Little Homecomings
As much as I enjoy fishing water that I have never
fished before, I am partial to returning to places I know well. The best waters have history. The more years that I have known such places,
the more special “going home” is. I
visited one such place this week.
Although now that I am retired from a regular day job,
I still have found it hard to get back to this lake. To begin with it’s almost a two-hour drive
one way, so it’s not the kind of place that you head for on a whim; it takes
some planning to ensure that the time and gas investment are worthwhile. Second, the lake is large and shallow so it
doesn’t take a lot of wind to rile it up to the point that fishing from my
canoe or kayak becomes difficult. So,
the weather has to be reasonably calm.
All that added up to this past Monday being ‘the day’ when everything
seemed to line up reasonably well.
It was early afternoon when I got to the boat landing, and I found that the breeze, while not stiff, was persistent enough that there was a moderate chop on the water. But, it was fishable. I slipped my kayak in the water, added a fishing pole and some minimal but necessary gear and headed out.
This lake is actually two lakes. The front lake is long and shallow. On the far end there is a little thoroughfare stream that connects this lakes with the back lake that is somewhat smaller, but deeper. An interesting fact is that although this thoroughfare stream is only wide and deep enough to float a small to midsize boat, it does not freeze in the winter, even in the coldest of the coldest weather. I have been here when the temperature is below zero and although clouds of vapor will be rising, the surface will be open and quite ice-free.
I had only paddled a few hundred yards when an eagle crossed the lake and passed only about twenty yards directly overhead. I saw his shadow darken the kayak for a second, which caused me to look up and locate its maker. An eagle sighting is instant wild, and I always consider it a good omen to see one so quickly when I visit here.
A bit further on I spotted an adult loon
directly ahead. The bird started to call
as I neared and it looked nervous, but it was reluctant to move. Then I noticed that about fifty yards to the
right two young loons, laid low as possible, trying not to be seen. If the waves had been larger, they may have
succeeded but, as it was, they were pretty much trying to hide without anyplace
to hide. I adjusted my path to allow for
a bit more space to try to relieve their concern. Even from a distance I could still clearly see the white throat
patches that they will sport as adults trying to grow through. These two chicks will be some of the last to
head for wintering grounds, but that is months off yet now.
With the loons behind me, I thought about the
pair of Trumpeter swans that I have seen on the lake the past three years. As I rounded the next point I looked out
across the lake to where I have typically spotted them before and there they were –
up against the heather and half hidden by the wild rice. In the past years they have had young ones;
last year they had four. At first I only
saw the adult pair. I was pondering
whether it was late spring storm, or predators that was the reason that there
were no cygnets, but then I spotted one way back in the wild rice. I stopped paddling and watched. Soon I could pick out more movement. The view went from emptiness to abundance as I
was eventually able to make out five cygnets.
Later, while fishing in the back bay I was treated to
three ospreys circling and fishing.
Several times they were directly overhead and low enough that I could
see them cock their heads to look down at me. About a dozen
times one or the other would suddenly fold their wings and plunge down after a
fish. The splash was audible and
visible. Only twice was I able to tell
that they had been successful – once the osprey struggled to take off again
because the fish was heavy, but he did finally manage to get airborne and keep
his prize. The osprey aerial show continued until sunset.
The fishing, as expected, was slow until the sun began
to set in earnest. It’s always the end
of day that triggers the bass to earnestly begin their nightly feed. The water is clear and shallow. I take advantage of the kayak to slip into
the reeds and rice and lily pads to find little pockets of open water where I
can toss a Heddon topwater plug. It is
an old-time lure; the kind I enjoy using the most. The lure works its old-time magic on a half a
dozen largemouth bass. There are few
thrills in fishing better than a topwater strike of a nice fish. I set no records, but the largest one was a
good eighteen inches and he took the plug skyward three times, but was unable
to shake free. Another hurdled skyward
from a tangle of lily pads and hit the lure on its re-entry.
The sun had already been swallowed up by the western horizon in reds, pinks and oranges when I made my obligatory “last cast”. Perfectly, one last bass took the lure. I released the fish, put the rod down and breathed deeply. I scanned the entire view before I finally picked up the paddle for the mile-long trip to the boat landing. I passed a tall barren pine tree where a large bald eagle perched on the only remaining branch. He puffed up his feathers and was calmly preening as I slipped by.
I am grateful for this
opportunity to come home once again to this special place.
“You set a table before me in front of my enemies; You anoint my head
with oil; my cup overflows. Indeed, goodness and mercy will pursue me all the days of my life; I will dwell in the
house of the LORD for endless days.” Psalm
23:5-5
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Jeff Vanderspank on Unsplash
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