Ice fishermen want the cold weather to hang on for another month or two. The same holds true for snowmobile clubs, and downhill and cross-country skier plus bunny and predator hunters.
To each his own, I say, but sitting around the house while my hopefully heals from a fall last autumn has begun to drag on me. I get up early to watch the sun rise into the sky, and today has been a glorious day. The temperature shot up to 38 degrees, and a tiny bit of spring fever grabbed hold of me.
It's these occasional warm, sunny days that fire up my imagination. I can feel the throbbing head-shake of a buck steelhead, and in my mind's eye I can see a reddish-orange blush along his flanks.
Driving dirt roads is great fun, and I'm never in a big hurry to go anywhere except perhaps to the end of the trail. A daily drive is just an excuse for checking out some old and new areas for strutting gobblers. A man can't have too many back-up plans when it comes to turkey hunting.
Chunky bluegills like this one offer tasty eating.
I can feel the hint of change in the air, and have been known to sit on a river bank with my back to a tree, and watch steelhead spawn. I don't feel like a voyeur, and have sat motionless for hours watching the fish. In all honesty, probably one or two hours were spent nodding off. Then I knocked some ice and snow off my roof overhang, along with some help from my son David, and his fishing friend,, Ron Rau of Sitka, Alaska.
My ears hear the peenting call of a woodcock as he soars high into the air to impress a female woodcock. Granted, this takes place in April and May, but it's common during the steelhead season, and my memory of listening to this sound on hundreds of other days makes it as crisp and sharp to my ears as church bells ringing this morning.
So too is the putt-putt-putt sound of a ruffed grouse drumming out his love song to a spring hen. The sound is like that of a gas- or diesel-powered generator, and it's as much a spring ritual as fishing for these big fish. I have a strong hankering for some leek soup, and the time to pick leeks for soup is when the plant is young and just growing. Cut them up, mix in water and seasonings, and leek soup will make French onion soup look like the canned variety. Of course, another ritual of spring is hunting morel mushrooms. My poor vision makes this an exercise in futility. Unless a white or black morel is big enough to trip me, the chances of my spotting the thing is pretty slim although I give it a try every year. Occasionally one is found although my plans are to put my four-year-old grandson to work in May. He's built closer to the ground than me, and once he learns what to look for, we'll be eating morels.Smelt catches can be good on Crystal Lake if it freezes. Try Green Lake, too.
My memory bank is crammed with the sights of mature gobblers strutting for the hens, sticking their head out to gobble, and watch the head of a big long-hooked gobbler change colors as he displays for his harem.
Folks, I didn't do a thing today except talk deer hunting with a friend, outdoor books with a Florida collector, and I'd like to call your attention to Scoop's Books. Go to the top of this page, scroll down to the right, and click on my ugly puss. That will bring up near 400 fishing and hunting books for sale. Some are expensive but worth every penny, and all are priced right for a sale. My back is acting up some, and if you'll pardon me now, I'm going to watch the Red Wings game, dig into a mess of fresh-caught bluegills and perch, and relax. If tomorrow is as much fun as today, it won't be long before I'll be back in the woods checking deer sign. So keep it super-glued to this spot, and I'll continue this daily blog on a regular basis. It's therapeutic for me, and I'm hoping you enjoy my daily thoughts. Go Red Wings!
