Canada 2016 continued . . .

It got hot Thursday, June 23 - miserable in the sun, hot without a breeze - during the day as the last couple days of our Canadian fishing week began to vaporize into memory.  We searched for shaded areas with breeze to be comfortable enough to fish.  Thursday was also another fish-fly-frustrated fishing day for us.  That is to say, the fishing was good, the catching not so much.  I tackled us up some beetle spins and we caught a few smallmouths during the doldrums off of rocky points, and we also tried trolling with Little Joe Spinner rigs.  Ellen hooked a smaller northern pike but I mostly just hooked stuff.  Such are the vicissitudes of fishing though and we persevered, enjoying plenty to eat and drink back at Cabin 2 with plenty of time to relax with a good book or movie, take a walk in the bush (in the case of the girls) or take a nap in the cabin (in the case of the boys).  For some variety from our fried fish, we grilled brat patties and we had grilled steaks and pork chops.  We tried the Canadian beer batter mix that Chuck had picked up when we bought our licenses in Dryden.  It was a nice alternative to our usual fare.  On Friday morning, the last day in camp, the girls made breakfast sandwiches using brat patties, fried eggs, and cheese.  Out on the lake, Ellen and I had the best time fishing AND catching of the week I think.  We found a rocky shoreline in some rough water that was on the edge of an almost protected bay where we caught many smallmouth bass and walleyes and a few perch.  We would anchor and toss in slip bobber rig tipped with a chunk of crawler and the bobbers just disappeared, almost as fast as we could present them.  The waves and wind made staying anchored difficult so we had to motor back out and then try other spots along the shore to keep the area producing fish.  If it hadn’t been the last night and we wouldn’t have had to start packing up, we could have fished there a lot longer I think.  

Anyway, our annual trip to Keystone Lodge on Cedar Lake in Ontario was once again memorable, relaxing, adventuresome enough, and fulfilling (with fish dinners and more.)  The trip south was uneventful and we were home in something like 13 hours.  

Until next time, get out - I - we - are dealing with another bout with the tick related disease ehrlichiosis, my fifth trip through the merry-go-round of Lyme’s Disease and other tick born troubles.  The doxycycline protocol requires one to cover up in the sun - that sucks.  I am recovering from the sweats and general achiness, but as I am tired all the time, so it is hard to tell if I am recovered or just my usual lazy self.  Finally, Mountain Man Mark came home from Colorado to visit last week.  We learned that he has taken a job on the island of Maui, Hawaii.  On the Fourth, we drove as far as Altoona, IA with him and we all stayed with our friends Jane and Tom Downs.  As usual they put on the dog for us, serving delicious smoked chicken, ribs, sweet corn, and more.  Anyway, Mark took off on Tuesday morning almost four hours closer to home than from Wisco for his all day drive back into the mountains.  Tom and Jane also went west that morning to visit their mountain kids Steven and Cassie, and Brad in Fort Collins.   Anyway, we have already decided to save up for our own Christmas present trip to the islands this winter to visit our soon to be newly transplanted “keiki kana” (that’s “son” in Hawaiian) and see paradise first hand.  We are told by so many friends and family who have vacationed there that they would never have come back if they could have stayed.  Aloha!  Enjoy.  

Grouse Hollow Journal for July 28, 2016

Grouse Hollow Journal for July 28, 2016 by Greg Koelker

Boy!  With this hot humid weather, I really have my best Bill Murray ‘doo going on.  My naturally curly hair, what there is left of it anyway, is curling and sticking out all over.  I just to have to keep reminding myself that the only thing between us and and the cool of September are the dog days of summer.  When I was a kid I was told by somebody that dog days of summer were those hot snaky days where rattlesnakes shed their skins and only dogs were safe.  Actually, the dogs days of summer have nothing to do with snakes, or dogs for that matter.  According to National Geographic, the dogs days have to do with the that time of the year that the Sirius, the dog star, “rises at the same time as the sun, often reckoned from July 3 to August 11. a period marked by lethargy, inactivity, or indolence.”  Heck, that could be just about any time for some of us.  Anyway, Friday night Football is only three weeks away.       

One rather nice day a couple weeks ago, we went by a neighbor’s farm driveway and were surprised to see an estate sale sign.  Ellen learned later that the neighbors had moved into an apartment and were just cleaning out some of the last “stuff” from the farm.  Also, this last week I got a package in the mail from artist, Ruth Monaghan.  Inside was a gift of a beautiful watercolor original of a trout in a frame with an accompanying letter.  She said she thought of me when trying to figure out who might appreciate a single fish painting.  I called her to say thanks and learned that she was working on creating some room and trying to find places for some of her stuff including many, many paintings. Her stuff, made for a pretty nice gift for me.  Ellen knew right where to put it up.  My mom also is always saying she has to get going on cleaning all the stuff out of her house, before she packs up and moves to Maui I guess.  She always says don’t you want to take something?  Thanks, Mom, but you’ve given us plenty already.  

I watched the relatively new film, Sisters with Amy Poehler and Tina Fey recently.  There is a goofy scene that finds the two adult sisters in the old bedroom at their family home - that their parents are selling.  The two of them are wrapped in memories including a princess dress, tiara, boas, cheerleading stuff and dolls and other things youngsters accumulate while growing up.  They are absolutely wallowing in memories with their stuff.  That stuff was the only stuff the parents hadn’t tossed out as they prepared to move out.  They wanted their kids to clean it up and make those decisions.  (I give the film 1 popcorn box overall unless you might be a huge Tina Fey or Amy Poehler fan then maybe 1.5 popcorn boxes).  Stuff means different stuff to people.

We got stuff here.  I can look around this room and see whitetail and fish mounts, hunting pictures, Packer memorabilia, a couple old guitars, some prints of Ben’s mountain photography, a bunch of dvd’s, some framed Larry Zach whitetail prints, a decoy and a bronze of a buck jumping a fence I won at a Wild Turkey Federation banquet years ago, some family pictures, and a few dozen books plus furniture - and that’s just one room.  We all like our stuff.  

Anyway, the humorist/philosopher George Carlin said that, “The meaning of life is finding a place to put your stuff.”  He added that, “All a house is is a pile of stuff with a cover over it.”  Well, considering Ellen and my sense of place here at Grouse Hollow, George wasn’t speaking about us.  I think, no, I know, our sense of place is planted in nearly 40 years of memories of long rides and walks in the evening on our ridge, hunting, little boys playing at farming or football or going squirrel hunting with a juice box and sandwich in a backpack and a BB gun, sledding parties, the scent of wood smoke, good dogs lying in the shade, good horses nickering for attention, good (and bad) cats, warm and fuzzy holiday get-togethers and other parties, and the sense of place could not be complete without good neighbors and the memories of good neighbors that we have been blessed with; I think much of our stuff just adds a veneer that helps us hang on to those memories as they drift on the edges of our over flowing senses.  Countless photos and momentos of our lives won’t mean much to anyone else, but every time I walk by some of them I have to smile as some picture memory pops up.  Our stuff helps makes this place our home.  I will give you that most of this will not really matter to anyone else when we’re gone.  Will those who come after us just think, “is it junk?”  Why the heck not?  And maybe more importantly, why should we care?  Let ‘em get their own stuff!

Until next time, get out - Last week Ellen’s Uncle Jerome Hauk celebrated his 99th birthday!  I had a visit with him over the phone as I missed his party.  He said he has been blessed with great family and good health.  He is a WWII veteran, a remarkable fisherman, and good story teller.  He still drives too!  I am proud to know him.  Ellen’s beautiful garden is producing basil, rosemary, thyme, parsley, green beans, cukes, zukes, carrots, onions, tomatoes but the raspberries are taking a break in the heat.  The sweet corn is all tasseled out.  She is also battling Japanese beetles.  The shiny jewel like bugs eat leaves and live anywhere they want or so it seems.  We had fat grilled burgers with her tomatoes and sweetcorn (bought in town) last night for dinner, topped off with peach crisp and ice cream.  She also made me a zucchini chocolate cake!  Enjoy!

Grouse Hollow for July 7, 2016

Canada 2016 continued:

On the Monday morning after Father’s Day, we breakfasted on sausage and eggs-over-easy before heading out on Cedar Lake.  We all skimmed the waves to Portage Bay in hopes of the perch bite returning after the storm.  The forecast was for winds of 15 to 30 MPH; they got that right - times two I think.  Ellen and I tried a couple spots and caught a couple perch but decided to move on.  We learned later that Barb and Chuck kept a nice mess of jumbos when the perch suddenly got hungry.  All the while, hidden by a pine and rock covered hill, the wind got stronger and stronger.  We tried Ellen’s Bay because it was sheltered a bit.  We marked fish on the Lowrance fish finder, but none were interested in a night crawler breakfast.   We still had no fish, so we headed back north to camp, turning out onto a big lake gone wild with white caps.  I asked Ellen if she was ready for this and she replied, “Let ‘er buck!”  Those white frothy waves could have made Casey Tibbs, Jack Buschbom, or even Trevor Brazile pale because the lake kept on bucking long after 8 seconds was up.  Some of the swells and eddies had to be over four feet.  I know I hurt my back from slamming down on top of waves.  We also had a couple of emergencies while on the rough water.  The engine stopped twice!  Dead in the water, the boat started to turn sideways precariously allowing some water over the side while I popped the technical cover.  The only thing I could see was the fuel line so I pumped the soft and empty fuel bulb.  The big Yamaha came back to life and we got back under way.  It killed two more times!  Later, I found out that had happened a couple of times to others.  The fuel cap is so tight on these new boats due to fuel efficiency filters and pollution standards that the engine can be strangled by tight caps.  

Anyway, the motor situation was fixed, so after a break for an Aleve, coffee and a cookie (or two for me), we navigated up the Narrows, eventually anchoring along a promising rocky shoreline in a little bay in maybe 8 feet of water.  We were also mostly out of the wind.  It was peaceful and we caught walleye and perch and smallmouth.  We kept our limit of 8 walleyes - all about 16 inches, one large perch, and threw back at least six smallmouth bass along with I don’t know how many smaller walleyes before heading back to camp and another fish fry for lunch.  

After lunch, Chuck made tackle and fished out of their docked boat.  The girls went on a walk back down Camp Robinson Road.  I visited with our hostess, Lee Ann Frostiak a bit and then stretched out on the couch to read my book, Double Cross by James Patterson.  El and Barb told us that they saw moose and bear tracks when they got back.   Before we all headed back out, we snacked and discussed strategy.  Anyway, El and I caught and released maybe ten walleyes and a few perch that evening before a late cocktail hour.  We watched one of our favorite classics, Grumpier Old Men while eating a late supper, like sitting down to eat at a dinner theater after 10 PM.  (We actually had to finish the movie at breakfast the next morning.)   

On Tuesday morning the girls fixed bacon and pancakes before we headed south to Portage Bay again.  Those 50-horse Yamahas really eat up the lake.  Today was a really slow day.  I only cleaned four perch all day.   Ellen reeled in a nice northern pike along a weedline in Convention Bay in the morning but otherwise, we mostly got a rock.  The wind picked up and made much of the lake just tough to be on.  Tuesday is also the traditional camp fry where the Keystone staff prepared and served a buffet to their guests.  At first, it seemed like the camp count was down - until the dinner bell rang and people started appearing from every direction to feast on two kinds of excellent cake, homemade potato salad, baked beans, deviled eggs, grilled burgers with all the fixins, and some excellent hot dilly beans.  We caught up with some of our neighbors.  The Monroe crew were as stymied as we were as far as finding fish.  They said they got a bunch of crappies on the first day but none now.  The musky hunters in camp were catching a few, but not like usual.  At the Camp Fry we we met young newly-weds from Winnipeg who were there to fish for musky.  I asked them how they did and she said her husband had landed a small musky, but she hadn’t hooked anything.  As it happens, the young woman is battling cancer and was growing too weak to continue their fishing trip so they planned to leave in the morning.  After the camp fry, Barb and I had had enough of rough water for the day, so Ellen and Chuck motored to Portage Bay where she landed a dandy smallie to get two fish on the trophy catch n’ release club board.  Barb and I read at first and then - because she had never seen it - watched the classic western, Silverado.  When El and Chuck got back in, we watched Dustin Hoffman in Little Big Man, at least until none of us could stay awake anymore.  I killed a mosquito or two before I could settle in for the night.  

The girls made sausage and egg mcmuffins with leftover grilled brat patties for breakfast on Wednesday.  We decided on trying the weedlines in the huge bay called Peep Hole.  From our cabin window, we could see that the lake was awash with Mayflies (aka: fishflies, barge flies, river bugs, june bugs, dayflies, shadflies, and maybe most appropriately here Canadian Soldiers).  In places I think a small child could have walked on top of the water on the bugs.  Anyway, dumping tons of fresh food into the lake pretty much made the catching tough.  We caught a few small perch, putting four in the live well along with a 13-inch smallie.  The black and deer flies were a nuisance too.  El and I got off the lake at lunch time to cool off with some hot coffee and another cookie or two.  

I can’t forget to mention Trapper Don.  Don is the camp helper this year, clearing brush and helping with whatever (and there are plenty) chores need to be done.  Don told me he has worked as a fishing guide and trapper around Canada.  His winter occupation is running a trapline out of his trapper’s cabin with no electricity!  He said he took 60 beaver last winter.  That was impressive to me anyway.  He is also or should be at least, a stand up comedian.  He matched me toe to toe telling jokes.  He was a nice, funny guy and I hope to see him on Saturday Night Live Canada sometime.  

More next time . . .

Until next time, get out - Governor Walker spoke in Coon Valley the other day to an invitation only crowd.  (I didn’t make the cut.)  He said that the railroad trespass law is a matter of public safety and liability for the railroad.  I disagree.  It is not.  Drunks, suicidal people, and thoughtless fools trying to beat a train at a crossing are still going to do it regardless of the law.  Only fishermen, hunters, trappers, bird watchers, and others trying to recreate are being penalized by this restriction of access to the Mississippi River and other state recreation areas.  Anyway, it is raining as I slap this out on June 30.  Surprisingly, things were pretty dry here.  The garden has been doing well except for unknown varmints picking on the green bean plants.  After finding a mess made of our bird seed buckets, I put a live trap in the garage with some marshmallows as bait and caught a raccoon last night.  Enjoy.