The Last Day of 2020.  

It was a still grey and somewhat wet day here.  As was my routine for every other day, I carried my kayak down to the Lake and set off on my usual tour of the shoreline.  I'm always on the lookout for various animal activity and this day was no different.

About half way around the Lake I heard and saw a splash right next to the shore.  At first, I was anticipating an otter or maybe even a beaver startled by my approach.  I soon discovered it was a duck tangled in fishing line.  I paddled up next to the flailing bird and was able to get a hold of it with no problem.

The duck had the fishing line entangled around its neck, wings, and body.  A fishing hook was stuck in her tongue that protruded grotesquely from the side of her beak.  She almost instantly quit her flailing when I held her with both hands resting on the sprayskirt of my kayak.  I was aware that dealing with the fish hook might me a problem, but after some intense effort I removed the hook from her tongue.  I then was able to untangle her from the fishline.  Her tongue remained hanging out out and she was obviously hurt, maybe mortally.

I held her in my two hands for a few moments.  I could feel the warmth of her body and even the gentle beating of her heart.  I kept muttering "Poor baby, Poor baby..."  She seemed comforted and calm as I held her.  After a minute or two, I released my hold and she plopped into the water.  Without any hesitation, she flew off toward the middle of the Lake.

Lake Critters

Rain clouds interspersed with blue filled the sky this morning.  It was cool with occasional showers as I set out on my run around Clear Lake.  Despite being only the second day of this year's delayed fishing season, there were only two boats out on the Lake.  As I stood at Otter Beach enjoying a brief bit of sunshine,  I heard a plop in the cattails next to me.  I'd seen a muskrat in the area only a week or so earlier.  I suspected the plop was from a startled muskrat.  I've lived next to this lake for almost 20 years now and have only seen a muskrat four or five times.

I'm always on the lookout for one of the four kinds of critters I know live in and around the lake.  The most common is the raccoon.  They're seen quite often up in the neighborhood roaming around in search of treasures.  The cat that lives at my house hates raccoons with a passion.  Whenever he sees one out of a window he begins to growl like a dog.  Cat is missing an ear and I suspect a raccoon may have been involved with its removal.  My favorite place to encounter a raccoon is along the shoreline as viewed from my kayak.  I often wish I had a camera with me to capture some of the raccoon scenes.  I once saw a family of four raccoons all sticking their heads out of various opening of an old hollow tree.  Post card cute!

Going up in the number of sighting for me is the otter.  Over the years I've seen plenty of otters.  Usually I've seen family groups with up to eight individuals.  I often hear them chomping on snails or crayfish right after a dive.  They pop their heads up out of the water looking quite a bit like a small seal.   One time right after a snowfall I saw a whole family sliding around playfully on the old bridge dock near Otter Beach.  They saw me and after an inquisitive look slid off into the water one by one.  An adult, presumably the mother was the last one in.  I haven't seen much otter action this springtime so far.  The occasional sightings have all been a lone otter.  About a month ago I saw an otter eating the remains of a water fowl of some sort.  That was the only time I've ever seen an otter feasting on anything other than small lake shellfish.  The otter is one of my all time favorite animals.  They seem to be always happy and playful.

There are two Beaver Lodges on the two interconnect lakes here where I live.  The most recently constructed is near Otter Beach in what I call Turtle Cove.  The other is in the upper section of Blue Lake which is connected to Clear Lake by a short small stream.  As I paddle around the shoreline of either lake I always see evidence of beaver work.  I've only seen a beaver here three times despite my daily visits to various sections of the lakes.  I've learned that beavers do most of thier work at night and are more likely seen in the evening rather than the morning.

Which brings it all back to the Muskrat.  Muskrat is something like a small beaver with a rat tail and a hunger for smaller vegetation in and along the Lake.  Even thought I've had fewer sightings, I suspect the Muskrat is quite more prolific here and simply lives in a more secluded manner.

I started this short entry way back in May.  It's now September.  I've seen Muskrat twice since May.  I just recently started seeing a lot more Otter action.  Yesterday I was paddling upwind into the waves when I was startled by a splash right next to my Kayak... an Otter!  Maybe a quarter of a mile farther along the Lakeshore I encountered three otters swimming together.  The Beaver?  Haven't seen Beaver all Summer long.  Raccoon?  I encounter them almost daily.  I love the way they wash their hands.

Big Bird Morning

This morning I walked Emma down to the Lake Trail on the West side of Clear Lake.  It was a gentle morning with the Sun rising just above the Horizon.  I stopped often just to drink in the View of distant hills, passing clouds, and Birds out on the Water.  We slowly made our way down to the Canoe Landing where I always stop to gather my thoughts and check out the Lake up close.  Suddenly, two Birds in swift flight burst into the Sky above my head.  At first, I thought they were two Crows, common around the Lake.  The Birds made a coordinated banking maneuver,  revealing that instantly recognizable black and white contrast:  Eagles.  The two were obviously engaged in Play.  I followed their flight out over the Lake, behind and between the tall Firs, and finally out of sight.  I waited patiently for their return.  As I was just about to leave, a big Lone Bird approached from the opposite direction of the two playmates.  Another Eagle, in a calm and determined course, flying across the center of the Lake.  A morning to remember for me.

Intentional Vagabonds

Our small band of friends came together during our early teenage years. As I remember, I first met Spock in the Boy Scouts. Spock was always the sensible one, living up to his namesake. Through him I met Bill who lived close by in our suburban neighborhood next to Minneapolis. Bill and his family were a kind of catalyst in our bonding. Tom was a close friend of Bill and was the fourth major player of the times. I remember Tom as the strongest and most serious in nature. He later married a former girlfriend of mine, Kari. We looked up to Bill's big brother, John, who had a beautiful girlfriend, a '54 Chevy, and told many tales of exotic adventures. John dubbed us “The Faggy Four” which became an identifier only amongst ourselves.

Many of the tales John told us involved travel via thumb to distant locations. My first jaunt in to this frugal mode of transport was in the summer of 1969 when I was 15. I really can't remember how we coordinated the whole venture, but our destination was a campground somewhere along the North Shore of Lake Superior where we would meet another party. I'm not sure who was with me, but I think it was Bob Rutt. We departed “The Trailer” (a whole nother story) heading East on Highway 210. We linked up to I-35 heading North to Duluth. We thumbed down a Semi-Truck hauling nice big recreational boats. The driver let us climb up to the front boat, directly over the truck's cab. We sat quite comfortably in the two forward seats of the boat, all the world before us. Most of the details are long forgotten, but I clearly remember the feeling of complete youthful freedom soaring through me. The sky was wide open. We flew down the big hill in to Duluth with all of the magnificent Lake Superior before us.

Two years later Tom, Bill, and I found ourselves in Jasper, Alberta. There may have been another vagabond along, possibly Dirk Layman. We were camped at the obligatory hippy camp at the edge of town. During the day we'd go off on hikes and in the evening we'd drink beer, smoke, and carouse around the campfire. One night we went into town and visited a festive Pub. Beers were 25 cents each and one finger up meant two. Tom, being 18 already, was old enough to drink in Canada. I may have been two weeks away from legal age, Bill maybe a month. We drank a lot. It was fun. Around midnight, Bill and I were groovin' over by the jukebox. The Rolling Stones were rocking away with “Bitch.”

Our merriment was suddenly interrupted by the intrusion of a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman. He was unmounted at the time and he wore an unremarkable blue cop suit. He asked us how old we were. Probably with a great deal of slurring we answered, “Almost eighteen.” He asked us to follow him and we did, in a quite amiable way. As I've always told the story, we ended up spending the night in jail. A recent verification with Bill revealed that we were told to go to court the very next day and went back to our camp for the night. Either way, the next day we went before the Magistrate.

There we were, ragged and scraggily, standing before a man clad in a black robe and white wig. We were condemned for our violation of the Canadian legal drinking age law and asked how much money we had. Both of us were fined all the money we had, save maybe $20.00 to get us home. I bought a loaf of bread and a chunk of liverwurst. (Liverwurst turned out to be a poor choice for the road.) The next morning Bill and I began our return journey via thumb. I think Tom, being legal, headed out for more distant places.

And so our adventures became legend. At least in our own minds. Those times instilled in me a sense of adventure that remains secure despite the years gone by. Hitchhike across the country? Not at this point in my life. But the days on the road, the odysseys into the wild, and the spirit of seeking the unknown are strong memories that often spark plans for a new adventure.

Autumn Morning Run

I am most fortunate to have that valuable gift of time this morning.  I briskly walk through my neighborhood bound for Otter Beach, the starting point of all my local Runs.  I approach the trail that leads down to The Lake.  Suddenly the gentle and sweet songs of morning birds are overcome by a wild and joyous chorus of nearby coyotes.  The high pitched howling ends as suddenly as it started.  My first view of The Lake reveals a brilliant Sun floating atop a rapidly receding fog bank that obscures the far side of The Lake.  I walk out on to Otter Beach and glance up at the tallest Fir Tree just across the aptly named Turtle Cove.  Perched on the highest bare branches, seemingly in command, sit two Bald Eagles.  What a glorious sight inspiring this Run around The Lake.  After a brief stretch I begin my Run.  The trail along the West side of The Lake is bathed in tree filtered Sunlight.  Leaves of yellow, orange, red, and green adorn the branches above and carpet the trail below.  I settle in to my comfortable pace.  Nearing the North end of The Lake I see the streamlined head of a Loon moments before it dives.  Quoting Bob Dylan: "So happy just to be alive, Underneath this sky of Blue, On this New Morning..."

A lull in the wind compelled me to go for my routine paddle around the Lake early today. The Lake world was gray above, gray below, with a ragged band of dark green-blue-green separating the two. Nearby hills were barely visible through a shroud of steady Rain. The would be mirror smooth Lake surface was textured by splashes of billions... trillions... of raindrops falling straight down from the sky. I encountered a large Fish, an otter (I think), and several really cool unidentified waterfowl with remarkable submarine abilities. As usual, the frantic chattering of my kingfisher escort accompanied my voyage.

Call of the Ragged Crow

I camped last night at a quiet Forest Service Campground on the East side of the Pass between Republic and Kettle Falls.  I'm taking a tour of the Northern part of Washington, a sparsely populated and Beautiful section of the State.

This morning I rise and perform my various camping activities at my usual solo camping pace:  extremely slow.  I decide to take a bike ride up a Forest Road that follows a nearby creek.  The road is gravel, fairly well maintained, and very steep.  Up, Up, Up, Switchbacking, Up, Up, Up.

My ascent is accompanied by the complex chattering of a band of Crows.  At times sounding almost human like, it seems to be an intense conversation between maybe five crows.  They make short flights between closely spaced limbs on the pines alongside the road.

The climb goes on and up.  The Ragged Band ushers my way up this steep and steady Road.  The climb is difficult, I gain 800' in elevation in two miles.  The Crows accompaniment continues all the way to the top of the Draw.  After a short break, I continue onward and down the far side of this mini-pass.

Interesting...

And the Ragged Band of Crows remain on the camp side of the pass, presumably guarding their territory.

I see and hear a slight difference in these Eastern Washington Crows.  One, they are more voiced than their Western cousins.  The cawing and rattling and clicking conversations all seem louder and much more intense.  Also, wilder.  Two,  their tails do not end in a smooth and unbroken gentle arc like crows near my home.  Each crow I observe here seems to be missing a slice of tail feathers,  a more jagged feature... again wilder.

My descent on this far side of draw is short lived.  The main road forks off making a steep climb up the side of a mountain.  My ride continues...

I retrace my route back to camp and, seemingly, at the very moment I begin descent from the crest the Crows begin their escort again.  My ride down is swift and somewhat perilous so I lose track of the Ragged Band of Crows.