SOUND OF FORMING ICE
By: Ray Hansen
Sounds like one of those conundrums doesn’t it? The sound of forming ice. Like the sound of one hand clapping, or the proverbial tree falling in the forest if no-one is there to hear it. But ice does make a sound when it forms, and I have heard it.
I was hunting deer during the mid-November rifle season on the Stonington Peninsula in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, in a semi-remote part of the Hiawatha National Forest. Temperatures hovered between zero and ten below for three days, under absolute dead calm. This area juts out into Lake Michigan and is surrounded by the big waters on all sides.
Earlier that year I scouted this section of forest, and pulled together some logs, dead pine branches, leaves, sticks, and other debris into several ground blinds where I could sit to take in the silence and watch for deer. I liked being partially concealed – I needed to remain undetected to have any chance against super-sensitive whitetails.
This was a place where a few big, wise bucks used the vast woodland to stay safe. No farm fields concentrated deer anywhere within miles of this spot. Only some logged areas might attract animals, and bucks would be making loops through the woods in search of does during this time of the annual rut. That was just about the only way they would make a mistake, and the only chance I had to see one that offered a clean shot was to park myself in a place they might cross.
So I sat, hour after hour, bundled in multiple layers of cold weather gear. An adult doe and two young deer were hanging around, and I hoped a buck would show to check her out.
Sometime late on the first day, I became aware of a low, constant sort of rumbling sound. I could not pinpoint where it originated from, but that was not unusual in the big woods. I first speculated that it was a county road grader far off in the distance. I thought it might be rolling along the gravel roads on the peninsula at a slow, steady creeping speed to grind down the “washboards” these dirt roads developed over time.
By the second day, I abandoned this theory, because the sound remained constant and I still could not tell which direction it came from. A grader would have moved by this time. The rumbling continued, broken only by the occasional hooting of great horned owls, and the lyric, almost mystical variety of calls created by ravens soaring through the frigid air just above tree-top level.
On the third day, a realization slowly enveloped me: I was hearing the ice form out on the big waters of Lake Michigan. The open water on the bays lay flat calm and exposed to the air with its deadly freezing temperature. Ice crystals formed immediately, and the almost imperceptible swells caused by tiny tides, currents, and other natural water movements cracked, stretched, and splintered the forming skim ice. The sound was that of the fracturing ice crystals amplified by thousands of acres of freezing water surrounding the peninsula I hunted on.
The one - and probably only - set of weather conditions that provided freezing water, combined with a lack of competing sounds, prevailed long enough to allow me to hear and finally identify its source. And to me, it was a chance to witness the sound of The Universe going about its business.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Showing posts with label ravens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ravens. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
BONES IN THE RIVERBED
Author's note: We had our first good snowstorm on Monday and whether that knocked out my internet access, I don't know. I was not able to log on for a couple days. I'll have a report about the deer hunting season as soon as I can write one up. In the mean time, here is a true tale about the river that runs past my house.
BONES IN THE RIVERBED
By: Ray Hansen
The inspiration for this blog came from something I observed this summer while wading in the river behind my house and casting for smallmouth bass: deer bones lay scattered in certain sections of the riverbed. Moving slowly along, I’d spot part of a ribcage here, and a hip bone there. Longer leg bones often lay oriented with the flow of the current, and smaller bones sat wherever the high and roiled water flow during the spring would fling them.
Later in the fall I went to a place more than twenty miles upstream and found even more evidence – old and new – on the dry bed of a reservoir that had been drained. I had some hunches about how they got there, but I haven’t lived here very long so I decided to consult the Mystic Oracle, otherwise known as the Past President of the Old Partridge Hunter’s Society. He lives a grouse flush down the road from me and has spent many years on the river. I found him out in his workshop, tinkering with reloading press.
“Ah yes” he said, mulling the question over on a warm October night. “Bones in the riverbed. Well… a few come from coyote kills during the winter, and maybe a few more from deer that make it to the river after getting hit by trucks on the road. Most though, are put there intentionally.”
“Put there intentionally” I repeated, somewhat surprised.
“Yup” he replied, picking up a twelve gauge hull from his reloading bench and examining it under the light of a sputtering lantern. “Do you feed birds in the winter” he asked?
“Sure” I answered.
“And what do you feed them?”
“Seed mix, suet, dried corn, peanut butter”, I said while thinking about supplies I’d buy for the upcoming cold months.
“Great for jays and juncos” the President postulated, “but what if you wanted to feed eagles?”
“Aha” I exclaimed, grasping the significance of his calculated question.
“People here watch for roadkilled deer once the river freezes over. Pick up a small deer if you’re alone, or a bigger one if you have help. Toss it in the back of the truck. Skid it across the snow and slide it over the riverbank”, he explained, staring out past the lantern light.
“Eagles, sometimes four of them, strip the carcass fairly clean and ravens get the rest. Once in a while a pack of coyotes scare the birds off but there is usually not much left for them. Mice and small nesting birds carry off the hair, and the river claims the bones.”
So the river flows along unceasing. New water constantly keeps the current moving. Each time I look at the surface, it really is a new river. The bones I see are the only sign that some particular deer ever existed, but they don’t last forever. Maybe the words on this page are the only thing that can ever lend them any kind of permanence…
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
BONES IN THE RIVERBED
By: Ray Hansen
The inspiration for this blog came from something I observed this summer while wading in the river behind my house and casting for smallmouth bass: deer bones lay scattered in certain sections of the riverbed. Moving slowly along, I’d spot part of a ribcage here, and a hip bone there. Longer leg bones often lay oriented with the flow of the current, and smaller bones sat wherever the high and roiled water flow during the spring would fling them.
Later in the fall I went to a place more than twenty miles upstream and found even more evidence – old and new – on the dry bed of a reservoir that had been drained. I had some hunches about how they got there, but I haven’t lived here very long so I decided to consult the Mystic Oracle, otherwise known as the Past President of the Old Partridge Hunter’s Society. He lives a grouse flush down the road from me and has spent many years on the river. I found him out in his workshop, tinkering with reloading press.
“Ah yes” he said, mulling the question over on a warm October night. “Bones in the riverbed. Well… a few come from coyote kills during the winter, and maybe a few more from deer that make it to the river after getting hit by trucks on the road. Most though, are put there intentionally.”
“Put there intentionally” I repeated, somewhat surprised.
“Yup” he replied, picking up a twelve gauge hull from his reloading bench and examining it under the light of a sputtering lantern. “Do you feed birds in the winter” he asked?
“Sure” I answered.
“And what do you feed them?”
“Seed mix, suet, dried corn, peanut butter”, I said while thinking about supplies I’d buy for the upcoming cold months.
“Great for jays and juncos” the President postulated, “but what if you wanted to feed eagles?”
“Aha” I exclaimed, grasping the significance of his calculated question.
“People here watch for roadkilled deer once the river freezes over. Pick up a small deer if you’re alone, or a bigger one if you have help. Toss it in the back of the truck. Skid it across the snow and slide it over the riverbank”, he explained, staring out past the lantern light.
“Eagles, sometimes four of them, strip the carcass fairly clean and ravens get the rest. Once in a while a pack of coyotes scare the birds off but there is usually not much left for them. Mice and small nesting birds carry off the hair, and the river claims the bones.”
So the river flows along unceasing. New water constantly keeps the current moving. Each time I look at the surface, it really is a new river. The bones I see are the only sign that some particular deer ever existed, but they don’t last forever. Maybe the words on this page are the only thing that can ever lend them any kind of permanence…
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
HALF-DAY BOWHUNT: Final Installment
Author’s note: This is the final installment of the series I wrote detailing a half-day in the woods while bowhunting for deer. As I mentioned previously, I have already had a successful season, taking a 2 ½ year-old doe during late October. I’ll be out looking for a eight-point or better buck during the rifle hunting portion of this season (Nov. 15-30), and if I don't fill my remaining tag then, I’ll spend more time bowhunting until the archery season closes at the end of December.
I’ll see you tomorrow with a new blog.
PREDATOR AND PREY
The third deer in the group was hanging back while the others began browsing. It was small, and did not have the somewhat “sleek” look of a healthy deer during the autumn season. As it maneuvered closer I saw that it had recently been attacked by coyotes or wolves. Perhaps a mountain lion or one of the local black bears. Its sides were raked heavily as if by claws, the lower jaw was broken, and its tongue protruded out of its mouth sideways from the right side. Once in a while, deer survive an attack from these predators, and make an escape. The injuries could also have been caused by a vehicle, but we were so far away from the nearest road that I did not think this was the case. Even then, the closest roads are dirt and quite rutted. Twenty miles per hour is about top speed.
I decided to kill this deer if I could. I watched it try to eat with the others, but it could not bite effectively. It stayed out on the fringe of the group, and when it got closer the others would drive it away. Unfortunately (I guess) the injured deer walked away toward the east, and I had no opportunity to get a clear shot. That’s just the way it is when hunting with a bow.
10:05 a.m.: A buck fawn comes in from the northeast.
10:07 a.m.: A 2 ½ year old doe joins the small buck from the same direction. This animal is very sleek and in prime condition. She browses a little on the hill but acts more cautious than any of the other deer I have seen here. Looking in many directions, stopping frequently to swivel her ears all around, and circling to try to scent-check, it is going to take some luck to catch this one in position for a shot. It just does not happen. She moves off to the west and out of range before any chance comes up.
I have seen this deer pay close attention to something southeast of my spot while she was in my sight. Again, I’m hoping the buck I suspect is skulking around is what this doe is reacting to. Normally when deer circle some spot it is because they are trying to get downwind of something they want to scent check. Today has generally been calm so this strategy is not working well for them.
11:10 a.m.: I see some movement northwest of the stand, and assume it is deer. I use a soft doe bleat followed by a higher pitched fawn call to try to pull these animals in closer, but it doesn’t seem to work.
In the end, I stayed until about noon, but saw no more deer close enough to get a good look at. I took advantage of the lull in activity to climb down from my stand and quietly slip out of the woods. I have lots more time to hunt and I really enjoy being out in the woods in the generally warmer weather this October hunt took place in.
I saw more deer than usual today. I’ve spent many other half-day hunts in a tree when all the activity I watched consisted of birds, squirrels, rabbits, ravens, and other natural sights but no deer. When I go out into the woods I just never know what forest drama might play out. That sense of anticipation keeps things interesting
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
I’ll see you tomorrow with a new blog.
PREDATOR AND PREY
The third deer in the group was hanging back while the others began browsing. It was small, and did not have the somewhat “sleek” look of a healthy deer during the autumn season. As it maneuvered closer I saw that it had recently been attacked by coyotes or wolves. Perhaps a mountain lion or one of the local black bears. Its sides were raked heavily as if by claws, the lower jaw was broken, and its tongue protruded out of its mouth sideways from the right side. Once in a while, deer survive an attack from these predators, and make an escape. The injuries could also have been caused by a vehicle, but we were so far away from the nearest road that I did not think this was the case. Even then, the closest roads are dirt and quite rutted. Twenty miles per hour is about top speed.
I decided to kill this deer if I could. I watched it try to eat with the others, but it could not bite effectively. It stayed out on the fringe of the group, and when it got closer the others would drive it away. Unfortunately (I guess) the injured deer walked away toward the east, and I had no opportunity to get a clear shot. That’s just the way it is when hunting with a bow.
10:05 a.m.: A buck fawn comes in from the northeast.
10:07 a.m.: A 2 ½ year old doe joins the small buck from the same direction. This animal is very sleek and in prime condition. She browses a little on the hill but acts more cautious than any of the other deer I have seen here. Looking in many directions, stopping frequently to swivel her ears all around, and circling to try to scent-check, it is going to take some luck to catch this one in position for a shot. It just does not happen. She moves off to the west and out of range before any chance comes up.
I have seen this deer pay close attention to something southeast of my spot while she was in my sight. Again, I’m hoping the buck I suspect is skulking around is what this doe is reacting to. Normally when deer circle some spot it is because they are trying to get downwind of something they want to scent check. Today has generally been calm so this strategy is not working well for them.
11:10 a.m.: I see some movement northwest of the stand, and assume it is deer. I use a soft doe bleat followed by a higher pitched fawn call to try to pull these animals in closer, but it doesn’t seem to work.
In the end, I stayed until about noon, but saw no more deer close enough to get a good look at. I took advantage of the lull in activity to climb down from my stand and quietly slip out of the woods. I have lots more time to hunt and I really enjoy being out in the woods in the generally warmer weather this October hunt took place in.
I saw more deer than usual today. I’ve spent many other half-day hunts in a tree when all the activity I watched consisted of birds, squirrels, rabbits, ravens, and other natural sights but no deer. When I go out into the woods I just never know what forest drama might play out. That sense of anticipation keeps things interesting
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
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