Salmon of the "Michi gami"

 "Soon after I embraced the sport of angling I became convinced that I should never be able to enjoy it if I had to rely on the cooperation of the fish."  Sparse Grey Hackle

 

Although I’ve spent a fair amount of time wetting a line in Lake Michi gami (Michigan) and a few of it’s tributaries in pursuit of King Salmon, I finally had a chance recently to get out in the open waters and really fish them.  Not that shore fishing isn’t real, as noted in earlier posts, I love the fall run, but something about being out, way out in the big water makes it feel more like big game fishing.  Good friend Kris Davis and I had been playing messaging tag all spring and summer it seemed in order to get me out on his beautiful boat in Kewaunee.  I cringed every time he’d contact me and tell me of the banner catches they’d had and for some reason or another I couldn’t take advantage of his invitations.

Finally the stars aligned and I could make it over while he spent a couple days on the water vacationing with his young kids (who are following in dads footsteps as skilled fishers it seems).  A quick trip To White Lake on the way over for an excellent mountain bike ride, then onto Kewaunee very early to make the 4 mile cruise out into the lake.  I know nothing of this deep water fishing, so Kris kindly started working on setting poles out at varying depths with all sorts of glowy lures and flashers. Me?  I just stayed out of the way and followed his directions of how to get line out without creating a tangled mess.  It’s a pretty amazing thing to see the rods out and somehow it all works to keep everything from criss-crossing and hopefully attractive to hungry fish.  The amount of gear this fishing requires is pretty staggering, but like all fishermen, it’s sometimes about just the name of the lure or superstitions of color, pattern or just the teeth marks of old battered baits.  Kris had no shortage of any of those.

Boats joining us out in the water looked like little red, green and white fireflies marching in the dark up and down a ridge of 150 foot water, averaging 45 to 55 degrees.  Apparently, everyone felt some fish may be lurking at those depths, while some could be shallow, while yet others in medium waters looking for food.  It didn’t make a lot of sense to me (yet) but Kris had all the bases covered.  Action was slow and soon the sunrise over the lake, (which I never tire of seeing) gave way to full daylight and a complete change-over of gear to new flashy lures.  Lines are pulled in, baits quickly changed (some “sure killers”) and set back out-a seemless system it seemed.  A bobbing planer board soon signaled “FISH ON!” which I learned causes all kinds of commotion in the boat and is about as exciting as it can be.  Hours watching the arching poles do nothing is quickly forgotten as Kris hands me the rod.  He had warned me about this pole, and I love his quote: “Ten yds per color x 6 colors = 60 yds plus 100' of leader 180' + 15 lbs of angry chinook salmon = sore arms every time!”  True words….I wondered if that fish would ever make it to the boat or if my arms would hold up.  He coached me on how to bring the fish up the “alley” formed by all the other lines and hopefully keep this determined fish from tangling gear.  It worked and soon the silver fish was home in the cooler.

It seems that when there is a lull in the action, (and this day the fish seemed to be on vacation), lures and presentations are at some point changed in that search for the perfect bait or set up.  Roasted garlic tuna placed into a bait to provide stink-um, was worth a try.  Yep it worked, and soon another very large fish was on-providing some huge runs of line, worrying me that the reel just might run out!  Sadly, after a long battle and about to be netted, the bruiser flipped his head at the start of another run and the bait landed empty beside the boat.  Dang!

We had noticed that the number of boats patrolling the waters had dwindled and most of the commercial charters long gone.  We kept at it for a while longer with the kids on board providing “entertainment.”  At some point we started bringing in lines and stowing gear and began the trek back to the harbor in the distance.  We had taken another fish during the day, so salmon filets would return home with me, one of my favorite fish to cook.  Kris was perhaps disappointed with the action this day, but I was just happy to be out on the water, and as he commented, fishing takes ones mind off work and all the other worries that seem to be left onshore when lowering the lures into the depths.  I found that to be very true and can’t wait for the next chance to feel the burn in the arms hear the call of “Fish on!”

 

Racing?

It’s been nearly a week since my both-footed jump back into mountain bike racing. “Racing?” Okay, well racing is like when it’s you against the other riders in the race-right? Point to point events are more like that, or maybe the weekend WORS races, but for me, in an endurance race, it was more survival in a way. Oh, nothing so dramatic- I would make it, and I’d live to ride another day, but an endurance event like the “Wausau 24” does have a much different feeling that a “normal race.”
We did have a four man team for the 12 hour fat bike -that sounded like fun, but a lack of other teams within that category forced a shuffle of our assets (riders) into 2 two man fatbike teams. That little change meant twice as many laps (as I planned) and guaranteed very little rest from 10:00am to 10:00pm. “Okay…I can do this”- besides, it means I’m done in the evening and can enjoy some welcome beverages with my team mates, not like the 24 hour folks who’ll be pounding the pedals all night into the following day.

Bike riders are not runners…there is a reason for that, but endurance races typically use a Le Man start-riders running a short distance in stiff bike shoes, usually getting passed by 12 year old twig girls, find their bikes and then are off, turning pedals instead and headed for singletrack. My partner Joe, being younger “volunteered” to start the race for us (whew…dodged a bullet there) and was soon engulfed in a cloud of dust threading his way though the field on lap one. We all had pre-ridden a lap the day before, and the Wausau 24 is a worthy course by mountain (and fatbike) standards. Plenty of singletrack and rock gardens, some double track to spin the legs out and a very tough climb about halfway through.

The butterflies gathering in the gut I remembered from years ago as I stood anxiously waiting in the transition area for Joe to return. We’d guessed around an hour + per lap, so about on cue, the new highly fashionable black “fat hyphen dot com” jersey appeared over the finishing rise and with a swift tag, I was off for my turn. Long distance racing plays funny games with your brain-and early in an event, ones mind is going much faster than the bike usually. “Oh-there’s a guy right ahead…I’m faster and will pull him in here soon.” Sometimes that plays out, sometimes they disappear over the next climb never to be seen again. Since everyone is in this thing for the long haul, there is a much more civil discourse out on the trail than in other events-if someone catches you, most are happy to pull over and let them pass, with a “go get ‘em!” and a “thanks bud!” as they go by and out of sight. For us on big bikes, we might also hear “Alright !-rock on fatties!” (talking about the bike, not us).

I ended up, as Joe mentioned I would, counting down the laps in my head. Yeah, we’d do five or six laps out here, so the game became one of checking off each section of memorable trail-“Only 4 more times thru this boulder field.” Or only 2 more “Ho Chi Min da*m climbs!” Traffic sorts itself out after a few laps and it becomes quieter out there. The 24 hour solos are a sick breed, and would fly by with nary a word…I didn’t find that stuck up at all-they are just seriously focused or in a tiny world of survival, and I swear rarely notice other racers as they carve lap after lap. In the dark hours, it really becomes silent, the six hour racers are gone, so one usually has a lot of alone time.

Binking red LED lights appear in the darkness as other riders thread the trail ahead, and occasionally the ground around my bike would be lit up by an overtaking racer. A very surreal world. The only sound is gear changes and breathing and saying to myself- “only one lap to go.” Survival in these races isn’t always the pedaling part, but also that hour break between laps. You have to eat and have to drink and very quickly energy bars, bananas and Gu packs become a sickening necessity to pound down your gullet to make it though the next lap. A new mind game creeps in at that point-the “real food” one….where all I could think of is a burger or brat and cold beer. For now however, it was just working out during the first half of each lap, all the so-called “energy” sloshing around inside. Yuck.

As it ended up, our other 4 man teammates, Andy and Butch (who are bike animals-one of them on a singlespeed!) were a lap or two up on Joe and I and we had a 45 minute lead on 3rd place, so using our very best race delirious math skills, we’d determined that I’d not have to venture out for another lap nearing the 10:00pm finish time. At 10:01, Joe and a tide of another racers crossed the line to conclude the event. We’d keep our second place and represented the fat bike scene very well. The bikes handled this course superbly, slinging around tight twisty singletrack with ease and only the climbing sections hindering (me) during the laps. For myself, the event wasn’t so much about racing other riders- sure, we wanted to finish on the podium if we could to represent the fat bike category, but it was about fun, about pushing oneself (cliché, I know), but mostly about spending a weekend with friends and riding-riding with great effort and living to tell about it, to laugh about about it and be humbled by it-I may just have to do this all again!

The Prairie Fire Revisited

The renewing power of fire in nature cannot be understated and the other day I had a firsthand chance to witness it.  A few months ago, a controlled burn was used on a tall grass prairie established and maintained by close friends, Rick and Toni Sturtz.  They are caretakers of this plot of land, returning it to a native environment common to much of Wisconsin a hundred plus years ago.  In an age of habitat loss, it’s refreshing to see even a small gain in restoring what was once here.

 As a photographer, I think I need to tackle a project, a theme or body of work from time to time-just to force myself into something different.  Three graduate credits for a photo project will work too!  My idea was to return to this prairie I’d photographed during the fire, to take a close up view of it now that the black ash of the burned vegetation is swallowed up by new growth.  I drive or pedal by it every day it seems during the summer, but that’s not the same as walking among the Big Blue Stem, cone flowers and Bee Balm.  Of course, with a camera and extra lenses along, it also changes how I walk and what I’m seeing.

 With the sweltering days and humidity, it’s been pretty common to have ground fog in the morning and with the addition of some clouds, a beauty sunrise.  Photographers call it the “Golden Hour” for a reason, and once the sun climbs a few too many degrees in the sky that magic light becomes mundane.  The low fog on this morning added a mysterious quality to the landscape and the east sky didn’t disappoint.  I switched up lenses from time to time, wanting to capture the vastness of the prairie ( it’s just 35 acres or so, but the largest parcel of tall grass around here) with the wide angle and then sometimes a long lens to pull in the smallest detail of what is hidden here.   I’m no wildflower expert, so part of my shooting was just “collecting” images to identify later.  It’s amazing how much variety is really out in a prairie.

 Although some species of wildlife need and thrive in tall grass, many times, they stay hidden, but on this morning I caught fawn looking at me, looking at her.  “She” was hunkered down near a scrape pond, sunlight making her alert ears glow.  I managed a couple frames before a few steps too close sent her bounding high across the field.  I continued on, finding some interesting dew beaded spider webs, some Prairie Blazing Star, and Queen Anne’s Lace.  Along the way, other flowers were past their prime, flowering earlier in the summer to start off the season with a flourish of color.  It’ll be interesting to watch different species move to the forefront as the days shorten and temps cool.  Never a dull moment here. 

 The First Nations people living here long ago knew the importance of fire, just as mother nature always has in renewing and revitalizing some habitat.  I’m grateful to have such great stewards of the land just a few miles away and the opportunity take in, with all my senses (and camera) this unique and beautiful land.

 

 

 

 

 

"W795" or "Saca" - The Wolf Study

 "Only a mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf." -Aldo Leopold

I think Leopold's quote says something very poignant there, that most of us have not lived long enough to be objective about many things.  For myself, I know I've learned more, appreciate more and am objective about more, the longer I have lived.  One of those  is the wolf.  Recently I had the opportunity to do a couple of ride-alongs during a cooperative wolf trapping effort for monitoring purposes.  It was run by the Ho-Chunk Nation Division of Woildlife, the U.S. Department of Agriculture and Wisconsin DNR.  One of the biologists is a friend and knew I have had an regard for these animals and would appreciate this chance to check traps in order to radio collar wolves for this monitoring project.   Since a young age-tracking animals has been something I’ve always enjoyed-following the evidence they leave behind and trying to read the stories by their subtle sign.  Over the past few years, tracking our largest canine has really piqued my interest, and even though I may be mountain biking, skiing or just shooting photographs, a watchful eye is always on the ground, looking for sign.

Though I’ve hunted my whole life, I know little of trapping techniques and was amazed at the skill involved in making the perfect set.   DeWayne Snobl, USDA Wildlife Specialist and Karen Karash, Ho-Chunk Nation wildlife biologist were more than willing to share their knowledge and answer (probably too many) my questions.   To my untrained eye, the sets were all but invisible.  Hopefully to the Canini nose however, it would attract the interest and attention of-in this case, Canis lupus lycaon- the Eastern Grey Wolf.   The knowledge, professionalism and concern for the animal’s health and well being was remarkable.  About a dozen traps were checked, some, with near hits, spawning optimism for the remaining few days to trap during the study.  Sometimes other animals may curiously check out a set, in our case, coyote and deer, and a set needs to be “spruced up”.  DeWayne accused himself of maybe over thinking the art of his sets, but his skills are rewarded with success.  The window of no rain, and cooler temperatures made this trapping opportunity just a few days long unfortunately.  The bear hound training season starts soon, and all trapping efforts will stop at that time to protect dogs.

"The wolf is neither man's competitor nor his enemy. He is a fellow creature with whom the earth must be shared." -L. David Mech

On my “day off” I received a message that a male had been captured, and if interested I could come to the site.  A quick drive deep into the woods and a quiet approach found the biologists and DNR wildlife technician recording data and taking samples-the wolf comfortably lying on a canvas ground cloth.



It was amazing to see, photograph and actually touch this 81pound male, who at the moment was quietly “sleeping” …an animal I have grown to respect and have hoped to have another glimpse of.  The previous day, the highlight was seeing a yearling cross a forest road as we traveled to another site. It’s hard to describe how exciting it was to be there and watch these professionals care for the animal.  The welfare of the wolf was of utmost concern, and through hushed voices, "W795" or "Saca", his Ho-Chunk name, was carefully checked for physical condition, with blood samples collected, body measurements recorded and temperature, pulse and respiration constantly monitored.  The biologist noted and photographed an old rear knee injury the wolf had and treated a sore associated with the knee injury.   Cool water bottles between his legs regulated his temperature and some minor wounds treated.  The radio tracking collar was tested and a careful eye was kept on a watch, knowing how much time they had to finish their work.

Care was taken to clear and remove the “work site” and I was surprised to be asked to keep an eye on the male and if he should start to come to, to gently hold him down- no, they weren’t kidding.  “No worries-he’ll be really out of it,” and I’d be safe. “The shoulders are a good place to hold him.” As exhilarating as that would have been, he stayed under until a wake up (antagonist) drug Yohimbine was administered.  Before injecting the drug, Karen left a small offering of tobacco to thank the Creator for this opportunity to handle the sukjak or wolf and to watch over him, a practice encouraged by a traditional Ho-Chunk member.

We all backed away, but kept a careful eye on him for signs of movement, signaling his awakening.  Shortly, maybe 5 minutes later, he woke, probably wondering why his world was spinning.  Sporting his shiny new collar, and gradually stumbling a bit, resting, trying again, he regained his motor skills and was able to move off to the brush and rendezvous with the pack at some point.




What an amazing experience. To be in the presence of this magnificent animal-one in which I feel has an important place in our outdoor world. Whenever I see their evidence and know they are here, I feel a bit more alive, that I am a part of something bigger than myself and that's worth witnessing as often as possible.

"We reached the old wolf in time to watch the fierce green fire dying in her eyes. . . .There was something new to me in those eyes--- something known only to her and the mountains. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch. I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer that no wolves would mean hunter's paradise, but after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view." -Aldo Leopold

Update:  "Seca" or wolf 795 went "off-air" during the summer of 2013.  Another wolf had moved into his pack territory and for a while, both were radio tracked from the air.  A short time later Seca was unable to be located.  Wolf researchers sadly believe he was the victim of "lead poisoning" (shot).
 

Burn Notice-The Sturtz Prairie Fire

 

At one time Wisconsin had over 2.1 million acres of tall grass prairie,  reduced to only 0.5 percent of it’s original ecosystem today, often degraded and fragmented into small plots.  It was the result years ago of farmers moving in and plowing the fertile prairie soil and of fire suppression, which led to the invasion of woody vegetation.  Luckily, some have a vision of the importance in restoring our prairies and see value and importance in preservation, of bringing back rare plants and wildlife and maintaining this diverse genetic resource.  And…their beauty.

As stewards of the land, Rick and Toni Sturtz have this vision-after acquiring an old historic farmstead near the ghost town of Columbia (in southwest Clark County), they set forth an effort to create a place to live in harmony with the natural environment all the while upgrading their home and surrounding outbuildings.  The Sturtz’s have unparalleled vision and creativity, along with a generous spirit and willingness to share with others and future generations.  Their tall grass restoration project is not only for them, but for others to catch a glimpse of what parts of the state looked like a hundred or more years ago.  This was the home to rare grassland birds and wildlife, grasses like Big Bluestem, and Switchgrass, not to mention the beauty of native flowers.  Within a few short years, converting this fallow 35 acre field into prairie has attracted everything from  Cranes, Northern Harriers and  Bald Eagles to endangered Ornate Box Turtles.

Fire plays a crucial role in maintaining prairie ecosystems.  At one time lightning or Native Americans burned dead vegetation and woody material promoting plant growth and returning nutrients to the ground.  A call from Rick a few days ago, gave me a heads up that a prescribed burn would take place on their prairie and perhaps I would be interested. I was anxious for the opportunity, for it would provide a rich environment for some photography but also pique my interest in the process of a prairie burn.

 

The local volunteer fire department took this as a chance to train new firefighters on wildfire control and very quickly set up and burned a perimeter back burn against the wind. Once a safe “black ground” border was established, the fire could be spread across the entire prairie and in an astonishingly quick time, the entire 35 acres was  burned.  I was amazed at the sound-the loud crackle and echo off the surrounding forest of the dead grass quickly igniting, and the speed of the flames shooting skyward.  I have a whole new appreciation of wildfire, its dangers and of firefighters who battle them.

As quickly and dramatically as the fire consumed the prairie, just as soon it became black and silent. A few smoldering embers remained, its' smoke to waif across the field. In time, and a little rain, nature will quickly restore the vegetation with renewed vigor. I can’t wait to watch the progression this year as new life emerges from the soil...it should be simply amazing.  

* * *

The Return of the Cranes

Crane Pair on Cliff's Farm

Growing up in central Wisconsin, I can’t remember ever seeing a crane-Sandhill Crane to be specific.  That was the 60s and 70s and the largest birds I’d encounter while fishing or hunting were “Shy-Pokes” as my grandfather would call them (Great Blue Heron).  It wasn’t until after college and settling down in Clark County did I start seeing cranes.  Quickly I grew to be amazed at their size and loud raucous call.  The Neillsville area and points just south, seem to be a gathering place in the fall before migrating.  The harvested farm fields drawing them together in staging for the long flights to our southern states. 

The Reed Farm Cranes

On the return in the spring, it’s always exciting to hear those first vocalizations as they start setting up courtship and nesting sites.  It's then I know spring is truly here.  Over the years here, I’ve grown to appreciate what a unique species they are and it’s always a treat to see them and have them in the neighborhood. In the early morning light, whether in a turkey blind or out photographing waterfowl, the cranes are usually the first to signal the start of the day.  Sometimes their call will echo even before the toms start gobbling.  I love that-a sound that cuts though the darkness and preludes the wisp of wing beats overhead.

The Tiny Island Crane

Many of my “neighborhood” cranes this year have already set up their nesting site, or are in the process of picking one.  I take part in the annual Spring Crane Count, and selected the parcel of territory nearby.  By the time of the count, the breeding pairs and singles are already pretty familiar in the area, which is a mix of farm fields, woods and wetlands.  Just within a square mile of my home, there are 3 pairs and a couple sub-adults.  One pair is already nesting on a tiny man-made island on a friends pond down the road.  I understand cranes can swim, so hopefully the young will be able to make it to land after they’re hatched in a few weeks.

The Ochre Plumage

Some legislators are proposing a Sandhill Crane hunt, and currently advisory voting in the spring hearings approved the idea.  Populations of the once endangered species perhaps biologically can justify a hunt, and there are arguments that can be made both ways.  As a hunter myself, personally…I just don’t see the need to hunt them after a long recovery process.  Just because we can, doesn’t mean we should and I’ll be happier if our lawmakers stay out of the wildlife business.  I know the Lesser Sandhill crane is hunted in the Central Flyway, where I’ve seen them while waterfowl hunting in the Dakotas, but here, for me,  I’d be happy if our birds could continue to recover unimpeded and to amaze me each time I see and hear them.

The Color of Spring?

I can't remember ever seeing this much color in the spring...and I don't mean color like the Cow slips, Wood Violets and Tout Lily-but rather the tree color!  I'm sure it's all about the 3 week early spring-temps in the 70s and 80s for a stretch and not really falling off until this week (Mid April).  Aspens nearby have leafed out already and buds and unfolding leaves from other trees are working hard to fully open.  All of which is leaving (ha) the forested landscape here brilliant with reds, oranges and yellows-again, something I never really noticed before at this time of year...to this degree.  For whatever reason, it's beautiful and made the perfect backdrop of these photos of a pair of geese who have set up home just down the road.  I see them about everyday when I'm out and about scouting.  They rise from a nearby pond to the west around 6:00am, then noisily head east to several farm fields to feed (early planted oats seem to be a favorite right now) and I'd imagine soon will set up a nest site.

I was actually really pleased with these shots considering it was a quickly fired series of photographs panning with their flight as they headed out to another field.  I really liked the sharpness of the birds themselves, the light coming through the primaries and blur of the colored background.  You can almost hear their raucous honking as they quickly exit.

Spring was never been my favorite season, but it's growing on me... maybe with global warming, it'll be a bit more enjoyable, although there is something to be said about going through the transition period each year after the snow has melted.  In any regard, I'll just try to always have a camera ready, be out there and appreciate the sights, sounds and colors that surround me.

The Hoodies

Hoodie Drake in Full Dress

 This "spring" is flying by so fast, the window of opportunity for photographing waterfowl may be very short I fear.  Although I wouldn't profess to be a wildlife photographer, from time to time I enjoy at least attempting to make pictures of birds and other animals.  Usually a camera of some kind is along while hunting or mountain biking, but photography is second fiddle to the primary activity.    Toting camera gear, can only be done when not carrying a bow or gun or atop fat tires.  For me, it needs to be the primary mission.  Just down the road on a neighbors land, is a swamp and pond and a good location to catch migrating waterfowl and other birds.  Some, like the wood ducks and canadian geese and a pair of sandhill cranes, stay all year here.  Others, like Hooded Mergansers, will be passing through, but spend a while in this small patch of water.

The Chosen One

 This past week gave me the chance to observe and photograph some of their courtship rituals.  I'd never really seen this behavior before-the arched necks, soft croaking call, puffed up crest and several hours of chasing each other around.  When I first saw the female towing two drakes along across the pond, I guessed one would have to put up a good show to leave the winner and mate of the hen.  In between the displaying and chasing, some woodies would cruise in and geese poke along the shore.  A lone crane lit on the far side, so there was always activity in front of the lens.  After a while, the hen seemed to have made her choice, and only one drake was allowed to swim along side her, and any encroachments by the other was met with vigorous pursuit.   Quite an entertaining morning watching it all unfold.

Hoodies and Woodies

 Costly, perhaps....meaning, my final images show a lack of crispness, because of a slow inexpensive lens.  Even in full daylight, I just was hoping for better pictures.  I know photography isn't about equipment, but trying to shoot wildlife does require some special gear-long fast lenses, which equate to smaller wallets!  Shopping for new gear isn't in the cards right now, so I'll have to be happy with, and make the best pictures I can with whatever camera is in my hands.  Of the 200 or so I took, I was fairly happy with these, so they'll  have to satisfy my waterfowl craving  for now.  Soon the birds will move on, and I'll be just as happy with other subjects in front of the camera and I look forward to discovering just what that'll be.

Cruisin Canadians

Mergansers