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This month the earth here in the U.P. has been parched. The languid air seethed in the balsams and the lake as if taking human form appeared almost listless. The woods were only a spark away from a potential disaster as there had been little moisture for weeks.
On Saturday we had a series of thunderstorms which drenched the fecund soil, sending wafts of forest smells into the air. The local robins sang with joy as worms worked their way to the surface and made for easy pickings for the hungry birds. We took our first swim of the season on Saturday. The water was cool but refreshing. The lake has a peat bottom which turns off many city folk but we find it to be a pleasant swim. Our lake has only 7 cabins and for the size of the lake there are not many summer tourists. Most of the time we have the lake to ourselves, except of course, opening day of walleye season. On opening day the locals drag the bottom with various crawler harnesses and the faithful Rapala lure. After opening day the lake is rarely fished. We keep an old flat bottom pram ditched on shore. It leaks but only slightly, so we ignore the puddle in the bottom of her and fish late in the evening. Walleye are spooky fish and often don’t bite when it is light out. The pram lets us get close to shore, and we weave in and out of the weeds like the Great Blue Herons looking for an easy meal. As I write this, the clouds are parting and the gentle breeze is tempting the surface lof the lake like a lover caressing his partner. We are cooking out to night and I look forward to the sizzle of a steak on the grill and the delight of fresh sweet corn. I hope your Memorial Day weekend is filled with friends, family and good beer. Till next week. Hilton Everett Moore
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Letter From The Cabin 05-20-2018
Last fall I had confirmation that the three towering birches on the lakeside of the cabin were dying. In the spring no buds had developed. By fall I was fairly certain that were not likely to make it through the harsh winter. The November winds are particularly hard on aged birch trees which often have death seeded in the center and topple over in strong winds. These trees were shedding large branches not unlike a buck shedding his stately rack during midwinter. In my sleep I had a dire premonition that one of these hulking giants would fall on my cabin, crashing through the timbers, and demolishing my lovely camp. Not really a very pleasant premoniton, I might add. I had appreciated these trees over many seasons. Though not as stately as the towering white pines that still exist in areas of the Upper Peninsula, nevertheless trees, provided a sense of solace. They would end up as firewood now and offer another type of warmth. I knew that these birch trees needed to come down and got out my chainsaw and winch. The trees leaned awkwardly toward the cabin and would make for a dangerous felling. I had to emotionally brace myself for the unpleasant task at hand. My son and I tightened up the cable from the winch to an adjacent tree. This anchor would help the falling birch tree fall away from the cabin. I considered this arrangement a safety measure against a ill-made notch. Seth tightened up the winch as I made the front notch. Carefully, I cut the back of the tree with a well placed slit. Seth hurriedly tightend up the winch as the tree leaned precariously almost rebelling against the inevitable. It came crashing down, safely where we had wanted it to lay. We fell the other two trees without an incident. A week after the beautiful birch trees were felled a surging wind storm ripped through the area. A neighbor’s tree fell across his trailer crashing the roof. My advice is to give premonitons due diligence. Till next time. Hilton Everett Moore At camp. It’ very early in the morning and the sun is already up. The lake is very still like a sleeping babe. I know it may sound like a cliche but the lake is like a mirror. Is that trite? Perhaps I could be more poetic and say that this reflection is like a virtual visible echo. Or, a perfect watery footprint--a fitting impression I think. Does that work? All around the lake the reflection seems to look back at itself like someone glancing over their shoulder. The greens of the straggled balsams and variable browns of the newly budding hardwood trees seem in stark contrast to the colors of reds and gold foliage that greet my eyes when I view this same waterscape in the fall. Nature shows us a new face everyday, and we should never worry that we will ever see the same face twice. A perfect design every day. If I believed in a god I would feel blessed by this change of habit--but I don’t. As it is I still regard the visions that I see here as the perfections of nature, and leave it as that.
In the azure sky wisps of mare’s tails stretch across the firmament. These cirrus clouds move slowly along, like the effect of equine motion that the mare’s tails imply--almost thematically perfect. To the east this morning a stronger band of cumulus clouds look like clotted cream. While the wind normally comes out of the west or northwest here, today will be an exception as the cloud band in the east seems to be moving toward the camp. The breeze is strengthening and now ripples are forming on the surface of this remote lake. The reflection of the far shore is now just a fading memory as the sun moves higher this morning. A blue jay flys across the cabin clearing. I sip my coffee and watch as nature beckons. A simple maxim to remember is “May is Morel Month in Michigan.” Around the beginning of May it is time to break out the topographical maps and compass to explore the wilderness areas close to your home. If you don’t have a wilderness area close by don’t be discouraged as many species of mushrooms can be found in small woodlots near metro areas. The elusive morel is an epicurean delight highly sought after by rich and poor alike. Morel’s are often found in association and symbiotically linked to a host of different tree species. If you know where there is a forest of dead elms head there first. The yellow morel is often found beneath this stately tree. Dutch Elm disease has wiped out most of the elms but the yellow morel continues to bloom most years, a hidden blessing in an otherwise ecological disaster. By the way, buy a great mushroom identification book and for your first few outings have a well versed local with you. A tree identification book is also a must as certain species of mushroom are associated with particular types of trees. There are many wonderful edible mushrooms abroad in the woods, and a fair number of poisonous species to be avoided. Join a local mycology club if you can. And remember absolutely never eat any mushroom you are not completely certain of correctly identifying. Severe illness and death may haunt the unwary collector of misidentified mushrooms.But, don’t let the warnings of poison mushrooms deter you from this wonderful hobby. It is equally true that some very edible mushrooms are easy to identify and are rarely misidentified. It has been my experience that mushroom hunting is a wonderful and healthy family experience that doesn’t require a large expenditure of cash. So go have fun. And besides, shrooms are great to eat. Good luck mushroom hunting,Hilton A simple maxim to remember is “May is Morel Month in Michigan.” Around the beginning of May it is time to break out the topographical maps and compass to explore the wilderness areas close to your home. If you don’t have a wilderness area close by don’t be discouraged as many species of mushrooms can be found in small woodlots near metro areas. The elusive morel is an epicurean delight highly sought after by rich and poor alike. Morel’s are often found in association and symbiotically linked to a host of different tree species. If you know where there is a forest of dead elms head there first. The yellow morel is often found beneath this stately tree. Dutch Elm disease has wiped out most of the elms but the yellow morel continues to bloom most years, a hidden blessing in an otherwise ecological disaster. By the way, buy a great mushroom identification book and for your first few outings have a well versed local with you. A tree identification book is also a must as certain species of mushroom are associated with particular types of trees. There are many wonderful edible mushrooms abroad in the woods, and a fair number of poisonous species to be avoided. Join a local mycology club if you can. And remember absolutely never eat any mushroom you are not completely certain of correctly identifying. Severe illness and death may haunt the unwary collector of misidentified mushrooms.But, don’t let the warnings of poison mushrooms deter you from this wonderful hobby. It is equally true that some very edible mushrooms are easy to identify and are rarely misidentified. It has been my experience that mushroom hunting is a wonderful and healthy family experience that doesn’t require a large expenditure of cash. So go have fun. And besides, shrooms are great to eat. Good luck mushroom hunting, Hilton Letter for April 29 2018
Traditionally, Michigan’s trout season opener is the last Saturday in April. In some years in the UP this is, as the saying goes, “a bridge too far.” Be patient and let me explain. Winter’s grip often doesn’t end in the UP just because the opener arrives. In fact, many a year the snow is still piled high along the many small tributaries that hold the “ hungry hounds “ we call brook trout. If the snow and ice has not disappeared the muddy and impassable roads sometimes deem the opener a non-starter. Weather here can be a real bugger too, as many a Yooper can attest to. Cold rain can be an ugly deterrent soaking through the most expensive rain gear that money can buy, leaving many a fisherman looking out the cabin window with a longing for skys that don’t resemble an “El Greco” painting. The days when the opener greets a fisherman with pleasant weather are too few to comment on. Weathers usual nasty retribution, like Sisyphus chained, can foul up the best plans of any deliberate man. All of this misery can happen before a man, or woman, casts a single fly upon the water. Even if one is lucky enough to have all of his, or her moons aligned, the tangled line in a tree high above reach is almost an inevitability. Many a local leaves the high priced fly fishing gear at home and instead relies on a simple rod and reel and a box of redworms. An option that I have used on occasion and can personally attest to. In a faded memory, like cabin curtains too long in the sun, I remember one dismal opener in the far north. I was particularly discouraged by my lack of success on a blue ribbon trout stream in the Sturgeon River Gorge. I pulled my old car over to the side to the road and sat fuming. A gurgling creek ran in a culvert beneath the road. Sitting entranced, a small lad, fishing on the upstream side of the gravel road let his worm float carefully into the current. The babbling creek pulled the redworm into the galvanized culvert much the way a magnet attracts steel. I watched transfixed as the boy caught several nice size brookies out of the culvert. He smiled at me and held up his catch. I smiled back. Now that’s what you call fishing. Good luck on the opener. Hilton Letter for April 22, 2018
I have often wondered why nature and the earth are referred to in feminine words, like Mother Nature and Mother Earth. Even hurricanes, and typhoons rather nasty events, are sometimes given female names. We sometimes hear of the destructiveness of Mother Nature, or the terrible power of Mother Earth. I suppose the truth to why this naming conundrum occurs is as simple to deduce as this; these forces were named by males. I am not certain you could call this misogyny but I think it is fair to at least call it chauvinism. As for the present, I remember pulling over to the side of the road to assist a stranded motorist. This young man had a rusty old car, don’t remember the make, and it really doesn’t matter. It was obvious this auto was well on its way to a junkyard. This young man kept swearing and kicking the car and calling it unaffectionately a “Bitch.” I wondered at the time whether he called the “Bitch” more affectionate endearments when “SHE” was running like a proverbial clock. Now this isn’t the first time I have heard a man call his vehicle by a female name and it probably won’t be the last. Boats, planes and I suspect transports of every sort imaginable get stuck with these female monikers. I also wouldn’t be surprised that in third world countries that the same kind of pejorative naming exists in regards to beasts of burden. I wonder if you kick a mule, whether the “Bitch” will kick back? Keep kickin’ Hilton While on my walk today I arrived at a quasi-theorem on a relationship with an animal that I dearly love---the canine, in my case my dog Blue. The theorem is simple, every dog deserves a camp, and every camp deserves a dog. The balance of this equation seems simple enough. Who could argue that this theorem is not true; yet often in my travels I see dogs chained to a house, a virtual prisoner to the lackadaisical owner. Often these unlucky canines rarely ever get a walk in the woods, or a run on a bike path. Yet, the feckless owner has time to sit in front of the boobtube and swill beer while the dog endures the vagaries of the weather without proper exercise.
Blue, my English Setter, and I manage to get a daily walk most of the time. Our only departure from this daily routine is when the weather outside is not fit for man or beast. Then we both stare out the window forlornly. It seems to me that more than once I have known dog owners who go to health clubs, spending good money for what can dubiously be called exercise, while their dog whines at home for a chance at a go in the woods chasing a rabbit, or sniffing out a red squirrel among a grove of oaks. My plea is simple. If you want a dog, care for it. Blue loves the woods, and the trails behind my house are always there. Walking a dog is open to the rich and poor alike. Hiking in the woods is cheap and doesn’t discriminate by any sociological test that I know of. A good pair of hiking boots will last you for years. and, exercise is beneficial for both the dog and the master. Time to sign off now and take Blue on his walk. Till next time. Hilton While I am usually not one to quote the bible. I was recently struck by a verse that I saw in an article. In Ecclesiastes 10:10 the writer relates what I would think is almost everyday folk wisdom; it states, in part; “If the axe is dull and he does not sharpen the edge then he must exert much more strength. Wisdom has the advantage of giving success.
While it may seem foolish to ascribe human attributes to inanimate objects, anyone who has ever tried to split a piece of twisted green oak, or even a freshly logged section of birch knows how stubborn an inanimate object can seem. A dull axe only makes the effort that much more difficult. In my earlier years I managed to break more than one axe handle because of my frustrating and excessive efforts in using a dull axe. I would flail away at the offending hunk of wood like a madman, getting angrier by the minute. Usually I would end up getting the dull axe stuck hopelessly in the offending piece of wood. Extracting the axe was often a chore better left to priests than a swearing young man. I have to chuckle now at the conclusion of that verse, “wisdom has the advantage of giving success.” I have come to the conclusion that knowledge is communicable but wisdom is not. Let that thought sink in. I now own an old double blade axe. It is sharpened razor sharp on one edge and and on a convex side for the other. This allows me to cleanly cut a branch with the razor sharp side, and is equally effective in splitting wood nicely with the convex side. The convex side acts similar to a wedge. I keep my axe immaculately clean and sharp. I still occasionally get it stuck, but not as much as when I was younger and more impetuous. I guess you would call that wisdom. Keep chopping, Hilton While I am usually not one to quote the bible. I was recently struck by a verse that I saw in an article. In Ecclesiastes 10:10 the writer relates what I would think is almost everyday folk wisdom; it states, in part; “If the axe is dull and he does not sharpen the edge then he must exert much more strength. Wisdom has the advantage of giving success.
While it may seem foolish to ascribe human attributes to inanimate objects, anyone who has ever tried to split a piece of twisted green oak, or even a freshly logged section of birch knows how stubborn an inanimate object can seem. A dull axe only makes the effort that much more difficult. In my earlier years I managed to break more than one axe handle because of my frustrating and excessive efforts in using a dull axe. I would flail away at the offending hunk of wood like a madman, getting angrier by the minute. Usually I would end up getting the dull axe stuck hopelessly in the offending piece of wood. Extracting the axe was often a chore better left to priests than a swearing young man. I have to chuckle now at the conclusion of that verse, “wisdom has the advantage of giving success.” I have come to the conclusion that knowledge is communicable but wisdom is not. Let that thought sink in. I now own an old double blade axe. It is sharpened razor sharp on one edge and and on a convex side for the other. This allows me to cleanly cut a branch with the razor sharp side, and is equally effective in splitting wood nicely with the convex side. The convex side acts similar to a wedge. I keep my axe immaculately clean and sharp. I still occasionally get it stuck, but not as much as when I was younger and more impetuous. I guess you would call that wisdom. Keep chopping, Hilton |
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