Grouse Hollow Journal for October 8, 2015 by Greg Koelker
El and I put chairs on the patio facing east and I turned off the yard light after dark on the last Sunday night in September. We set up with something to snack on and a couple of cocktails to watch the show. Of course I mean the Super Moon eclipse turned Blood Moon. It was stunning, and we agree that the reddish total eclipse was unique and inspiring in a way. El called her brother Tom in Arizona and she talked to Ben in Colorado; he was trying to take pictures of it. It was pretty cool to share something like this clear across the country, inspiring us to further realize how we are all in this together I guess. Some I have no doubt, including me I to admit, thought the whole phenomena got to be a tad yawn producing because of its slow development, but remember the Supermoon won’t happen again until 2033. (Let’s see, I’ll be like 81 - no doubt the new 71 by then.) Our friend, photographer Pat Mundsack got a fantastic series of shots of the spectacle of the encroachment of the Earth’s shadow and the magical total eclipse. The red coloring that faded up is caused by the same atmospheric conditions that cause brilliant sunrises and sunsets so they say. Pretty cool regardless.
Back on this planet, I wiled away a couple hours high up in a tree stand one of those beautiful afternoons and evenings this past week in the small woodlot we call the Corner Woods. There was almost always a breeze punctuated by shots of wind causing oak, hickory, ash, birch and poplar leaves to sail horizontally as they swirled to the ground. I became mindful of the old expression, “can’t see the forest for the trees” because I was surrounded by wildlife. Everything from red and gray squirrels, chipmunks, mice, woodpeckers, blue jays, tiny flickers, and even a ruffed grouse helped keep me awake - most of the time anyway. As the sun disappeared behind the bluff north of Proksch Coulee, the night air got cold. I mean shivering cold. When I called it quits, I tried to be as quiet as possible so I could make a stalk on the bean field nearby. (Oh, I did not use my cell phone the entire time; to be honest, I forgot it in the truck.) I was walking the field road back to the Ranger when I spotted two deer browsing in the alfalfa a hundred yards away. They looked orange in the sunset light, but turned into bouncing white blurs as they exited stage left. I walked along the field road and cornfield on top of the hill and realized those deer were still there. I thought, “Silly does,” but then realized these deer were not does. There were four of them, all with antlers visible from two hundred yards in fading light. I took a step at a time toward them and they didn’t see me because of the light sky behind me I guess. The wind was in my face giving me that advantage too. Eventually, I got close enough to see three (estimated) 8-pointers and a 6-pointer. Two of the bucks were huge. I stopped and watched them play around. The smallest one, darker colored than the rest for some reason, was “bulling” with one of the trophy sized bucks. That is trying to mount the bigger bucks. (For the uninitiated, I learned long ago when my dad worked for Tri-State Breeders in Westby and my grandad milked dairy cows that “bulling” related to when a cow tries to mount another cow when one or both are coming into heat - meaning they are in heat or ready to breed.) Anyway, the bucks playfully dueled a bit with clacking antlers and then spread out to snack on some of Will and Andy Beitlich’s soybeans. I enjoyed the show as the light muddied up the edges. I realized once that one of the big bucks was actually close enough for a shot. I nocked up an arrow and when the big guy put his head down to feed, I raised up my Browning bow and almost drew it back. I could see the buck’s well-muscled body and my light sensitive sight pins. The buck’s head was hidden by the soybeans. In the back of my mind I knew that if I missed and couldn’t find my arrow, it could turn up in the corn picker or chopper and end up in cattle feed. No one wants that. Anyway, it was getting pretty late. I lowered my bow and just enjoyed the bachelor group as they faded away across the ridge. Great hunt and I get to tell the story.
Besides hunting and getting out one time on the river, volunteering two mornings at Stoddard Elementary (Ellen anyway), and finishing up the body and paint work on the Explorer (me), Ellen and I volunteered three hours selling beer tickets at Oktoberfest in La Crosse Friday. That was interesting and LOUD. I’m an old-time loud music rock and roll bass player, so you’d think I’d get some benefit from my experience or at least my growing deafness, but not that day. We also started destructing our downstairs bathroom to get it ready for contractor Tom Fisko’s expertise this week. It is hard, dirty work, but we were able to save the furniture and fixtures to donate to the Habitat Restore and Saturday was Large Item at the Dump day for most of the rest.
Until next time, get out - finally, the Squirrel Picnic was great as usual with lots of family, older, young, and really young enjoying catching up. I even played football. (To be honest, I did a John Kuhn for one play that resulted in touchdown and quit.) We were all eating apple pie, raspberry crisp, fresh rolls, tiger dip, cookies, ice cream pie, casseroles, cheesy potatoes, cousin Sue Pluemer’s squash dish that’s more like a pecan pie, beans, mac and cheese, and more treats, and of course the main dish, the roast squirrel. It has been called tree rat and bushy tail and bird feeder robber, but until last Sunday, I never heard of “bluff lobster.” John Lau said the late Mary Hochhausen, the mother of many hunters and the head cook for many more hangers on, always called roast squirrel, bluff lobster. Jim Fredericks said he called it “tree lobster.” Regardless, Bill Hauk, Chuck Wright, Dave Fure, and I did a danged good job of frying and readying these “woods lobsters” for the roaster. It was scrumdilyicious! Oh yeah, the Packers won too! Life is good. Enjoy.
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