The pile of gear is unloaded; we’re set for a portage. It’s a team...of individuals. No one chooses, I just end up going first. No maps or watches. We’ve come too many times before. This is going to be a familiar view. The same old thing and we want it that way.
While we hiked in we saw deer tracks. Once on the lake- a set of loons. Then a seagull swooped in and plucked something off the water. Two deer, one from the north shore and an hour later one from the south came to drink. The south shore doe snorted.
Lone crows, raucous unseen Blue Jays and some swamp sparrows worked over the landscape from the bushes, bent grass, and from a perch on lightning struck trees. Sometimes it was just plain quiet. No wind, no airplanes droning, no ringing from my own inner ears.
The wind kicked up, then softly quit. Massive gray clouds drifted over head; not one drop of rain. Complete lack of bugs. Cooler air temps made hooded sweatshirts feel good. Last fall’s venison sticks ground and smoked for our brand of trail mix, tasted outdoors.
My eyes rested on dark black water or a kayak blade. The swirl of energy I created rippled out. Water logged dead heads stuck, left to wait for ice and the brownness of cattails seemed to hold the most color.
On the water the surface was black. I look at the shoreline from mid lake and it has not changed much in a year. From the shore, the lake itself has not changed at all. I came for that and that was solid with all the change in the past year.
One skein of geese winging high and voices lifting tilted every neck in our group. Large pond weed was rotting along the shoreline. Spider webs dripped silvery dew. We caught fish. We stringered a mess that took three photos to get visually correct for the rest of our lives.
Rocks arranged, kindling lit, wood smoke drifted into the air. Fresh fish was filleted, cooked, and we had our last true shore lunch of the season. Fire put out, rocks kicked away; it was the final act before packing up and hiking out.
I gazed at it all. I smelled as much as I could. I burped part of the day. My buddies were smiling and we all have our specific aches we generally go over, but for some unknown reason, not today.
We flushed grouse trail-side and a woodcock doodled about on the logging road. Leaves had fallen in the past week’s nipping frosts. The humus was aromatic. I stood still. One last look back at the day we went fishing.
Trout whisperer
