Tonight
we have a Super Moon. It’s the moon that
shows itself as the largest and brightest full moon throughout this entire year. That’s a pretty amazing feat considering this
is the first day of the year, and we still have 364 days to go. It’s also known as the Full Wolf Moon. I probably tend to favor that name a bit
more. The use of the word “wolf”
apparently was due to the howling wolves that would lift their noses in
communication just beyond the outskirts of Native American villages; during
this time of the year when temperatures were cold and bellies grew taut.
Today
has indeed been cold. It’s the kind of
day when I would have loved to build a fire in the fireplace, except that
without encased glass doors, our already over worked furnace would have been
pumping the heat straight up the chimney with the smoke. The immediate room would have been toasty
warm, but the rest of the house would have been left frigid at best. We had a great fire in the fireplace several
nights ago while playing dominos with some friends. The memories of that fire and evening will have to suffice on a day like today. This morning I also opted not to run
the trails of our local forest preserve, as it was negative eleven out, with a
negative twenty-eight wind chill.
Instead, I busied myself in mindless tasks to pass the time, and watched
several shows in a row about people living up around the Arctic Circle. It seemed appropriate for the type of day we
were having. I then turned to the Outback
Bowl where Michigan and South Carolina were playing each other down in Tampa,
Florida. These days I really don’t like
to waste daylight on an entire football game.
I sometimes decide to watch parts of a game, or catch an evening game
before going to bed, but I decided to invest in this bowl game since one of the
teams was from my home state. As I later
texted some of my family and friends, however, I’m not sure that it was worthy
of my time and energy. So, when the
final seconds of the game ticked off the clock, I vowed not to let the game dictate
my emotions for the rest of the day, and turned my attention to cleaning up the
kitchen and some of my outdoor gear from a recent outing a few days ago. Then I dressed in extra layers, packed my backpack
with a jug of water, my camping mug, an aluminum cooking pot, and a packet of
cocoa for hot chocolate.
Rodent Tracks Into The Corn
Mice Leave Marks Of Their Tail
I
hiked down to our nearby creek just as the sun’s final rays were extending up
over the horizon. The moon came up in
the Northeast at about that same time; the “Super-Wolf Moon.” I crossed the creek several times on its
frozen pathway, until I came to a favorite section. It’s a ribbon of woods really, sandwiched
with the creek between two farm fields.
But, it’s what I have readily available within walking distance, and so
without the mountain ranges, boreal forests or tundra, and several feet of
snow, it’s the best that I’ve got. Cold
is still cold no matter where you might be.
The Rising Super-Wolf Moon
View From The Frozen Creek
The Sunset
The Moonrise
I
kicked away the snow and leaves, circled some rocks I specifically keep against
the base of a tree, started a fire, and began heating the water in the aluminum
pot. Periodically I put my hands over
the fire to get them to work again.
Freezing temperatures do a number on finger joints. Once the water had heated, I poured it into a
mug where I had already added the cocoa, and stirred it with a spoon I had also
brought along. As I sipped it, the
shadows grew defined by the light of the moon through the cold, clear sky. The long shadows of the trees extended out
across the white blanket of snow around my fire. A “blanket of snow” is such a funny
description this time of the year and in these temperatures. As if the snow keeps the ground exceptionally
warm. Still, the shadows on the snow added
to the already surreal atmosphere.
Heating The Water For Cocoa
Fire Light Reflected On The Snow
Warming My Hands
After
drinking the last of the cocoa, I flicked the remaining drips into the frozen
air, refilled my backpack with the supplies, rehid the rocks, and kicked out
the fire. I decided to jog back home after
making my way through the trees and over the frozen creek. It was dark, but I had the light from the
moon to see. I was hoping the light
running would warm my toes. My boots
have a reasonably high percentage of Thinsulate at 800 grams, but they are
older, and have broken down some to the point where they don’t always keep my
feet as warm as they should. I got my
feet frostbitten in high school as a kid.
I wish I could say it happened doing something heroic, but it was simply
from enduring a typical Northern Michigan fall day. My toes, and various parts of my feet,
literally got frozen while performing during a marching band halftime show for
our football team. As the snow fell, we
dumped our prearranged songs and broke out Christmas carols to entertain the
crowd. Along with the rest of the band, we
played wearing thin, black shoes that matched our awesome looking uniforms. Unfortunately it wasn’t really winter
attire. The rest is history; albeit a
bit painful to recall at times.
Today
I apparently made the simple mistake of cheering for Michigan, when in fact I
should have been engaging with my Michigan bloodline and the call of the
out-of-doors. I would say, “That’s my
bad,” but as it turned out it became, “My good!” Thank goodness I regained my senses in time and
answered the call to go outside before it was too late. The only thing I didn’t do was raise my face
to the rising moon and welcome it with a lonesome howl.
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":
__________
*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.
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.
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 5th. 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.
VIDEO:
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.
VIDEO:
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.
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…
-----
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 Outlawby 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
-----
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!
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.
VIDEO:
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.
VIDEO:
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.
