A life outdoors, and many memorable moments
There are certain stages in one's life when the act of fishing and catching takes a back seat to less aggressive, connected aspects of the sport.
I was very young when I experienced night fishing with my Uncle Harry. I had no idea what was in store for me.
I can't remember all the details, but I recall starting out on Pistakee Lake and then moving to Lake Marie.
Uncle Harry was happy when he had a boatful of Chain 'O Lakes channel catfish. A small, steel cooler held ice and a couple pounds of chicken livers - always a good appetizer for catfish.
I sat in the boat just listening to the nighttime sounds. While my uncle fished, I stared into space, catching a glimmer of a shooting star. Once in a while, a pair of ducks zoomed by.
I repeatedly heard nearby surface splashes. My mind continued to play tricks on me. Maybe the noises were generated by the creature of Lake Marie.
Regardless of what was causing the sounds and what menacing flying creatures kept attacking my forehead, this was a night to remember. It was peaceful until Uncle Harry told me to get going and start catching his beloved catfish.
Then years ticked by.
I was on my own, a young man in my own boat at 4 a.m., sitting on Lake Mendota behind the Wisconsin Governor's Mansion.
The darkness held a mystical veil over the lake. The slight breeze gently pushed my boat over to a heavily weeded section that in daylight hours would often give up some hefty bluegills and chunky bass. On this early morning, all I did was sit and inhale the morning aromas.
Add a few more years to the story.
The canoeing in the Sylvania Wilderness Area was about as good as it gets.
It was in the late 1960s when the federal government was privately given a huge tract of land by a family. It was named the Ottawa National Forest and the Sylvania Wilderness Area.
This pristine gem was located in the lower portion of Michigan's Upper Peninsula, just west of Watersmeet.
It was here where a friend and I found smallmouth Valhalla and a sense of peace that couldn't be bought with a million bucks.
After dinner, I would sit on an outcropping high above Deer Island Lake and listen to the wolves call to each other. Of course I was told by some authority this location was devoid of wolf activity. Right.
My neck was sore after an hour of watching shooting stars race downward to their demise. Even the owls hooted their approval of the sky show.
Beef stew, accompanied by little red potatoes, served as our royal dish du jour that eve. Our dessert came in the shape of nonstop cosmic streaks of travelers. I wondered aloud to my friend Howard if famed explorers Lewis and Clark were ever just able to rest and see what we were able to experience. He just grunted while taking another sip of his homemade ale.
Years later, a similar experience found me in my canoe in the Quetico Provincial Park just a spitball north of Minnesota.
As long as one sits still and doesn't mumble any words, witnessing the animal world come alive during the dark hours can be as good as the television show "Zoo Parade," hosted by the late Marlin Perkins.
And then there was a parade of Rocky Mountain Elk some 20 years ago at Hahn's Peak, Colorado, about 25 miles north of Steamboat Springs.
It was 3 a.m., and I couldn't sleep, so I got dressed and walked out to the road from my cabin. With a cup of hot coffee in hand, I stood on the edge of the road and soaked "it" all in. The "it" was the wonderful smell of the aspens.
A noise to my right alerted me to a gathering of elk just standing there, watching me watch them. I blinked first because the morning mountain chill got the best of me.
Ain't life grand?
Another wonderful entry for my journal.
• Contact Mike Jackson at angler88@comcast.net, and catch his radio show 6-7 a.m. Sundays on WSBC 1240-AM and podcast at www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.