Calling all Cows - Wood Ticks, Nettle and Fun

Being surrounded by forest and stream has a lifelong impact on a person. Have you ever seen a cow evaporate? I have.

I grew up in northern Wisconsin, on a farm in logging country. The place was bordered thousands of acres of forest; white pine, hardwoods, and pople. It was a family farm passed through generations.

As the oldest of five farm kids I grew up with responsibility. Daily chores like going to get the cows, feeding cows, milking cows, and cleaning barns were compounded with seasonal chores like making crops and fixing aged machinery.

The cows were the center of our chore filled responsibility; the daily routine.

Chores could overflow and ruin summer vacation, we quickly learned, you needed to use your 'imagination'.

Somehow, through some magic, we discovered 'the cows' guarded the secret keys to the 'woods'.  They knew the art of escape, they wandered all the secret places. Getting the cows, became our code word for escape.

Are you ready to go yet?

Each morning, they leisurely wandered pastures then disappeared each afternoon. They just evaporated. Where did they go? Something about the scorching sun and insect torment, brought them into our woods. Each afternoon, we quickly followed.

The woods offered countless hideouts; easy escapes from the summer sun into cool backwaters filled with frogs and turtles waiting to be caught and exalted.  Any sideline to provide a break from the chore filled routine and a kernel of recreation. Adventure lurked in hidden glens, teaming with interesting insects and poison plants to avoid!

We'd have to search and return them before milking,  it was our job. They were our bovine mentors, teaching the art of camouflage, sharing the coordinent of each silent and forgotten location they chose to frequent. Each day, that was the drill.

We quickly learned to linger with them in the leisure and coolness of the woodland shade. Stealing time to  look for hazel nuts, chase the noisy red squirrels and befriend chipmunks of all sizes.

Always too soon, the low afternoon sun woke the kamikasi deer flies and jolted us away from this idyllic dream.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we meandered out of the woods and into open pasture, looking to intersect some familiar cow path and continue progress, channeling milk into cheese and returning a milk check.

What a trick, through chores, the woods opened its many secrets, full of opportunities to exploit as we searched for each kernel of recreation.

It was only natural that I begin to fish, hunt, and trap. But those are different stories!

Bullwinkle's MaMa

The girl with the far away eyes

OBN turned me on to a contest about scary moments and unexpected thrills in the Outdoors.

I wrote this last March, but it's still got mileage and worth it's salt, IMO!

Marie and I were on one of our many camping trips in  northern Colorado. Just south of  the Wyoming border. A dirt road meanders thru the national forest, northwest of Cowdrey all the way to Whiskey Park northeast of Columbine, Clark, and Steamboat Springs. I've hunted Elk and Mule Deer on the West side, but discovered the North Park camping while out exploring the back roads.

The dirt road doesn't get plowed, so we discovered and re-discovered that early season camping doesn't work well, unless you like to use snowshoes or enjoy flirting with danger dodging snow drifts while driving in (did I mention isolation?). But since we are all about isolation, here we are back again! This time with two dogs; Rocky a chocolate lab, and Arrow a Westy terrier.

The road is bordered by miles of beaverponds, stacked one above the next (that's really why we're back). These beavers are busy little maintenance workers. Even in late June, the snow melt can be over the tops of the dams.

We camped at a fire ring site, surrounded by budding aspen and early spring night sounds. One of the many campsites left over from hunting season.

It's tough fishing beaver ponds in spring. The extra moisture makes the dams spongy and even the normally dry area's below the dams are full of water with spring run off. Marie went for a walk and I took the dogs fishing with me.

These ponds were full of hungry brookies. I dont mind getting wet, so was slogging around the shallower edges, weaving back and forth from side to side using the below the dam areas as roadways and climbing up onto the dams to fish when it was clear.

About the third pond, I scrambled  up the dam and made a cast off to the left when I sensed something was up. The dogs had just climbed up and were balancing on the knife edge, where water meets mud, grass and sticks. Balancing or trying to knock me in. I've never figured out which it is.

Anyway, I was going to change a spinner and stopped fishing. As I looked over to the far bank off my right shoulder, I locked eyes with a cow Moose. When I say locked eyes, I mean, she was locked on me and the dogs, not in a casual way, more of a challenging way. I've heard tales of how dangerous a cow moose can be, especially if you get between them and their calves.




"The Moose with the Far Away Eyes"



Hmmm, the brush was mighty thick and calves aren't wearing blaze orange.

The standoff stopped time, and my ears came alive. Behind me, below the dam, I heard something bailing out thru the brush and water. I didn't see it but knew it was a calf. At the same time, the cow plunged into the water and started coming toward me and the dogs.

It was a big pond, and she was swimming and not moving real fast, but I knew I needed to get the heck out of there, pronto.

Have you ever tried to hurry after jumping off a beaver dam? You're knee deep in water, mud, and beaver slashing and it's frickin hard. Did I mention the 1000 lb wild animal with piercing 'far away eyes' silently but judgingly swimming ever closer toward me? Did I mention my moose magnet dogs wondering what was up with the big brown thing behind us and barking a positioning beacon as I tried to escape?

I splashed, struggled, pierced and fell my way out of Beaverville, on to the safety of solid ground. Once there, I heard the sounds of the calf, scared by our forced march thru the brush, it had circled around and back to mama. Whew, so that's what adrenaline does to ya!

Such a cute little fellar

My heart was pounding, my brain was filled with visions of being beaten to death with sharp front hooves and a quick death. It would have been a good ending I suppose, death by Moose,  in the Mud. Probably over in a few minutes, dogs run faster then me..

After the dogs showed up, Marie would be wondering where I was and start freaking out. Wishing that I would have left the car keys in the tent... No cell coverage. Yep, isolation in the wild has both it's up and downsides.

Calling all Crows - Trickery in the Rookery

Catch and Release - Bird Style

True story.

Marie, her son and I went on a camping trip on Cottonwood Pass by Mt Yale (one of the Collegiate Peaks north of Salida and south of Leadville) and were fishing Chalk Creek above the Hot Springs.

While out scouting the back roads by Mt Princeton, we came across a big clear pond full of rises. Bigger rainbows were laying off the shore, some cruising around the pond, most watching. We quickly decided to get the fishing poles and test our luck.

Across the pond, a Raven was hopping along and doing short hop flights. The activity caught my attention and I noticed he seemed injured, so I decided to walk over to get a closer look. He let me get close, which was a sure sign something was up.

I sat down on the bank and he hopped closer like he was begging food. Close enough to where I could see mono wrapped tightly around both feet with several lead sinkers dangling from a few loose loops in the mono. Not a pretty sight.

Fast forward, I left and came back with some bread or bun and started baiting him with small pieces. He was hungry and definately in survival mode. Hanging out by the pond either catching injured fish, eating dead fish, maybe fish guts left around the pond, or inticing anglers like me to feed him, to keep from starving.

He was weak, if startled he would fly a short line over the water, but he never tried to cross it. I don't think he could get any elevation and he quickly landed. He didn't mind if you approached him again either.

I was likely not the first to try to catch him, but since I love crows and do enjoy a challenge,  I tried sitting and the 'toss him a snack' trick used on camp robbers, no luck. No way would he get in arms reach, he had already figured out human range. He would hop in, close enough to get outlying baits, but no way would he cross the line that ensured his escape should I try to move fast.

Finally, either he knew he got all the treats he was getting or he tired of the silly two legged feeder and flew a short distance away from the pond, landing on the floor of a small foot bridge, along one edge, but still within sight where he continued to scope me out.

Now it gets fun.

I slowly walked over to the far side of the bridge which was just tall enough to let me think I could sneak under it. He stayed put as we had our standoff and studied each other.  I was wearing a hat and put it on the bridge's bottom rail to try to keep his attention diverted, as I ducked under the bridge. I carefully and quietly crouch walked  the few steps under the bridge (raven still hunting) expecting him to figure out the diversion and take off.

Still crouching, I got positioned for a quick look and the big move. To my surprise I looked up to see the ravens hind parts within reach. He was still standing there, I guess studying my hat, or maybe recounting tales of the Lion and the Mouse. I grabbed his butt and tail feathers and things got way exciting real fast, other worldly exciting. A surprised raven is a big wild bird.

What a ruckus, wings flapping, feet raking, screaming, I held on and got his wings confined, holding him away from me as I brought him back to the big pond while being raven bit, cursed in raven talk, and getting literally chewed out.

Traded a hat for a raven - good deal! or was it?

Marie and Paul were laughing but in awe seeing me carrying him back to the pond . I sat down and took a look at the fish line wrapped tightly around his legs and feet, one so tight his toes were swollen, the other not so bad. Marie had a fingernail clippers on her and that was to be the surgical instrument.  Paul shed his shirt and wrapped it over Mr.Midnight's head and wings to better confine him, quiet him down and stop his biting my arms and hands. Paul had him kind of held, my adrenaline rush was subsiding and I moved around to start unraveling and snipping away the line with the fingernail clippers. They worked pretty good, maybe his foot was numb. 

With heart racing and wild with adrenalin, I was able to quickly get most line removed but had to dig and snip the tight wraps off which got him raking again. I finally felt the job was close enough to done and I pulled off the shirt as Paul let him loose to fly off and up this time.

Long story, but kind of has a point. Birds suffer slow deaths from carelessly discarded fishing line. Osprey, eagles, ravens, ducks, geese, all suffer injuries and can die slow deaths tangled in discarded line. Ask any Raptor Rescue about it.

Rescues are rare and are not the normal end. Gather up any discarded line you see and put it in a pocket until you can properly dispose of it.

Always on top her game, Marie got a few pictures of me trying to catch him, then with him in my hands and before the release to set him free started. She made into a 3 picture sequence picture frame. I still have the string and sinkers somewhere around. Just took digitals of the prints, kind of bleached out and flat but still evidence!

Noise on the Line!