There isn’t a cloud in the sky, unless you count the smoke rising from my smoldering fire. It’s the reciprocal of stars you see screaming down on you in the middle of the night; in the middle of nowhere. On this day, in lieu of a nighttime celestial setting, it’s the color of blue that makes a lasting impression as the sun flexes its muscles. Winter is losing its grip and it knows time is running thin.
I’m surrounded by frozen swampland, thick with 8 foot high red-osier dogwood. The bark of the branches facing the sun is a deep, dark, rich-red color. It’s a beautiful setting interlaced with clumps of dried grasses from last season and lingering patches of snow from a storm several nights ago.
The Native Red-Osier Dogwood
The dogwood is native to North America. My firewood is not. It too has a rich, reddish color deep within its tightly ringed, wood fibers that can easily be seen when it’s cut or split. I used dead and dried branches of the buckthorn tree to cook a lunch in my iron skillet for my dog Kora and me. I figure that I might as well put the nuisance tree to good use.
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| The Core Of The Buckthorn Tree |
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| Making A Fire From Flint & Steel |
Occasionally, back to the north, I can hear the mechanical whine of four wheelers or ice augers. Ice fisherman at a nearby lake are out in full force as their season nears its end. I counted a total of 75-80 cars and trucks, some in the small parking lot with most lined up and down along the country road. It was a circus-like atmosphere when I walked amongst the city of ice shanties and into my secluded setting of red-osier dogwood. Off and on I can also hear a plane overhead or a train in the distance. Crows caw and chickadees call their own name, repeating the last syllable of “dee” several times afterwards.
Following my second cup of hot cocoa, I shed my thick coat and settled in to write in my journal. Kora was curling up on her blanket next to me, when suddenly I could hear something running towards us. No sooner did I attempt to focus in through the thick brush when a turkey ran through our camp less than 15 feet from our fire. Kora stared off after the velociraptor type bird and then looked up at me as if to say, “What was that all about?”
I threw a couple more logs of buckthorn on the fire, grabbed my pencil and journal, and once again sat down on my foam pad. It was then that I locked into the distant baying of hounds that I had begun to hear several minutes beforehand. I had figured that it was dogs from a nearby kennel, aroused by their owner feeding them or something akin to that. But now the deep throated, and excited bays, seemed to grow louder. In fact, they seemed to be very close and in hot pursuit of something just outside of my line of vision. The first dog went by so quickly that I only caught a glimpse of it through the brush. It was following a trail close to the line made by the turkey. The second, a treeing walker hound marked much like a long legged beagle, ran right by us; not even giving my dog Kora the time of day.
I rose, grabbed Kora’s leash, and snapped it onto her collar. I knew that she had no intent of following these crazy dogs, but I didn’t know if the rest of the pack would lay into her once they saw or smelled her. Another dog, this time a redbone hound of short, tawny-colored hair, came straight at us, literally hopped over our fire, and continued baying after whatever the pack was chasing. I could see they each had electronic trackers attached to their collars.
I needn’t have worried about the pack of hounds messing with my dog. They were on a focused mission that was darn near impressive, to say the least, and nothing seemed to deter their pursuit of the unknown quarry. Their baying continued out in a wide circle close to the shoreline of the lake and then back around. On their second lap, they swung about 30 feet out from us, and I was cognizant enough to record some of their ruckus.
CLICK BELOW FOR A VIDEO OF THE BAYING HOUNDS:
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I think there may have been a couple more dogs besides the 3 or 4 that I saw, each with their own pitch. After the second lap I heard the dogs double back, heading towards the origin of their romp, and then after a single gunshot, all was quiet. I don’t know that anything is in season right now other than cotton-tailed rabbits or coyotes. Maybe it was a Sunday afternoon run for the pups, and the gunshot was the sad signal that playtime was over. Regardless, the crazy circus had ended and quiet once again permeated the swamp, although it was some time before the birds resumed their calls to each other.
Kora’s blanket is now saturated and a moat of melted snow now surrounds my once proud cooking fire. I’ll take the time to pack up and hike back to the lake in the next few minutes. It was a good afternoon to get outdoors. Spring isn’t too far away and the tree sap will begin to flow. One trimester remains at school, basketball season is coming to an end, and my running miles are beginning to ramp up. But today, this day, was a much needed day. In the hidden recesses of the red-osier dogwood, and warmed by both the sun and burning buckthorn, Kora and I survived the hounds of the swamp while thoroughly enjoying the circus-like atmosphere.
See you along The Way…
