew over me, and two loons serenaded me with their wailing cry.  Their sound was unique; both exciting and haunting.  

Weeds began to show as the depth shallowed, so I switched to a Scum Frog lure that my Dad had given to me.  It allows you to cast onto lily pads and over underwater vegetation without getting snagged.  My wife likens it to an all-terrain vehicle.  Still, I moved on without anything even slightly resembling a hit from a fish.

After almost two hours of being on the water, I began to exit the bay by way of the channel I had come in through; this time working the southwest bank with a #5 silver spooned Mepps spinner.  Occasionally on my cast I would remember to swirl my lure in a figure-8 pattern, or at least back and forth as much as my low profile in the kayak would allow me.  It’s a technique that many fisherman use for those trailing, lurking fish that need encouragement and a little extra time to think twice about opportunistically hitting what looks like food and the catch of their day.  

One of my casts at that time landed on the outside edge of some lily pads sandwiched between two docks.  I was about to consider making the extra patterned movement before lifting the spinner from the surface of the water when at 7 to 8 feet off my starboard bow, I finally had a hit.  It was both immediate and solid; doubling my pole.  Elation was my first thought, as I just knew this was going to be a really nice pike.  The fish dove for the bottom of the channel, wrapping my pole under the bottom side of the kayak and then surged for the lily pads, dragging me with it.

The great fish made several more runs like that before rolling at the surface, and triggering that inner voice that had kept trying to tell me that this was probably more than a pike.  On that roll the fish looked greenish-brown, with none of a pike’s horizontal yellow dashes along it’s flank.  Several times I tried to bring it alongside me as I held on with one arm and scrounged through my backpack laying in the bottom of the kayak; looking for my phone to try to take some pictures of what was going on.

This fish was big, dwarfing the silver Mepps lodged in the side of its mouth.  It slapped its tail, dove, and sprayed me when I reached for my gripper.  I had managed to fire off a few quick pictures of the fish on the surface of the lake, but I was struggling to get the gripper attached to its jaw.  It would pass so swiftly through the water that I couldn’t get it fixed on like a person might that could lift the fish’s head while standing in a boat.  At water level, the points of my treble hook, and the points of the teeth in its huge head were a bit more “up close and personal” than one might like, but I finally got the gripper hooked into its jaw on around pass number ten.  I also got thoroughly soaked in the undertaking!  I was now solidly attached to a 40 inch-ish muskellunge!

I quickly saw that the small forceps I use to extract hooks from the trout that I typically catch was dangerously akin to bear hunting with a switch.  While my right arm was being wrenched from its socket, I again dug into my backpack for my multi-tool.  The pliers on that could do the trick.  In fact, they had to do the trick.

If elation was my first thought, panic was a close second; not for the fish and the catch, but more for the release.  I was attached to what some might term a predicament.  Fortunately I was able to get the Mepps lure out of the corner of its jaw and out of the muskie using the pliers.  Unfortunately, once I did that I saw that my line came down from the tippet of my pole and through the small gap between the sides of my gripper, which of course was attached to my wrist and the muskie; the cheaper quality, smaller model of gripper at that!

If the fish had thrashed again with a loose lure, it could have gotten ugly (-er).  I worked desperately to cut the fluorocarbon, threw the lure in the bottom of the kayak, whipped my pole out of the way, got my phone ready, grunted to lift the muskie up out of the water for at least a partial selfie with half of me and half of the fish...and then the #%@$ phone wouldn’t work!  No matter what I tried (with one hand), I couldn’t get it to take my picture as my phone had gotten wet.  “Nooooo!”  In frustration I thought to myself that this couldn’t possibly be happening now.  I wanted a picture.  I needed a picture!

I was getting nervous about getting the fish released, however, so I lowered him into the water and undid the gripper.  It was just that easy.  Suddenly all was calm.  I watched the silhouette of the fish descend into the murkiness of the water and then scoot up under a dock.  I know muskies can grow much bigger, and that in these parts, a “keeper” only starts at 40 inches, but considering I was sitting in a kayak at water level, with an average pole and gripper, it was still a respectable catch.  Most likely it was the new braided line and fluorocarbon leader I had recently put on, coupled with the knots I had learned how to tie that certainly made all of the difference.

I could see the muskie gently finning in place and his tail even came up out of the water once when he bobbed down, but after about five minutes or so the great fish disappeared back into the channel.  I felt confident that it would survive the ordeal.  I had gone from elation, to panic, to frustration with the camera, and now finally relief.

The release was not how I had pictured it, as in a perfect situation I would have wanted to hold the muskie and slowly work it back and forth before letting it swim strongly away.  Catch: A+; Release: C-/D.  I was definitely a rookie in tight quarters, but admittedly it would make for an exciting story. 

I restarted my phone as I paddled away, and of course it instantly worked again.  And once I was back at our cabin, I took the case off and dried it entirely so it was back to normal on all accounts.

Later when I told my family about my experience, Mom said that she wished she could see a whole movie of that adventure, while my sister replied that she could picture the craziness.  Dad had wondered what would happen if he ever got a hold of a big pike or muskie while in a kayak, adding, “Now I know.  Think I’ll stick to a boat or canoe at least...if I have a choice!”  My Uncle Bob wrapped it up commenting, “When you have a fish like that, anything can go wrong and always does.  It’s part of the fishing experience!”

I suppose the story of what I caught and how I caught it became the picture that only I can see inside of my head.  I’m not gonna lie that even several hours later I was still a bit jittery from the whole darn experience...but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t take another shot at it given another chance.

See you along The Way...