I feel like I am withering away here waiting for fall. It’s
all I think about; it’s all the dog talks about. Bark, bark, ruff, ruff, when
the hell can we go bird hunting? And after being sidelined once again this May due
to budgetary constraints I was unable to participate in a Minnesota turkey hunt,
which as I walked through the woods this past month made it all the more
disappointing; the prevalence of sign just about made me throw all caution to
the wind. But alas, the joy of shooting another turkey this year would have
quickly been soured when I was forced back down to eating rice and black pepper
for dinner. Or worse yet, a can of tuna and Saltine crackers which may sound
okay but after a few days well, not so much. What this really adds up to is
that my one opportunity to get out and hunt this spring has come and gone with
no fanfare whatsoever.
At this time of year fishing does provide some measure of
relief. While it does not hold the inherent physical challenge and rush of
hunting big game or upland birds it does provide a level of excitement that can
keep even the most weathered hunter appeased. But once again I find myself in
tough times. I am surrounded by water, the land of 10,000 lakes as this place
is known, but there’s not a good fly fishing river within a hundred miles. How
I long for the Eagle Cap Wilderness back in Oregon, snowy mountain tops melting
and pouring their cold water down into a web of rivers. Just thinking about it
almost makes me want to cry. I have never claimed to be a skilled fly fisherman
but with each spring I was beginning to improve my odds. Now it seems that
momentum will be stopped dead, at least for now.
There is lake fishing and to that fact there can be no doubt.
Men and women across Minnesota are gearing up and heading to the lakes, thrilled
with the prospect of pulling in some massive walleye or muskie, a northern pike
or sturgeon. It’s all everyone talks about and lakes that were once serene oases
from the calamity of modern life are now dotted with boats. Homes that line the
lake shores which just this past winter were nothing more than another
landscape feature are now filled with vacationing families every weekend. As I
turn down a once trusty walking trail I am confronted with civilization and for
that, I can only hang my head. It’s not that I shun people or don’t enjoy a
good barbeque as much as the next person but often times you just want to get
away from it all, eschew the noise that interferes with the wilderness. Why can
I not seem to find that around here without being out in the middle of some
bog, water and mud seeping into my boots?
Anyhow, sitting on a lake is not what I aspire to do when I
think of a good time; I need to be moving, physically, with purpose. And not to
mention I have none of the gear which would be required to complete such a
task, most notably a boat. So I find myself once again waiting for fall. I
haven’t even been out to shoot my gun in months now, the availability of land
to just go cycle through a box of shells is limited at best and I have little
doubt I would have the police tapping on my shoulder in no time.
The worst part of it all is that I have new gear and new
cameras to get out and utilize this fall but right now they might as well be Christmas
tree ornaments, brought out when the time calls for them but currently boxed up
in the attic. The want for these next few months to just fly by is killing me.
But then again, I hear all the old timers often saying how they just want more
time, want a few months back here or there. Maybe I should just shut up, stop whining
and enjoy the summer. Maybe I should just be patient. But I have to believe I’m
not alone, that I’m not the only one out there who is already waiting for the
leaves to begin falling off the trees. Or, maybe everyone is out fishing.
Dammit, I need a new hobby.
