The Art of Fishing

She took a box of books.
He took a box of fishing tackle.

She took a camera and binoculars.
He took a fish finder and several fishing rods.


She could walk the trails for hours.
He could fish for hours and hours and hours.

She took extra food, just in case, but
He caught enough fish for the week.


Fishing is a most particular sport, especially for those fishers who are after game species. The children at the camp caught the same catfish twice from the dock with a worm he put on the hook for them. But he wanted trout, pickerel, and bass...


He put in folding chair on the floor of the fishing boat for her comfort. When the wind was up, he hugged the shore avoiding the whitecaps on the open water. A large hatch of mayflies flew in the air and their short-lived bodies covered the surface of the water. That was a good excuse if the fish didn't bite.


The fish finder showed him where schools of bass and perch swam in the water. It also showed the depth and warned of rocks hidden below the surface. That made her feel safer.


He drove the boat close to the terns, loons and ducks.
She netted a few fish.

He was happy and she was happy.
Give a little, take a little. Two is better than one.

Name that Tune

Summertime birding can be a challenge. Small song birds prefer the safety of thick hedgerows, cedars and hawthorn trees and finding them turns into an exercise of extreme patience. Some birds prefer swampy habitats where mosquitoes breed and walking is treacherous or impossible. Treetop birds bring on a stiff neck from excessive upward gazing. But most birds do sing or squawk or chirp and recognizing their unique sound is the key to positive identification.

Black-billed Cuckoo

Manitoulin Island provided a veritable symphony of bird song. The Sandhill Crane's unmistakable rattle frequently filled the air. I learned the call of the Black-billed Cuckoo who nested near our cabin. Any visitor to a northern lake would recognize the call of the Loon over the water.

The road to the camp was about 2 kilometers long and each little section had its own bird groups. We stayed in the Warbler woods.

Up the road toward the big swamp was Woodpecker way where the Downies, Flickers and Sapsuckers hammered on dead wood. I didn't know the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker made a cat-like noise? But it is different from the Grey Catbird's meowing call.

Downy Woodpecker

Next came the Indigo Buntings and these lovely blue jewels flew back and forth from treetop to treetop along the roadway.

The cedar trees near the swamp were home to a variety of Thrushes. I was drawn here daily to listen to the haunting song of the Veery. The complex song was the most beautiful I have ever heard. (listen to their songs here)

Going the other direction led to the field of the Bobolinks. These hyperactive birds had a wild raspy song that went on and on like a long jamming session. The males perched on the hydro wires and on tree tops while the females in their modest plumage stayed quietly in the bushes.

Male Bobolink

The woods near the waterfront hid a loud but invisible Whip-poor-will. And the lane way was the stage for many enthusiastic Vireos.

I recorded sounds of birds I could not see with my camera in hopes of learning their songs. Here is a compilation of some of them. The visual quality is not great and my hand held efforts, along with the wind and grey skies may make you queasy as you watch. If so, just close your eyes and listen. What do you hear?

Postscript ~ I posted the video link on our local birding forum and one of our local experienced birders added this analysis of the bird song...

"... aside from those you already mention in your post, I hear: House Wren (really singing up a storm in the early part), Black-billed Cuckoo (in the background of the House Wren; cu-cu, cu-cu-cu, cu-cu, etc.), Yellow Warbler (underneath the wren - there's a Redstart singing in the background too, makes it a bit confusing), American Crow, Eastern Towhee (these are in the same segment, way in the background) Gray Catbird (mewing a bunch toward the middle), Song Sparrow (in behind the Catbird), Rose-breasted Grosbeak (during the shot of the trees after the bit showing the House Wren), and Chipping Sparrow (singing under the yellowthroat).

There's also an interesting call at the end, underlying the Common Yellowthroat - a single, long, hollow sort of note, which is another Veery vocalization. (I think it may be a warning call of some kind - they seem to make it whenever they spot me, anyway).

"Sounds" like it was a very good area to visit, anyway - very diverse!"

The Sixth Summer

Twice a day I walked to the end of the gravel road and back to the camp. Irish Line dead-ended at a private cottage so any traffic from the highway was very local. Waving to passers by was obligatory. The road ran east and west so I walked briskly into the sun in the morning and sauntered back with the light at my back as I looked in the trees and bushes for whatever I could see. The pattern was reversed in the evening.

On the last afternoon, a car drew beside me and stopped. A white-haired man, cigarette in the corner of his mouth and strong American accent asked,

"Didn't I see you up by the soap factory a while ago?"

We chatted for a couple of minutes and he told me he was from Cincinnati, Ohio. He had been coming to The Island each summer for the past 62 years, first as a child, and then as the owner of the family cottage. His daughter and her family would be visiting next week. A retired airline pilot, he was forward and opinionated in an friendly and direct way. I told him of our recent trip to New York City.

"Well I call New York City the armpit of the world," he offered without hesitation.

"And I never tell anyone at home about The Island," he continued.

Somehow I didn't believe that statement.

"Come up and see my garden sometime," he said as he drove off. "I'm number 102 up Cemetery Lane".

Well that was the end of that. Soon it would be time to pack to go home.

About ten minutes later he sped towards me in a golf cart.

"Do you want to see some deer? Get in! I already cleared it with your husband. I figured you were staying in cabin number one."

We drove up the gravel lane and at the top of the hill, three deer stood nervously at the edge of the bush. They went back to grazing as we passed them slowly. It was only a short distance to his cottage so I agreed to see his garden. Hostas and lilies lined the large lot and a well tended perennial garden was between the house and garage. I asked about some of the plantings.

"I don't know the names of all the flowers...this is my wife's garden...she has been gone five years...this is my sixth summer here without her..."

Grief looked out from under the bushy brows and his voice softened with the memory. I noticed a small memorial stone in the garden.

A short turn around the lake front completed the tour of his little park and he drove me back to our cabin with an invitation to drop in any time.

At dusk my husband and I walked back to his cottage to view the sunset from his ideally located dock. The call of the loon echoed across the water.

Peace and comfort can be found here in this lonely place.

Vacations and Parenthood

Bass Creek empties into Lake Manitou at the fishing camp on Manitoulin Island. Fishing boats are tied up at night along the wooden docks at the mouth of the creek and muskrats swim silently through the dark water. Water levels are high this year and the shoreline was plowed back by thick ice this past winter. The usual rocky shoals where ducks could perch and feed from away from the shore are under water, marked only by bobbing orange buoys.

In the mornings I watched a female Common Merganser bring her large brood to the creek to feed on minnows. The little ones practiced their diving skills and would pop up and down around their mother. Occasionally, groups of them would become separated from her and would scurry across the surface, their webbed feet looking as if they were walking on water as they shot quickly by to catch up with the others.

The little orange-headed balls of down and feathers were amusing to watch in the silent early morning hours. The camp slowly awakened and fishermen gathered their gear and headed toward the boats. As the motors hummed to life, the family of Mergansers moved on to the next feeding spot. Those closest to Mom hopped on her back for a free ride.


Unscheduled vacation days are a luxury, even at a backwoods fishing camp. Sitting outdoors and drinking hot tea as the chill of night lifts from the water is not part of my normal daily routine. There was no vacation for the female Merganser as she cared for her large family singlehandedly. My vacation is over too but the peaceful images of the week remain in my mind.


And I can return there in my imagination at will...


This post is dedicated to parents everywhere! My niece, Jaspenelle is into her second month of motherhood, and my niece Damara gave birth to a little girl this past week. I am now a great-aunt three times over. I skimmed over a great number of blog posts today from my blogroll and had to laugh at the synopsis of a scientific study on motherhood posted by Femail Doc, Dr. Judy Paley.

Summer Vacation

See you later! We are off to the Great Canadian Wilderness...

and a safe and happy 4th of July to friends south of the border!

Changes week by week...

Answers to many of our questions become apparent over time. Each week life progresses and things unfold before our eyes. Last Friday I posted a picture of a red flower that I found on a shrub in a meadow. I looked in all my flower guides and in the internet and could not identify it. Well that is because the flower is white, not red. This week I took a picture of the same bush and saw it is a variety of Highbush Cranberry. The leaves had looked familiar but I had never noticed one with red buds before. Some cultivars of these bushes have pale pink or green buds, not the dark red of this particular plant. This native shrub is apparently fairly easy to grow and attracts a lot of birds. The flowers, fruit and foliage are all beautiful. Our soil is too dry for Dogwood, so this is a planting to consider for the yard.

Female Orchard Oriole

There really are few new birds about in July. I am seeing birds that look different and am always hoping to identify one I haven't seen before. There are a number of juveniles who have left the nest and are venturing out on their own. The spotted breast of a young robin is unmistakable, but others are not as easy. I have seen and heard Orchard Orioles frequently this year and recognized the female in the picture above. The mature males are easy to identify.(see here)


But what is this? I was thrown off by the dark eye marking and different throat colour. My guess is that this is a first year male Orchard Oriole. Again, time will tell for sure.

Insects sometimes appear and disappear in the matter of a week or two. This week we found hundreds of non-native European Skimmers in the Timothy grasses of the field. I never knew what a skimmer was before this. These tiny winged insects are part of the moth and butterfly family and are so small they were a challenge for me to photograph. I don't know if they are beneficial or harmful in North America.

An old Chinese proverb says, "One who asks a question is a fool for five minutes; one who does not ask a question remains a fool forever."

So I will keep questioning and looking for the answers.

Shorebirds

Spotted Sandpiper protecting its nest

I spend a lot of time walking along rivers, streams and ponds but this is the first year I have really noticed the plain brown birds along the edges of the waterways. In the spring I watched a group of little birds fly up as I walked unknowingly toward them. I was looking for swallows in the air, but looking down, I was surprised at the number of birds feeding in the mud. Kildeer (or Killdeer) are commonly seen and bring noisy attention to themselves.

Solitary Sandpiper (possibly)

I figured all shorebirds were big and easy to see. But the ones around here are small and easy to miss as they blend into their surroundings so well.

Least Sandpiper (possibly)

During spring migration I saw a few species on their way to their northern nesting grounds. And are they ever confusing to identify! Are the legs yellow or brown or grey? What about the beak, the spots, the peeping sound?

Semi-palmated Sandpiper (possibly)

Spotted Sandpipers nest in this area and I see them often enough that I recognize them easily now. Scanning partially submerged logs or looking on muddy flats with binoculars usually brings them into view.

Spotted Sandpiper (for sure!)

This week I was walking along a meadow and saw a Spotted Sandpiper sitting high atop a dead Mullein flower stalk. It was making quite a racket. Just when I was getting used to looking down for these birds, there was one perched high above the meadow. Apparently they are one of a very few species of birds where the males care for the young as females have more than one mate.

This male was on the look out as I approached the nest which was at least 250 m from the river's edge . While not as dramatic as a Kildeer, it certainly made its presence known.

I will have to study the bird guides and be more prepared for these plain birds as they move south this fall.

Happy 141st Birthday Canada!

Today is Canada Day and we celebrate 141 years as a nation. I am grateful to be a citizen of this great country where we enjoy freedom, peace and prosperity. Here is a little history of our national anthem found at this Canada Heritage website. The pictures were all taken around home this past weekend. I am very fortunate indeed!

"O Canada" was a patriotic poem written in French by Sir Adolphe-Basile Routhier. Calixa Lavallée, the well-known Canadian composer, was commissioned to set it to music, and it was first sung in 1880 during a national convention of French Canadians in Quebec City.

Many English versions have appeared, but the one which was widely accepted was written in 1908 by another judge, R. Stanley Weir, in honour of the 300th anniversary of the founding of Quebec City. It was amended in 1913, 1914 and 1916 and published in an official form at the time of the Diamond Jubilee of Confederation in 1927 and during the Royal visit of 1939. A slightly modified version of the first verse of Weir's poem was proclaimed as Canada's national anthem in 1980. The original poem of 1908 by Stanley Weir reads as follows:

O Canada! Our home and native land!
True patriot love thou dost in us command.
We see thee rising fair, dear land,
The True North, strong and free;
And stand on guard, O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee.

Refrain
O Canada! O Canada!
O Canada! We stand on guard for thee.
O Canada! We stand on guard for thee.

O Canada! Where pines and maples grow.
Great prairies spread and lordly rivers flow.
How dear to us thy broad domain,
From East to Western Sea,
Thou land of hope for all who toil!
Thou True North, strong and free!

O Canada! Beneath thy shining skies
May stalwart sons and gentle maidens rise,
To keep thee steadfast through the years
From East to Western Sea,
Our own beloved native land!
Our True North, strong and free!

Ruler supreme, who hearest humble prayer,
Hold our dominion within thy loving care;
Help us to find, O God, in thee
A lasting, rich reward,
As waiting for the Better Day,
We ever stand on guard.

Happy Canada Day!

Today is also my father's birthday and he is about half the age of Canada. (give or take a few years!) Canada is a young nation. And no, that is not a picture of him at the church BBQ.

Happy Birthday Dad!