January Thaw

A couple of weeks ago I saw these geese in perfect formation making hard for the south. I thought at the time it might be a sure sign of impending severe winter weather. If the hardy holdovers decide all of a sudden in the middle of January that maybe they better head south after all--well, I thought maybe we ought to pay attention.
But what was impending was a big thaw. In a week's time we went from this...

To this.
It's been downright mild, with temperatures staying above freezing even at night. The temperature sign downtown this afternoon said 48 degrees. And it's been rainy, too.

The result, of course, is a spate of snowmelt and runoff. The river is high, but it will stay in its banks--for now, and no one's home is threatened. But there is a lot of lowland flooding.

The geese would have loved it around here.

It breaks up the monotony of January. I wouldn't say that getting the mail is life threatening, but you have to lean over the freshet to reach the mailbox.

All that and more runs into a culvert and under the road right into our north pasture. Now when I say "my lake" I really have one.

I thought about a trip to the local hatchery to pick up a Bucket O' Trout--maybe super size it--and dump 'er in, tie up some Pellet flies, chum with puppy chow, and while away the hours catching trout in my own backyard. That there would be your "home waters."
But I didn't do it. Wouldn't want one of those hatchery monsters to eat my dogs.

By the way, if you think only dogs would be tempted to wade into that, I came home last evening and there were six or seven neighborhood boys wading in it, through it, and across it. Most in T shirts. One kid fell in up to his neck.

Well, there you go: my lake's already got a Polar Bear Club.

As I write this, though, the water has begun to drop noticeably, the stars are out, there's a skin of ice on the mud in the shed yard, and the burbling of Mailbox Creek is but a memory.

My guess is that winter isn't over yet. In fact, I'm one who believes that in the economy of winter any amount of thaw will be repaid in full with snow and cold.

That's OK. The woodshed's full, it's no longer pitch dark by 5 PM, my snow boots and insulated liners that one of my boys wore into the pasture lake will dry out in time, and I can see the light at the end of winter's tunnel. Besides, we still want to get up to the ski area a few times before Spring.

Bring it on.

If You Can't Beat It...

When it comes to winter, the fact is you can't beat it, so you might as well join it. That's something kids and dogs know instinctively, and that some of us oldtimers need to be reminded of.
A couple of weeks ago Jeremiah and his friend discovered an ice patch out in the pasture. They immediately dug out the skates and spent hours out in the cold wind going around and around in circles--and taking a few spectacular falls. But the joy seemed to numb the pain.

The dogs, true to their Malamute heritage, love the snow and are oblivious to the cold.

Then this past weekend we went up to some friends' house for some sledding and to break in Isaiah's new snowboard. It's actually used, and Jeremiah has one too, though he's still waiting for a shipment of boots and bindings, so Isaiah shared his with him.

They're Christmas presents. In the good old days we'd go out and get them things we thought they'd like, they'd open them on Christmas morning and be thrilled. With the snowboards, they spent hours online choosing the perfect board--and boots, and bindings, and goggles, and snow pants, placing the order, then waiting impatiently for them to arrive.

And then, of course, on Christmas morning they were disappointed that they didn't have more presents to open.

But I'm tremendously glad that they have them, and that they will always have memories of snowy mountains and wind in their faces.

The hill was in the emus' pasture. Jeremiah and Andrew ventured near but bolted when it looked like the male was getting territorial. Good plan.

Later we walked out onto the lake and had a snowball fight.

Here it is in this image: a great big, beautiful winter world and two kids walking out into the middle of it...joining it.

Welcome To a New Year

It's deep winter now, and we have passed the point of no return. Now is the time of gathering; not a gathering in of a harvest, but a gathering together of the forces that will bring that harvest into being out of nothing. Now everything rests under the snow. But that's the point: everything is there, waiting for its appointed time. That time is coming.I need to think like that after a hectic Christmas break with kids and puppies. I miss the solitude of being on the water. I miss the company of eagles, ospreys, and loons, beavers and otters, deer and coyotes, who understand solitude and keep conversation to a minimum. I miss the big silence of the lake filled with the sounds of falling rocks, rising trout, restless wind and living water. I miss the quiet space that settles around me and opens the way to the quiet space within me. But all of that--everything--is there, resting under the snow and under the flurries--and blizzards--of family activity, waiting for its season.

Now the snow is falling, a wet, heavy snow. If the pattern of past winters holds, a cold snap will create a solid layer of ice under the snow and a hard crust on top. Driving is an adventure. The river is still high and choked with ice floes, and the lakes are locked in ice. The kids are back in school, and a new season of AAU basketball begins tomorrow for both boys. New snowboards wait for trips to the local ski area. The puppies are growing in stature, if not yet in wisdom or full favor with God and the man who has ended up taking care of them most of the time.

I am grateful for this life. I am richer than I deserve to be, and this is the time to settle deeply into it all and enjoy the wealth.
And there is still time to take pleasure in the woodshed...
And the woodstove...
And the crackling and sputtering of pungent tamarack and fir.
And even though I won't be on the lake any time soon, I have cleared the decks for action on my fly tying desk.

I'm looking forward to the arrival of some fly tying materials ordered with a gift card--some long shank hooks in #10 and #12, some new colors of krystal flash. Should be any day now. Visions of big Drakes and Hoppers dance in my head.
For the ice that holds last year's leaves will leave at last...

And hungry Brown Trout will again prowl the shoreline.

The sun that broke through the clouds briefly over the weekend to light up a snowy mountaintop is doing its work...

And as sure as Orion strides from horizon to horizon, and the Big Dipper rises high in the north and tips itself over, all in the course of a night, so the seasons are shifting and tilting toward this:

Happy New Year.

The Longer Day

The Winter Solstice has come and gone. Today, the day after, is the day I celebrate. It's the first day that has been longer than the day before ever since the long slide toward Winter began.
We've had dark, chilly, wet days around here for the past week. The snow we had in the valley quickly melted away under a drizzling rain.
Then today the wind picked up from the north and blew the clouds away. As I write the temperature is under freezing for the first time in awhile, and the crescent moon is settling down behind the western ridge while the Dippers and Orion glitter brightly in the frosty sky.
The light is coming back. The long rise toward Spring has begun.
Merry Christmas, indeed.

Flashback: Sixth Grade Camp

Way last Spring, Isaiah and the sixth grade Middle School class went to camp for four days up in the mountains. It goes without saying that he had a blast. His first real taste of freedom.
We went up for a family night. Here he is telling us to get lost until the program is ready to begin.
We mingled and visited with friends whose kids had also avoided them.
Then it was off down the trail to the campfire circle.

It was a great spot, and the fire was fragrant and welcoming. It also provided a little warmth as the evening chilled down. We were fortunate to be there on an unusual year: it was cool but dry. Typically the camp is plagued by soaking spring rains.

It was a real campfire: singing, entertainment, corny skits, and awards. I'll spare you the skits, which took forever to get to the punch line--when there was one, and were full of inside jokes. The kids cracked up and the parents sat there with worried looks on their faces. But here's a taste of the singing, with the counselors leading out.



We were also treated to some entertainment, a one-man band par excellence. I'm sorry that I can't remember his name. I did learn that he's the principal cellist for the Spokane Symphony Orchestra, and comes to the camp every summer to teach music and help in the mess hall.

This is great stuff. I loved it. I think he should quit the orchestra. Judge for yourself.





It wasn't too long ago that out of the blue Jeremiah brought up sixth grade camp. He gets to go come springtime. He can hardly wait.

Warm Puppies, Cold River

A pall of arctic air has settled over the valley. Highs around 20 degrees, lows in the single digits.
That makes it nice to be inside by the fire with the puppies. They're a handful, and even though they aren't my dogs I've ended up doing most of the housebreaking.
More work to do on that.
But ain't they cute? If only they slept more.

Through it all I'm having serious fishing withdrawal. One of the primary reasons I fish is to find space and a semblance of solitude. Those are in short supply around the house, especially since the puppies invaded my territory.

And now the lakes are frozen over, and the river is ice-choked in places.

I took these pictures yesterday in late afternoon. You'll notice the point of view is not mid-river. No, I was on my way home from work, and was way up on the bank where the risk of hypothermia is a little lower.

Should the weather moderate a little I will still entertain the notion of venturing in for another go.

Wouldn't want to be a wimp about this.

Meanwhile, the puppies need me.