April

Snow is  still  on the banks.

     Snow still makes blotches the hills and the streams rumble. Water is everywhere. The roads are muddy. Everywhere is muddy. Outside it is barely over forty degrees. This is April in the North Country.

Catkins on alders.

     During the day the grouse drum, a sound more felt than heard. Today rain spit from the sky as water rushed downhill. Grass is still brown, but the poplars and elms are in bloom. A fire in the woodstove makes our house a cozy home.

     The night is still. There is no madness, like on the evening news. Rushing water is the only sound. Twilight lasts long as the sky changes from shades of gray to blues and eventually a star speckled sheet of black.

     Spring is awakening, a slow process up here at Camp Grouse. 

We love the long quiet evenings.

April at Camp Grouse

       The snow finally left about a week ago, it had doggedly lingered in the shadows of the softwood trees. If you poke around on the north side of the hills, there probably is still some in the shadows.

       In the woods the ground is very soft. None of the spring flowers are up and streams are high, making crossings difficult. The juncos reappeared for a few days, then left. A mourning dove arrived early, before the snow had gone, and took advantage of lawn exposed by the snowplow, but he is gone now too. We are waiting on the warblers, but every day birds show up that we haven’t seen all winter.

       Fishing will start soon, as the water warms and the streams drop. Most of the ponds still have ice on them, but it will soon disappear.

       Woodcock came back weeks ago and probably are nesting by now. Every day the grouse are drumming in the woods, one down below the house and another up above. The weather plays a big part in the breeding success, so we watch with fingers crossed.

       April is anticipation.

Spring is Here

Maggie running back after flushing the woodcock.

    A cool wind blew from the east under a blotchy gray sky. Small mountains to the east showed the scars of logging and patches of white lingered near the tops of the highest. The two older wirehairs dashed ahead, familiar with the old logging road, having walked it dozens of times over the years, both hunting and just to be outdoors.                 

    Maggie, our twelve week old pup, stayed closer, walking in the drainage ditch and fascinated by the flowing water as only a puppy can be.

    Up from under her nose tweetered a woodcock, the first one seen this year!

A new beaver pond flooded the road.

    Maggie dashed back to sit by our feet and watch the bird fly away.

    After hoots of laughter and praise for the pup, we carried on. Further down the hill a grouse flushed wild, twisting like a calendar painting through the barren poplar and birch. Life felt pretty good.

    Further on, up in a cutting, Chara, the older wirehair soon to turn fifteen, pointed with Colby backing, but no bird was found, yet was still a delight to see.

    Later, almost back to the truck, Chara shuffled around inside a thicket of alders. Pause, snort and sniff, pause, point, shuffle and sniffle…no style, but with determination, and up went a woodcock. That made two!!!

Lounging at Camp Grouse while listening to the grouse drumming.

    On the way back to Camp Grouse, the sun poked through the clouds and the subject of a beer came up. Later, sitting on the deck, we clicked the necks of two bottles together in a toast to spring, and almost immediately the season’s first drumming from a grouse drifted down the hill.