To
get the best out of a bicycle one should ride it I guess, but
sometimes getting the bike to a good starting place really helps keep
the ambition level up rather than say, riding the thing up a very
steep hill to start the ride - at least for me. Anyway, one
afternoon last week, I put our bikes on the bike rack on the back of
the Ranger and we drove up Proksch Coulee Hill and parked on Chipmunk
Ridge Road. Our plan was to ride over the ridge to where County K
and Hamburg Ridge Road meet. The sun was high but the temp was in
the upper 70's and there was a gentle breeze barely moving the corn
and oats and roadside flowers and weeds as we pedaled along. We were
able to converse and take in the view of distant ridges and valleys
and see more of pastures and deep hollows we pass often enough in the
car without really looking. We were able to compliment one of our
neighbor's nicely kept yard and her Independence Day decorations from
the easy passing on the bikes. Ellen made better time uphill while I
was killing it on any downhill spot. We had to stop once when
Ellen's bike froze up. The chain came off. While she held up the
de-railer, I was able to finally free the trapped chain and get us on
our way. (I thought it was time for a short break anyway.) We saw,
no we were able to look at and observe cows and crops and flowers and
butterflies and dried, flattened roadkill that could have been a
skunk or maybe a slow black and white relative of Tweety Bird's
nemesis. Anyway, I am not ready for the Rag Ride across Iowa yet,
but I am getting better. We gotta keep riding.
Vince
and I made it out in the boat on the Fourth. We launched without
incident from Stoddard Landing around 7:30 a.m. My plan was to try
to find some panfish in the backwaters on the Brownsville, Minnesota
side of the river. The river was smooth as glass and we glided along
taking in the morning air and sights. Far to the south, fog was
making ethereal art by shrouding some of the river valleys, hinting
at the river hills with dark gray blue shadows through the mist.
There were a few boaters about - that changed a great deal by the
time we came back in. We idled into one quiet bay and tossed out
slip bobbers baited with crawler parts. Around us, there was some
underwater activity going on. I suppose it could have been carp, but
I figured they would have been done spawning by now. Regardless,
we saw splashing all over the area raising somewhat of a ruckus at
times. (Later, I talked to semi-retired commercial fisherman Dennis
Wopat and he said it could be dogfish spawning. I also asked Mark
Clements, owner of Clement's Fishing Barge, who said it could be carp
at the end of their spawn or dogfish. He said, “Yeah, it's late,
but it's been a crazy year.”) After another boat ride, we started
fishing north of Stoddard Bay using crawlers right on the bottom; it
wasn't fast and furious, but the catching was enough to keep us
interested. We caught a few perch, sheepshead, suckers, and even two
small walleye. I saw a huge fish (like 3 feet long) jump about 3
feet out of the water. It was dark with a reddish tail and round
nose. The body was cylindrical. I thought it might be a huge
dogfish, but when I described it to Mark Clements, he said, “Probably
a lake sturgeon.” Mark said he has seen many lake sturgeon jumping
this summer.
Mark
Clements operates the fishing float south of the Genoa dam. While we
were talking, he asked if I had heard of a big oil spill this last
week. When I said I hadn't, he told me that, “. . . the slick, oil
or diesel or fuel or a bunch of shiny stuff on top of the water
flowed by the float in the morning for four hours.” Fish and
Wildlife were late getting there to check it out, he said. Mark
thought it could have come out of the Root River, but who knows?
Fourth
of July evening, El and I and Vince and Jenny Ruetten and Rox Fox and
Bob Bonine had a fish fry at Bob and Rox's home in La Crosse. Rox
fixed salad, tater salad, and strawberry short cake. Jenny brought
Scotcheroos, and I fried fish - Canadian perch, Mississippi Bluegils,
and North Dakota walleye and perch. We spent a pleasant evening in
their backyard, enjoying the sounds of Independence Day. You know,
Bang! Boom! Pop! Pop! Pop! Whistle! Anyway, it was a grand night.
On
the fifth of July, El and I took an evening boat ride and put only a
couple of freshwater drum or sheepshead in the boat. I had breakfast
at the Thirsty Turtle on Sunday morning and the bartender and cook
filled me in that there had been a good May Fly (fish fly, barge fly,
or if you want to be technically correct: Hexagenia
limbata) hatch the previous night. According to, gulp, - don't tell
my former students - uh, Wikipedia: may flies are, “Attracted
by light, mayflies congregate on roads, bridges and other surfaces in
piles that can be nearly 2 feet high. Cars crush the flies, releasing
liquid in the females' eggs and making roads slick. Roads can get
slick like winter. Flies that aren't crushed by traffic spend 24
hours shedding exoskeletons in a final stage of development before
taking to the air again to mate. The females then seek water to lay
their eggs. If they happen to come across a cup of beer, they will
deposit them in a cup of beer. Adult flies die after laying their
eggs. Within hours, their offspring hatch in the river, and the cycle
begins again.”
Until
next time, get out - I remember a night back in the 1970's when may
fly covered brother-in-law Chuck had to park his motorcycle, brush
off his Sasquatch suit as best he could, and climb into the car to
escape the onslaught. Anyway, the hatch means the end of panfishing
for a bit as fish are full from dining on bugs. Enjoy.
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