Bald Eagle, photo by Lisa.
Lisa and I saw a Northern Hawk Owl yesterday. It was a fortunate sighting. Owls are an animal that seem to be able to look directly into your soul. Unfortunately it was very low light and I wasn’t able to get a clear photograph.
The owl even soared down and caught a mouse in the snow and long grass. As soon as it flew away a Raven trailed after it, hoping for it to drop the mouse I suspect.
Opportunists get a bad rap. Not born with the sharp beak and killer claws it must depend on it’s smarts and perseverance. It has to steal it’s meal.
This is often the same with people. It used to be the poor steeling from the rich. Now it’s the politicians and big business men stealing from the many poor. Just a little bit from each, it’s counterproductive to completely ruin the hand that feeds you.
Like the Raven they quickly adapt. Even manipulating folks into leaving treats and rewarding them with trinkets.
Still you have to hand it to the Ravens, Crows, Turkey Vultures and Magpies. It was unfair of me to compare them to crooks in suits.
Lisa and I went out this morning in better light to look for the owl. They are very territorial and are often seen time and again in the same spot.
It was no where to be found. We saw the Bald Eagle photographed above. Lisa took the photo not trusting me after my shaky focus with the owl. 🙂
Follow the ridge. Telemark through the spruce.
There is a little extra daylight. Not much but noticeable. There is something to be said about the colours of winter, deep shades of grey, colours only seen at this time of year, hues of mauve and blue.
Evaluate the shadows in winter to plan a walk in summer.
To be without would be a shame. To see them a gift. The owl on a snag, eagles waiting for a fish or a duck to get separated. The mountain ridge fully defined. And the quiet that accompanies it.
The Geminids were hidden by the near-full moon and clouds. We waited looking for a hole in the clouds, but one never opened up. That’s the way it is sometimes. It’s the same with fish biting. No matter how much we try there are some things that won’t be controlled.
Tomorrow, with luck, I’ll be back in the bush.
It’s the kind of weather that feels cold. Snow or rain most of the time, wet and overcast. Everything is grey, it seems, even the snow.
Inside is hot, outside holds a chill. Caught between seasons and unusual for November, usually cold as fuck frozen
Got in a few casts before the lake was completely frozen. The fish weren’t biting. The next time I’ll be dangling a hook down a hole in the ice, never hopeful with such a situation, no action on the lure, no casting where the fish just jumped.
Was behind the mountains where we used to catch fish in the streams. Where we sipped the cold water from the spring beside the trail. How we used to look forward to it on a hot day after exploring the back country, or hunting for deer and elk, sometimes we only came home with chicken. I remember thinking, if it wasn’t for all these damn trees I’d be able to see something to shoot at.
Now the trees are large and I wonder sometime if they were always there. Every trip it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time. Same as the ridges, the way the light hits them. It’s cold in the creek bottom, dark and icy, but those ridges basked in the last light look mighty inviting.
I don’t go far, never have, there is still plenty of ridges, I haven’t walked, without ruck or crowd, right under my nose. Tamarack, old, hard, and twisted. Scree slopes, waterfalls, fish behind rocks, mountains that change depending on the light, enough for 10 lifetimes if you had four sets of eyes.
It’s getting chilly. The snow is on the mountains. You could die if you break your ankle, freeze if you fall through the ice, get lost in the crooks and crags, too scared to move in the dark.
Who needs a jet plane to explore? When you can count on the stars.
Two Boxers got on Willow, she realized she was in trouble and was fighting back. I saw it from inside and ran out. A couple boots and I picked up Willow. This is not what you are supposed to do when your dog is being attacked by other dogs.
The Boxers where persistent. They snapped at her. Unlike some of the other fights I’ve been in I had to use both feet. I hit them in the chest. I was out of breath by the time the Boxers ran off.
I knocked a Rottweiler out once, when I was a youngster I was bitten plenty, I kicked him right under the chin. The clack his teeth made was like the sound when a good punch lands. It was square. Never planned.
He stumbled around for awhile and retreated.
It can go either way. That’s dogs for you when they remember they were once wild.
Killer frost playing hell with the vibrance.
The leaves are thinning, starting at the top. I can’t say I’m sad to see them go. Green has always tricked my eye. I can’t see depth or discern between it’s different shades. The bush is turned deep again. The bears are revealed, along with elk, a mile away, scratching on slides, and dead trees, way back, begging to be cut and split, and I’d agree with them if only they were closer to the road.
The Tamaracks are turning, the snow is lowering and it’s getting damn cold in the morning. The long underwear is on till April, even if we do get a warm spell. Willow is taking no time growing her winter coat. She gives it a scratch now and again.
Willow hanging in the skuff.
The wood is in. Next year’s still has to be piled. And I’m the shits at piling. Crooked rows, uneven spacing between blocks, shaky disbursement, all in an effort to mix up the types of wood.
Many brag, but few can deliver both length and girth.
An armful of split wood for the fireplace should contain at a least two, if not three species, cedar to get it going, pine to create a good hot base and larch to burn hot and slow, crackling once and awhile just to keep you hypnotized while the snow builds up.
It won’t be long now and we will start work in the dark and get home in it as well.