Trail Companion

This is Mya, a ten year old Norwegian Elkhound and my snowshoe partner.

She is the last of eleven Elkhounds I have owned during the last 35 years.

She has never been tied up or even owned a collar. She is fearless and will stand her ground when faced with just about anything, She weighs close to a hundred pounds and is far too heavy and awkward to pickup and place on a scale.

 For all of her impressive appearance, she loves children who visit and stands at the perfect height to lick their face and produce many a giggle.

I could write a hundred stories of my experiences with Norwegian Elkhounds, but they have taught me more than I have ever taught them.

This is an outdoor dog that loves winter but loves to sleep on a bed when no one is looking. She is welcome in the kitchen and spends a great deal of time sleeping on top of the big wood box lid, near the kitchen fireplace. This is a perfect spot to see what is going on in the house as well as keep an eye on the outdoors through the kitchen window.

She was raised with her sister Tillie, from the time they could first walk, to all the outdoor sounds and activities.
Before they were a year old they could howl back as perfect mimics to the family of coyotes that were raised in a den nearby.

The coyote parents learned to make a wide loop around our property because a single howl on their part usually produced a loud concert of replies from three to five Elkhounds in our woods. Many a cold winter night, with the sky filled with countless stars, I have stood transfixed by the coyotes and the Elkhounds howling back and forth to each other. I understands a coyote howls for many reasons but mainly to establish his territory with other coyotes. I think my dogs understood and at the same time made it clear what territory was theirs.

The Elkhounds were so good at producing a coyote’s long drawn out howl that I felt as if I were standing with my own coyotes.

Two full grown Elkhounds fighting will make a brave man step back.  It rarely happened with our crew but it was an event to be remembered. I could step into the fray and break them up with a yell and a push and was never bitten, but then they always knew I was in charge.

I intend to use the Nor’ west Scribe Blog to record many of the experiences I shared with these loyal companions.

Ground Blizzard

It is official, we are experiencing a ground blizzard.

Strong cold winds in excess of 35 mph, blowing snow with visibility from zero to 50 feet, but no fresh snowfall worth mentioning.

Snowshoeing on the woods trail was not too bad as the trees broke the strong north wind. I did notice three Blue Jays and three Hairy Woodpeckers taking shelter along the south edge of the woods.

This is my third trip and because of fresh snow the trail needed packing down again.

Yesterday, accompanied by the dog, we broke trail to the north about half a mile and then turned around and headed back home. That was an enjoyable trip compared to today.

This time we broke a brand new trail to the western edge of the woods. The closer we got the stronger the wind and blowing snow. At the edge of the trees the wind had built up the soft snow almost three feet high so it was a bit of struggle to get up and over it. The dog tried then gave up and waited for me to break a trail.

I thought I would be able to get a photo of the snow blowing across the open fields but it was a complete white out. Instead I took a shot facing south so the wind was behind me. The photo fails to define the strong wind battering my back, filled with driving snow, seeking any opening in my coat.

The resulting photo has more merit in showing what you can’t see, rather than what you see. The wind was so strong and cold, the digital camera shut down, so we quickly retreated back into the woods.

 Even the dog was happy to get out of the wind and back on the trail home.

The Woods trail

I strapped on the old snowshoes the other day and made a trip through the woods. Our latest snowfall of five inches came after a fall of six inches and then an inch. All told we have had 12 inches so it was time to break a trail.

During the winter the snow lies deeper in the woods where the wind cannot move it about too much. In the open areas the wind has a tendency to strip the snow away and pile it up in hard drifts along the edge of woods. The woods trail also give protection from the cold winds that will soon arrive.

As the winter progresses and the new snow fall gets packed down, it can get firm enough to walk on without the snow shoes. Once the trail is firm the dog loves to race down it as a free spirit. Occasionally she will forget and leave the trail when she catches sight of a bush rabbit. In the first leap she plunges into the snow and ends up almost immobile. As the rabbit dashes off over the surface, the dog bounds forward in great leaps and quickly tires in the chest deep snow.
She stands and watches the rabbit disappear, then plows her way back to the trail looking rather dejected.

Before the winter is half over she understands that it is a waste of time and energy to leave the trail.
Another snowstorm is on the way later in the afternoon so we plan to hit the trail shortly and pack the snow down a little more. Each outing we extend the trail further into the woods and by spring we will have multiple trails in different directions.

On the last trip we saw deer, rabbit, ruff grouse and squirrel tracks. The packed snow and grouse droppings on top of a big log indicates he uses it to drum from. He has used the location for years and has been spotted doing so on numerous occasions.

I see fresh snowflakes in the air so it is time to hit the trail.

Winter begins!

At least six inches of nice light fluffy snow fell Friday night and brightened the yard and woods up There is something about a nice fall of snow that is refreshing in appearance. It is something like a fresh start, a new beginning, an uplifting experience.

When I was about half way through scooping my three hundred foot driveway my outlook started to change.
The snow was no longer light and fluffy. The blinding white was hurting my eyes and I was starting to remember that we had five more months of winter.

My goal now is to get all the driveway, deck and sidewalks cleaned before the next forecast storm arrives.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and I have mine tightly shut from the snowy glare.

Tragedy on the lake

It started out as a simple afternoon boat ride on Bigstone Bay, Lake of the woods, Ontario.

Andy was going to take his fishing boat and travel down the bay to check on some property that might be for sale. He took his ten year old son with him and a shotgun in case they saw some grouse.

Their home was located on the north side of the bay, high up on a hill that gave them a great view of the lake. They left in the afternoon, November 11^th, 1968, and headed southeast, four miles down the bay which is two miles wide. The weather was reasonable for this time of the year and there was little wind. Snow covered the ground, several inches deep, but the lake had not yet started to freeze over.

They left in a small aluminum boat and motor with two life jackets and a single paddle. The father had lived in the area all his life, was an experienced boater, and knew the lake well.

When the pair had not returned and it started to get dark, his wife began to get concerned. Because the house sat up high on the shore, its lights could be seen for some considerable distance down the lake. She made sure the outside lights were on so it would make it easier for the boaters to head for home when crossing the lake in the dark..

When they were a couple of hours overdue she phoned a neighbor who was a commercial fisherman on the bay and who was very familiar with the lake. He agreed to locate them and bring them home. It was thought they could have had motor problems and were stranded somewhere.

The fisherman was soon headed down the lake in his big boat that was equipped with a large spotlight. A careful search towards the end of the bay failed to see any sign of the smaller boat. Tracks in the snow at the landing showed where the boy and man had gone ashore and returned to the boat. The search was then continued on the lake but there was no sign of them anywhere between the landing and their home.
The fisherman then widened his search in case the motor had broken down and the light wind had pushed them into some small bay or island. A number of times he returned to the house in case he passed the missing boaters in the dark, and they made it home. It was impossible to see anything in the dark without the spotlight.

About 11 pm that night he discovered a life jacket floating in the water some distance to the south of the boat’s normal track home. The wind was from the northeast so they proceeded up wind looking for the boat or survivors. A short time later their spotlight settled on the nose of a boat bobbing in the water. A quick check in the surrounding waters showed no signs of the man or boy. They turned off the boat engine and called out their names but got no reply. It was deathly quiet on the lake

An aluminum fishing boat is built with floatation tanks under the seats and in the nose so that it will float if filled with water. However a motor on the rear of the boat would cause it to sink further until the boat was vertical under water and only a foot or so of the bow would show.

When it was confirmed there was no sign of the boat occupants, the fisherman used his radio phone to contact the Ontario Provincial Police. He reported the details of the accident and gave his location on the lake. While waiting for the police, other local neighbors were contacted and they headed out onto the lake to hunt for signs of the survivors.

Word quickly spread and in due course a large number of boats, including the police, were searching the lake and miles of shoreline. It was a very dark night and not all the boats had proper lights. When daylight came and more boats arrived to help, the police organized an in-depth search.

In the daylight a second life jacket, cap, and one paddle were found down wind from the original location where the sunken boat was first seen. The thorough daylight search failed to find any other items or the bodies.

By this time the boat had been recovered and carefully examined. It had no damage to the hull or to the outboard motor. What was unusual was the motor bracket that normally held the bottom of the motor out of the water when not in use had been broken. Enquiries established that it had been broken many months ago. It was surmised that the shotgun had been used to wedge the motor up out of the water so the boat would drift ashore faster, or to make the boat easier to paddle.

Eventually police divers were put to work and spent many hours searching the bottom of the lake but failed to find anything. The water depth ranged from 50 to as much as 100 feet. As the days passed it turned windy and the temperature dropped. Ice started to build up on the boats and equipment and the search was called off due to the deteriorating weather conditions. When the last boats came in they were covered in ice from the freezing spray. It was obvious that anyone who may have reached shore would have died from the cold.

At the time the search was called off the entire bay area and shoreline had been thoroughly searched. In the weeks that passed additional searches found not the slighted sign of the man or boy. Soon the lake froze over and deep snow made any hope of finding a trace of them passed.

Many theories were proposed as to what might have happened. The one that made the most sense was the possibility the motor of the boat failed at some point on the way home. The boat had only one paddle so it could not be paddled from the side as it would simply turn in a circle. The only reasonable way was to move up to the nose of the boat and paddle from the front.

If the motor was left in the water it would cause drag and slow the boat down. Since the lock that normally held the motor out of the water was broken, the shotgun was used to wedge it in the up position.
The wind was starting to pick up from the northeast and would help them towards a southerly shore. Paddling an aluminum boat from the nose is very difficult because the narrow bow of the boat leave little room to stand. It is very easy to lose your footing. If a cold wet foot slips, you pitch forward and can easily fall out of the boat and into the water. It is a very awkward and tiring job to paddle in this manner.

It would have been impossible to paddle the many miles needed to reach home in the dark so it was believed they would head down wind for the nearest shore which happens to be Hay Island. No homes or cabins are on the island.  Once off the lake they could wait for help that was sure to come when they became overdue. During this difficult period of time it was possible for them to see the lights of their home, a couple of miles across the bay to the north.

It is believed that the father must have slipped from his awkward location in the bow and fallen overboard.
Or it is also possible the son fell overboard in the same manner while taking his turn paddling. The water was almost at the freezing point so neither one would not have lasted long in the water.

There would have been a frantic effort to get back into the boat as quickly as possible. In attempting to climb over the side into the boat it must have filled with water, and then sank. Neither occupant was wearing a life jacket so the cold water would have made it difficult, if not impossible to get one on while swimming in a winter jacket. If they were able to hang onto the nose of the boot, they soon became numb from the water, passed out and drowned Their bodies sank into the cold depths and could have drifted under water for some considerable time and distance before coming to rest..

It is important to consider that even if they had both been wearing life jackets they would not have lasted a half hour in the very cold water. With the life jackets off or on, their chance of survival differed only by a short time. It is an established fact that people who drown in the deeper parts of the Lake of the Woods stay on the bottom The cold water keeps the body from rapidly decomposing so they fail to rise to the surface as usually happens in warmer, shallower water.

For years, people on that part of the lake always kept on the lookout for the slightest signs that might give some clue as to what happened, but nothing more was ever learned (nor were the remains ever found.)

　　

First snow - very wimpy.

Well, it finally snowed yesterday evening and it would be a stretch if I said it amounted to an inch.

 This morning the wind is gusting from the Northwest and more snow may fall this afternoon. When I went outside to fill the bird feeder the dog got all excited, thinking we were off for a walk in the woods.

I did not have the heart to disappoint her so off we went. The wind eased off once we were in the woods but it was still windy and cold. There was enough snow to see a couple of faint bush rabbit tracks but the dog only gets interested if she flushes one. She is getting too old for the chase and the woods are too thick for her to have any chance of catching one but I sense that she feels playing the game is just as important as winning.

A Raven went overhead, cawing as it was tossed about by the gusts of wind while five Black-capped chickadees fluttered about looking for dead bugs and spiders. As we headed for home, a solitary Blue Jay
dashed by in the distance, headed no doubt to the bird feeder at the house.

It was a brief walk, but long enough to satisfy the dog and establish the start of our winter routine.
　
　

Spring Canoeing on The Lake of the Woods

When winter draws to a close and March is half gone, I start watching the lake for signs of spring. The warmer temperatures and the water current thins the ice where it flows around a large island. I lived on the north shore at a point where the lake opens up very early in the spring.

The snow lies deep all over the land but the open water tempts the canoeist in me. In the first photo, taken on the north shore high above the lake, you can see the open water to the left and other areas where the ice is thinning. This is when the North Country is starting to awaken from the long cold winter.

On the first warm sunny day the urge is too great. Soon the snow will be too soft to snowshoe so we waste no time. We grab snow shovels and head for the mounds of snow that outlines the location of the canoes. Once they are free of their winter blanket and sit on top of the snow, we load up the life jackets and paddles. After strapping on the snow shoes we grab a tow rope and head towards the lake dragging the canoes behind us..

The canoes follow easily until we come to the steep slope that leads from the top of the hill to the ice below. At this point we stop, remove the snowshoes and climb into the canoes. A slight push with a paddle and off we go down the long steep snowy slope, and out onto the ice of the lake.

　
The ice right to the water's edge remains thick and strong so we are able to set the canoe in the lake and get in as safely as if we are on the rocky shore. In spite of the fact that my friend and I are strong swimmers, we are very appreciative that we can make no mistakes that result in us ending up in this icy water.

On many an occasion we have purposely placed a hand in the water up to our wrist. Before we can finish counting to ten the chilling pain forces us to pull our hand from the water. It is an excellent reminder of the risk we take. Neither one of us has ever dumped a canoe, but we realize it can happen.

As we push off from the icy shore we move into a canoeist's dream. The water is like glass and the canoe slides through it with hardly a sound. Our course is limited by the ice but as the days go by the open water becomes wider and the path longer. The deep snow, thin ice and limited open water keeps the rest of world at bay.

It is a time of the year when we have the lake all to ourselves.

We drift by dozens of private cabins buried in snow, without any sign of life. The huge snow drifts give the feeling that they will never be gone 'til June. We experience the lake in a way that no one else even contemplates. All the photos we obtained were unique

I experienced this special time by myself for many years until I was joined by a friend who was tired of hearing about it and wished experience it himself.

We enjoyed this for many years and referred to it as "Spring Canoeing."

This photo of a prairie thunder storm is a special feature of this flat land in central North America. On this particular day I had three storms around me most of the afternoon and managed to stay out of the path of them all.

They never got closer than four or five miles and they were all working their way southeast. I got a number of great photos and stayed dry the whole time.

When seen from a distance the rain looks worse than it is, but the wind is mild and the storm soon passes.

I am always left with the feeling that mother nature is a very powerful but beneficial entity.

I was raised in the city of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and very early in my life I had the impression that when it rained, it came down all over the city at the same time. It was rather enlightening to learn, when visiting my uncle’s farm for the first time, that rain could fall in limited areas and march across the country side like some great exhibition.

Had I not had the opportunity to get out into the wide open prairie, my ignorance might have lasted longer.
Mother nature educates farm boys much faster than city boys. I like to think I made up for it later with all my wilderness camping and canoeing.
　

Mare's tail clouds - a change in the weather.

I have been a life long photographer and bought my first camera when I was fourteen. My father owned his first camera about 1930 and had some twenty years experience by the time I started. I learned a lot from him over the years and of course I am still learning.

I have a wide range of interest in things around me which has resulted in a great variety of topics saved on film, and now digitally. I love the outdoors, so landscapes with different weather patterns came naturally.

This photo was taken in January of 2009. The humidity in the air froze during the night and coated everything with a thick layer of frost. As the morning progressed the temperature rose and it was then that I noticed the Mare’s tail cloud formation. This photo is a good example of this type of cloud formation.

The mare reference relates to a female horse, with a long beautiful tail. (Now you don’t have to ask.)

I learned long ago that this type of cloud signaled a change in the weather was close at hand. In most cases it was a warning the weather was going to get worse or a storm was possible.

Night flying adventure

With the simple introduction to the life of a Bush Pilot in the previous post, you will better appreciate the story I am about to relate.

When I lived in Northwestern Ontario I enjoyed the many trips I made by float plane. I grew to know many of the pilots and a few became close friends.

I bumped into one, one day at a remote tourist camp. During our discussion I mentioned having had a drink recently with a mutual friend, who happened to be a Bush Pilot.
“Were you drinking at his cabin?” came the question.

“Yes I was, and it was a long enjoyable evening,” I replied.

“Then you were sharing in the train wreck booze,” he said, laughingly.

Now, I had heard many stories about this train wreck and I decided to try to get to the truth of it all. I grilled my friend of all he knew and in the weeks and months that followed I added many bits and pieces. My curiosity was never ending until I got an opportunity to drink more of the train wreck booze. By then, enough time had elapsed that my unnamed bush pilot friend felt willing and safe to fill in the blanks.

In the late 1960s a CNR freight train derailed at a point where the tracks ran along the north edge of a lake, below a tall cliff. About a dozen freight cars left the track and three or four went down into the lake. The railway cleared the damaged cars off the track and got the traffic running again in less than a day. The recovery of the remaining cars and cargo had to be done between the passage of the regular trains. First priority was to keep the traffic moving.

During the daylight hours the recovery process was intermittent. The operations were shut down before it got dark and railway guards were posted at each end of the damaged section in order to protect the cargo the smashed boxcars discharged.

While the wreck took place in a remote area it did not take long before people tried to reach the scene. Since the track lay between a lake and a very high cliff, access was limited to walking along the track and that was protected by the police. It was a nameless small lake with no cottages or even a place where a person could launch a boat onto the lake.

Once in a while a bush plane flew over and around the site as the best view was from up in the air. The singular fact that made this wreck so interesting was that two of the box cars were full of liquor. One car was completely underwater while the second was half in the lake with boxes and bottles strewn down the railway embankment. The railway was waiting for a diver to help retrieve the damaged freight cars and cargo.

In the meantime within the group of spectators many a thirsty mind was reviewing their options.

On another level, a couple of high flying minds started to put together a plan to save the booze from the watery grave. Here is how it played out.

Early one pitch black morning about 2 am, a small float plane took off from a private dock on the Lake of the Woods. The plane headed north in the darkness and before reaching the wreck site the navigation lights were turned off. From the ground the night was very dark but from the sky it was possible to see the outline of the lake but not much more.

The plane came directly towards the lake with the engine throttled back as safely as possible. The little plane drifted in over the tree tops and settle on the lake with hardly a splash. The guards on the track heard the plane go down and then listened as it idled its way to the south, farther from the tracks.

Maps coupled with previous experience on the lake led the pilots and plane to shallow water where an anchor was tossed out. The two men in scuba gear finished dressing and with their fins and air tanks in place slipped over the side into the water. Pushing off from the float plane pontoons they headed into the middle of the lake. Each carried a small underwater light and three or four old, but empty, gunny sacks.

Their compass led them north, towards the tracks. They swam slowly without making a noise but it was so dark they could not be seen from five feet away. In time they reached the north side of the lake to the east of the wreck. They then worked their way west along the embankment until they found the first smashed box car.

The guard high up on the dark railway track could see nothing in the water, let alone the lake itself. All of the liquor that had lain around the smashed boxcar had been cleaned up. The divers were looking for the second car that was under water near the first boxcar.

With the aid of their small flashlights they found the underwater target which was also broken open A large portion of the cargo was lying around it on the lake bottom. From that point on it was easy to fill each of the sacks with as much liquor as it would hold. It was all done by touch and feel in the dark and no choice was possible as to the make or type of the product. The sack tops were tied shut and left on the lake bottom.

Now the hard part began. Each diver took one sack and swam with it to the east some distance from the wreck and placed it at the foot of the railway embankment where the water was too deep for it to be seen. Once a sack was in place they went back for another. In time all the sacks were well away from the wreck so that a railway diver could not see them.

The final step was to take the last sack between them and swim with it back across the lake to where the plane was anchored. It was a simple task to load the sack, which was much heavier out of the water, into the back of the plane. Haste was the watchword because they had to take off before it was light enough for anyone to read the identification numbers and letters on the body of the plane.

When the divers and their treasure was safely stored, the engine was started and soon they were racing across the lake. The pontoon pounded the tops of the small waves as they roared into the darkness of the night. When the plane came off the water the difference between the trees and the sky could be made out. They cleared the tops of the trees at the shore of the lake and were soon many miles away.

Back at the home dock, after the plane was securely tied up, the sack of liquors was evenly divided and they headed for home. The variety of rum, scotch and gin was acceptable, once the price was considered.

At least a year passed before a small plane landed back on the same lake one bright afternoon. It slowly taxied and parked near the railway track embankment. No one was within miles to see a number of heavy sacks hauled up from the bottom of the lake and loaded into the plane, which was soon back in the air.

In the years that followed, the two pilots were always great hosts and took care that any visitor to their cabin never left thirsty. I can testify they were generous to a fault but I did not understand why until many years later.
　

Bush Pilot - Northern Ontario

If you live in Northwestern Ontario, or even visit for a short time, you will quickly appreciate that Bush Pilots are a vital necessity. Huge areas of forest sprinkled with hundreds and hundreds of small lakes makes travel a nightmare.. The rocky terrain requires very difficult and expensive road building .

Trappers and hunters in this area, in days gone by, traveled on the rivers and lakes and along the old portages that connected them.

In the modern age, float planes bring the avid fishermen to lakes rarely seen, let alone fished. A few roads are scattered about with huge distances in between.

Float plane pilots are in a league by themselves and proudly tagged with the name Bush Pilot. They are a breed that live in the North and daily flit from lake to lake, not only flying in fishermen, but supplies and equipment to remote mining or logging camps. They regularly go places that a normal pilot would never risk with his plane or life.

You need only to fly into some remote lake and back out again to understand what a Bush Pilot does for a living. Landing in a small lake surrounded by tall pine trees would be equal to landing in a large pasture. The descent can be abrupt and takes place when all you can see is miles of trees under you. Suddenly, the splash of the floats in the water signals a wet landing.

The take off experience makes the landing hardly worth mentioning. You taxi down to the end of the lake and turn around. When the pilot is satisfied all dials and equipment are a go, he applies full power. Your first take-off in a float plane makes a fast boat ride seem dull.

As the plane roars down the lake you cannot help but see you are fast running out of lake. When the far shoreline fills the windshield and your heart is in your throat, the plane rises like a leaf in the wind. The floats seem to skim over the tops of the shoreline trees which flash by below. Your view suddenly changes in seconds to miles and miles of trees spotted with lakes.

In winter the floats are removed and skis added. For a short period of time bush flying takes a break until the lakes and rivers have frozen over enough to support the weight of an aircraft. In spring the reverse takes place until there is enough open water to take off and land.

The life of a bush pilot is rarely dull and boring. Mix in bad weather and anything can happen and does.
　

Today was a weird day!

Today was a weird day. Ya, I know it was a Monday and Mondays can be a drag.

First off it was a indecision day. Was it going to rain, snow, or just be dull and depressing?

As the day progressed I could feel the energy just being sucked out of me. It was weird.
I wasn’t out late last night; I got a good night's sleep. Why did I feel my power cell was running on empty.

I struggled from one chore to another until I thought the day would never end. I got things accomplished but at what price. I was looking forward to sitting at my computer this evening. Now I would be happy to just sleep at my computer.

If I have problems I try and winkle out what caused it. That way maybe I can prevent it happening again.
If I can’t find the root cause, I am doomed to repeat it.

After serious consideration, sitting here at the keyboard trying to keep my head up, I think I have it.

Atmospheric pressure change. I have not checked the weather but there must be a big change coming. Either we are going into a strong high or a drag you down low.

I use to think a low moving into the area had a bad effect but now believe it can be either way. As we get older our body reacts more to changes around us but we are too stupid to understand why.

Now that I have put the finger on the problem I plan to coast through the rest of the day and wait for the weather to settle down and make its mind up. I feel better already. It has nothing to do with getting older.

Crabapple Grouse

Far be it for me to call anyone fat, but this is certainly not a hungry ruff grouse.

Some say a fat grouse means a long tough winter.

I rather just think of it as a grouse with a serious eating problem.

Bring on the snow!

No snow!!

Here we are the middle of November and no snow.

This really makes tough sledding.

Now I am not praying for snow, but you cannot call it winter without snow. It does make life easier and safer for the elderly, a class which I have no intention of joining.

My dog lays out in the yard, staring at me as if the lack of snow is my fault. No snow, no snowshoeing. No snowshoeing, no joyful treks through the woods making trails.

The most noticeable change the lack of snow has caused, involves birds and other wildlife’s struggle for food. Many birds head south when the snow covers the ground and makes it difficult to find food. This year many have not yet left as food is easy to find.

The Ruff Grouse in our woods stay all year round and they adapt to the seasons and weather easily. This fall one of them discovered the small crabapples from my tree were lying in abundance on the ground and in plain sight.

It was not long before we had two of them and last night the crew grew to four. They arrive just before dark and have a little feeding frenzy for about five minutes and then zip back into the woods. The dog has learned it is pointless to chase them as they leap into the air and are off with a loud whirrr,…whirr of their wings.

They cannot swallow the cherry size apples so their first choice are the ones that have been stepped on. They quickly pick them up, shake them a few times and swallow what has not fallen off. The larger ones have frozen and thawed each day so they are becoming very soft and easier to eat.

The grouse have been eating here for more than a week and they are starting to fill out and will be in fine shape to deal with winter. I have noticed they eat seven to ten apples and when the crop is stuffed they either run at high speed for the brush or leap into the air, and with a burst of speed melt into the dark woods.

The Ruff Grouse are not hunted in my woods nor in the property around me as my neighbors feel as I do.
Each spring we have one or two batches of eggs laid and if we are lucky we get the odd chance to watch the chicks running about, catching bugs as if it is the last one they will ever see. As they get older the group starts to thin out. Owls and fox are the biggest threat.

During the winter I listen for the drumming sounds of the Ruff Grouse and it confirms we still have them in the woods. On some occasions I have heard three drumming in different directions around me.
The yard visitors better eat their full as the snow has got to fall shortly.

Lost in the silence of the great north woods. Part 3 & end.

Read parts 2 & 3 first.
With each step to the right I took I imagined the ice felt thicker and stronger and I started to relax. In time I could see the shore line so I swung left in order to stay on the lake and southbound. In about fifteen minutes I reached the south shore of the lake. I was very happy. I was on solid land and had had enough of lakes.
The next truck sound drew me towards the highway that was getting much closer.

I swung to my left where the snow cover was packed and easier going. I was getting tired and moving slower but kept moving along the south shore of the lake. Out of the white mist ahead of me I thought I saw something much darker. As I moved forward cautiously I found I was looking at a small water filled creek.
That stopped me cold, as if someone threw water in my face. The first shock was the fact I could not go further in that direction because there was open water. The creek current was keeping the water from freezing even though it was at least twenty below Fahrenheit.

Then I realized the warmer creek water flowing into the lake had thinned the ice for some distance out into the lake. I had been walking across the lake and heading directly towards the location of the creek and the thin ice. I would not have gone much further before the ice would have broken and I would have ended up in the lake in snowshoes with a pack on my back and a rifle in my hand.

I stood stock still playing the recent course of events through my head. From the way I was dressed in heavy winter clothing the water would greatly increased my weight. In addition the thin ice would not have supported my weight. It would be almost impossible to drag myself back up on the ice. The backpack and snowshoes would have guaranteed my end. I might have slipped off the backpack but the snowshoes were another matter. If some miracle had allowed me to get out of the water, I would have died from the cold, long before I could reach help.

I shook my head and got back to the business on hand. I turned away from the creek and moved off to the southwest towards the sound of the last truck. After another exhausting hour I reached the highway and knew where I was. I had to turn left to go east down the highway to where my car sat.

During the walk down the side of the road, snowshoes over my shoulder, I did not see or hear another vehicle. Not another car or truck went by. The flow of traffic had ended for the night. If I had not reached the highway when I did I could have walked in circles without the aid of the truck noise.

Later I determined I came out on the highway about two miles west of where I parked the car. I went in the woods at about 10 A.M. and came out onto the road at 7 pm. I walked at least seven miles in, seven miles back out then two to the car for a minimum of sixteen miles. Because I was in motion at least eight hours I feel I walked somewhere between twenty to twenty five miles in total.

It was not the mileage that was important but the fact that some sixth sense gave me warning to stop before I walked into thin ice and open water. In the days that followed it snowed a great deal more and became even colder. All my tracks would have been covered and the open water would have frozen over. There would not have been a scrap of evidence of my passing and my remains would have never been found.

Another person would have just disappeared into the silent trackless wilderness.

I have lived the rest of my life with appreciation of the gift of another chance.

Lost in the silence of the great northwoods - Part 2.

Read Part 1. first.
The buck wandered back and forth through the packed snow as if it were trying to throw me off the trail. The snowshoeing was easy but the tracking was hard so I was falling farther behind the deer. I was very relieved when the tracks led out of the deer park and into the more open woods. I could tell we were now headed back in a northerly direction but my deer was now traveling with the three other deer..

The snow was deep in the open woods and became even deeper as we crossed gullies and creeks. I had been snowshoeing for over four hours and I was starting to slow down. I began to get the feeling the my wounded deer was making a slight recovery. In the early part of the chase I had observed that it was favoring the right front leg as it did not lift it fully and left a slight drag mark in the snow. The drag mark was now gone.

I continued the pursuit for another hour or so and then suddenly found that tracks leading up a steep rise. When I reached the top I was stunned to find I was standing on a railway track. The C.P. Railway ran east and west and it was from five to seven miles north of the highway where I had started. They both ran parallel to the west. It was time to reconsider my options.

It was starting to get dark and the railway confirmed I was at least five miles from my starting point. I was not going to get back before it got very dark. A quick re-examination of the deer tracks up the hill to the railway showed it was now using all four legs to climb and I could not remember seeing any blood for the last mile or so. The deer had plunged down the other side of the steep railway bank and through deep snow with no sign of injury. The deer was doing better than I was.

I had no choice. I had to abandon the chase and head back to the car. While standing on the tracks I became very aware of the fact that the temperature was still falling. The sky was clearing so it was going to be a very cold night and I was still many miles from the road. I turned my back to the railway and headed for home, satisfied that I had done my best to try and locate my wounded deer. Now it was my survival that was at stake. I ate the last few cookies in my pack and started back down my snowshoe trail. Luckily there was no wind to speak of.

After about an hour I came to realize that the deer had led me on such a wandering trail I was traveling more miles than necessary to find my way back. I had to strike a new trail directly south in a straight line. The hills and valleys, not to mention all the woods, made it very difficult to proceed in a straight line.

As I plodded along through fresh snow in a somewhat southerly direction I realized it was going to be a very long night. I was getting tired and the rifle was twice as heavy as when I started. I knew I had to get out of the woods as it was now so dark I could see only a short distance ahead of me. I had to find a lake so the openness would give me more light. I was in good shape as I had done enough snowshoeing earlier in the winter to get into condition. The old mal du rackette or snowshoe sickness was not likely to strike.

When I was to the point that I thought I would never find a lake, one appeared. I also had the impression that it ran in a southerly direction so I could stay on it for some time. But, I had to make sure I was going south and not east or west. As I stood out in the middle of the lake I had no stars to guide me because it was overcast again. The silence was deafening. No wind, not even a slight breeze. Nothing but vast silent space all around and above me.
　
Just as I was about to make a choice of direction I heard a new sound. I listened carefully and realized it was a large truck passing to the south on the highway, many miles away. Once it passed the heavy silence returned. I was smiling to myself again because I now had a clue. South was in the direction of the only sound I heard. Off I plodded, down the middle of the lake in confidence.

The terrain and my snowshoe rhythm changed. I was now able to get into a simple long stride because the snow was not as deep as it was in the woods. The mind was no longer negotiating the hills and rocky paths and preventing nasty spills. I was almost lulled into the stupor of dragging one heavy snow shoe after the other.

The hours and miles were starting to pile up.

My mind kept focusing on how heavy the rifle was. I had borrowed it to try out. It was not my rifle, therefore I should not throw it away. Even if I set it upright in the snow it would be buried in deep snow before I ever got back. On top of that it would end up in the bottom of the lake by spring. I had to keep it.
It was better out in the lake as there was nothing to bump into but it was turning into a very long lake. I could see about ten feet ahead of me and beyond that it was a gray darkness.

I knew where I was and I was still feeling strong enough to finish my trek but I noticed my mind was wandering. I was thinking of a hundred different things beside making it back to the highway. Time seemed to drag on and on. Hunger was now creeping into my mind. I was thinking that the lake should start to run out soon and I would be back in the woods.

Then something changed……… but I did not know what.

It caused me to stop right where I was. I sensed danger. The hair on the back of my neck went up. I stood there trying to focus on what I sensed way out there in the darkness on a nameless lake.
I stood very still, the only sound was my heart beating. Each time I exhaled a cloud of steam hung about my face. There I was, motionless but listening and trying to zero in on what was wrong.

I had to move on as I was getting cold. I took one more stride and then quickly took it back.. Suddenly I realized what the change was. The snow was not as deep underfoot and after the last step I felt the snowshoe sink a little deeper. I was very alert. There was water on the ice under the snow. I was in serious trouble and I could not see ahead of me. Every nerve and muscle was quivering.

Very slowly and carefully I move awkwardly backwards on the snowshoes until there was no feeling of water and the snow got deeper. Then I stood stock still as my mind churned out my options. I knew there were no very large lakes in this area but some were long and thin. I had been walking on this lake for some time heading to the south so the lake shore should be close to the east and the west of me.

As I weighed my choice of directions I heard another truck coming from somewhere to what I judged was the south east. It got louder as it headed west but was loudest to the southwest. That was it. I needed to head to my right and then move in the direction I heard the truck. I heard no cars as they did not make enough noise.  Read part 3.

Lost in the silence of the great Northwoods - Part 1.

It was December and the snow was about two feet deep when I decided I would go deer hunting. I left early in the morning and after driving 50 miles east of a small town in Northern Ontario I parked my car in a safe spot. Once on my snowshoes with my pack on my back, I headed north into the woods, rifle in hand. It was an overcast day but visibility was good and I was in no hurry. I was not desperate to get a deer but I was looking forward to spending the day far from people. I was peopled out.

This is very rugged county that is made up of miles and miles of rocky hills covered with evergreen trees, interspersed with small and medium sized lakes and creeks. You can be thoroughly lost in ten minutes
It was necessary to have an awareness of your surroundings and which direction you were heading.
My plan was to head north for an hour or so to get into an area where the deer would be undisturbed.
By noon I was hungry so I stopped on a rocky hill above a creek with a good open view to the north.
I sat on a large rock and dug into my pack for a sandwich, then poured myself a coffee into the cup of the thermos.

Sitting there I was warm from the snowshoeing, and feeling very calm, far from my daily trials and tribulations. As I slowly sipped the coffee I became aware of some slight movement down below and across the creek from me. It was a buck deer feeding and completely unaware of my prescence. There I sat, cup in hand with my rifle leaning against a tree.

I sat motionless, steam rising from my cup and breath from my lungs hanging in the frigid air. I was sure the slightest noise I made or swift movement would alert the deer. I had to get rid of the coffee and reach for the rifle. Painfully slowly, I lower the cup onto the snow covered rock, but my eyes never left the deer. It continued feeding contentedly, head down.

When the coffee was out of my right hand, the left slowly reached for the rifle that was about a foot away. My movements were slow and as long as the deer did not look towards me or swiveled its ears in my direction I continued my reach for the rifle. At this point I was starting to feel the cold creeping through my clothes. I was cooling off from sitting still too long.

When the rifle was within my grasp, my task was far from over. I had to lift it into a horizontal position and get it pointed at the deer. There was no wind blowing and in the snow filled woods there was not a sound. I found it hard to believe the deer had not smelled, heard, or seen me. After what seemed an eternity I had the rifle in position. Luckily the rifle was loaded but the safety was still on.

The click of the safety seemed unusually loud so I was not surprised when the deer looked up and directly at me. I had the rifle sighted before the click of the safety so I pulled the trigger a heart beat later. The crash of the rifle sounded so loud in the silence it was more like a cannon going off. The deer fell where it stood and did not move. The shot echoed off into the endless snow scene and then the silence returned.
I was rather stunned and a little surprised with my luck. I was always a good shot so that was not luck. It was the whole situation of shooting a deer while having my lunch that surprised me. I sat there quietly smiling in a smug way that I was later to regret.
　
The coffee was cold by now so I tossed it aside and poured a fresh cup. It was a big deer so I was going to have to cut it into sections after I dressed it, then make two or three trips back and forth to the car. It would be a busy time so I drank the coffee and packed away the remains of my meal.

I had removed my snowshoes while eating so it was a few moments before they were back on. With my pack on my back and rifle in hand, I start to head down to the deer. I was unable to travel directly to it because the rock between us was too steep. I headed east down a slope and then north to cross the small creek. When I got to the other side I found fresh deer tracks which I followed back west to where I shot the deer.

On the site of the kill all I found was a lot of disturbed snow and a few flecks of blood. I was very surprised to say the least. It had not been a clean kill. The deer had not only gotten back up, but headed east while I was putting on my snowshoes and floundering down hill. I was no longer smiling.

I do not believe in leaving wounded game to suffer and die a lingering death. I did not hesitate to turn around and start following the new tracks to the east. As I snowshoed along I noticed more flecks of blood so I knew the deer was injured. Because I was close behind the deer it was obvious that I was chasing it and that it would continue until I or the deer dropped. It made sense to stop and take the pressure off the deer. Maybe it would lay up somewhere and either bleed to death or stiffen up from the injury.

It was hard, but I forced myself to find a place to sit and then waited for twenty minutes while I drank the last of my coffee. The sun was well past the mid point in the sky so daylight was dwindling. The sky was darkening so it would be a dark night. I was not concerned about finding my way back to the vehicle as I had left a snowshoe trail a child could follow.

After my enforced twenty minute wait I found I was chilled and anxious to get back on the trail.
The snow was deeper down in the valley but I was stuck with following the deer no matter where it went.
It was an easy track to follow in the fresh deep snow. The drops of blood confirmed I was on the right track.
Within a half hour I came to the site where the deer last lay down. It was obvious from the marks in the snow and the blood that the deer was having trouble breathing. It had been shaking its head back and forth and the blood from its mouth was sprayed in a wide pattern. I assumed that it was a lung shot because of the bleeding from the mouth. Now I had to make some choices.

Because of the amount of blood, I judged it was a serious injury so I should continue my pursuit. Secondly, because my twenty minute break earlier had allowed the deer to lay down, I felt I should repeat it. Once again I sat for twenty minutes but the coffee was long gone. Soon I was walking around in circles trying to stay warm as the temperature was starting to drop. I was miles from the road and had not seen another living thing since taking the shot. The silence of the scene pressed down heavily all around me.

The scowl on my face was spreading as I started back on the trail to put the wounded deer out of its misery.
It was soon after that I started to notice that the trail led into a dense woods that was covered in deer tracks. I was in a winter deer park and the snow was packed down over a large area. At least a dozen deer had to be in the herd considering all the tracks. Tracking my deer went from easy to very difficult. It was a big buck so the larger track it left helped greatly, in addition to the odd speckle of blood.  Read part 2 & 3.

The Trapper & Hunter

This old painting reminded me of a deer hunting trip I took in my younger days in Northwestern Ontario. It resulted in the post that follows.

Better wind bound than dead

After writing my “Wind bound” posting a thought kept bouncing around in my head, so I am putting thoughts to paper. In the modern world we tend to live by the clock. We have routines we stick to and time schedules we build our life on. A reliable person is one who appears at work, at appointments or at home for meals, on time.

Indians on the other hand live more by the day or by the season. They are on time if they arrive in a day or two. They learned long ago to bend with Mother Nature.

People who have camps and cottages in the lake country bring their rigid routines with them from the city.
These habit can end up killing you, if you do not learn to compensate for the weather or the season.
I have heard many stories of people out in boats or canoes who suddenly came face to face with bad weather and failed to act wisely
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High winds, plus the waves they create, can turn a lovely day on the lake to a gut wrenching experience.
Unexpected rain or sleet can chill the unprepared to dangerous levels. A snow storm or freezing temperatures that come without warning can also kill a person in a short space of time if they are not dressed properly. I am not talking about city living but being out in the wilderness.

In the last 200 years the records are full of stories of people who drowned on the lake during a storm. In far too many occasions an investigation into a tragedy showed that the person or people involved were more concerned in getting home for supper or before dark. They were faced with being “wind bound” or storm bound and instead of thinking clearly, they took off for home, and died doing so.

Whenever I headed out into the lakes and woods of Northern Ontario, either by boat or on foot, I had a rule. My family and friends understood that if the weather turned against me I would stay put and wait it out. In other words I would not risk my life to get home at a given hour or before dark, just because common rules said I should do so. I would say, “Give me a day or two to get home before you call the police.” I had no wish to be rescued when I was simply wind bound and waiting for conditions to improve.

Many old tales of canoeing trappers, hunters, and voyagers mention being “wind bound” from a few hours to many days. It was comparable to getting stuck in heavy traffic in a modern city. It is an acceptable reason to be late in either case.

Why then does the weekend warrior fail to sit out the high winds or storm and risks his life to get home?  When you interview a survivor of a boat or canoe that swamped in a storm, far too often you hear how they were trying to get home at a given time or before it got dark. In hindsight it seems nothing but stupid to lose your life trying to get home before dark.

A cold rainy night shivering on a rocky shore is a small price to pay against dying.

Being wind bound is like having an insurance policy to stay safe. Don’t live by the clock and end up dying because of it.

Wind bound

Before I became an avid and experienced canoeist the term wind-bound intrigued me. The words became personal when on a 1967 June canoe trip in Northwestern Ontario I experience this phenomana. Two of us were on a ten day canoe trip through a series of lakes and portages.  We each had our own canoe along with our share of the gear.

On the fourth day, and after a long portage of canoes and equipment, we ended up on a sandy shore at the end of a long narrow lake. The map indicated it was named Windy Lake.  The wind was blowing down the length of the lake and large waves were crashing on the beach. We decided it was a good time to take a break, eat our evening meal, and rest until the wind died down. There were no roads or cabins in this wilderness area and no other person within at least fifty miles.

About an hour later, we had cleaned up after the meal and reloaded the canoes. The wind and waves were still strong but we thought we should be able to launch the canoes and get away from the beach. It was difficult to hold the canoe into the waves so we waded out to knee deep and then jumped in our canoes. It was impossible to manage more than three or four strokes with the paddle before we were driven up on the beach sideways with water gushing over the sides.  We took turns trying different ways to launch the canoe and get away from the shore but everything we tried failed. We spent a lot of time between tries, unloading the canoes and dumping the water. As a last resort we both got into an empty canoe and paddled like mad to no avail.

We could not get away from shore. We were wind bound!

We sat for hours on the beach waiting for the wind to die down but it did not happen. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered reading that wind usually lessened at the break of dawn. We had the habit of arising early every morning on this trip so we got organized to take advantage of the wind dropping. The canoes were left loaded with all the gear, with the exception of our sleeping bags.

It seemed like a long windy night but at dawn we were up and had the sleeping bags rolled up and loaded and we were ready to go. A little water left in the bottom of  each canoe near the nose was frozen. Now it was a cold windy day and we were going to get wet no matter if we got off shore or not. We sat watching the wind and waves like two race horses ready to charge down the track.

Finally we could feel the wind was dropping and the crash of the waves was lessening. To go too early was just as bad as waiting too long.  At some point we both agreed, it was time to go. The canoes were dragged off the beach as we waded into the cold water. With all the skill we possessed we jumped into the canoes and started paddling like mad. When we were off shore about ten feet the wind and waves seemed at their worst and it was all we could do to maintain our position. We dared not stop paddling or we would crash back on the shore.  If one of us failed, the other would have to go back as we had to stay together.

Then, slowly, we seemed to make some progress and soon the noise from the beach was dropping and we were free of the shore. Wind and waves continued to try and beat us backwards. It was necessary to keep the nose of the canoe into the wind or we would spin around and never get back in control.
As the sun rose and took the chill out of the air, the wind began to drop and soon the lake calmed down.
An hour later we were able to drop our paddles and catch our breath.

The rest of the trip was great but we never forgot what the term wind bound meant.

The Days are slipping by

The days are slipping by and the nights are getting longer. We know winter is coming but we keep trying to squeeze in one more snow-free day.  All the outside jobs are done and the house is as snug as it is going to get. The wood is piled, dry and ready. The snow shovel and scoop are close to the door as we await the first snowfall of the year. Daily  the snowbirds are fleeing to the South as if disaster is around the corner. I keep being asked when I am leaving. I have lived all my life in the North and have no desire to go South.

The dog has grown her winter coat and I have all my winter gear organized and out of the storage closet.
Usually at this time of the year someone will ask, "What season do you like best?"
I like fall best.  The days are cooler, the autumn colors are spectacular and I am neither too hot or too cold.
However, I have to add, "I enjoy each and every season".

I have owned a camera all of my adult life and always find great scenes to photograph throughout the year.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and I can find it almost everywhere I look.
Farther North at this time of the year, the bays and shallow waters are starting to skim over with ice. Unless you live along a river, it pays to stay close to home. More than once I have awakened in an overnight camp at daybreak and found the lake froze over during the night.  Paddling and breaking ice is a very scary event, particularly if you are on the wrong side of the lake. You can reduce the paddles to splintered stumps and your arms to jelly, as you work your way home.

If the ice is thin and you are not overloaded, you can propel the nose of the canoe up on the ice and your weight will break the ice. If the ice is too thick to break that way, you are in for a struggle. This is the kind of thing you rarely do more than once in your life.

This is the time of the year to remain in the cabin and repair the snowshoes. Mine are ready so I have chosen to start a Blog.