New Web Site Hits Cyberspace

My new web site has gone live.  You can find it at:

www.lindsayrmohlere.com

Check it out and pass it along.

So there it is.  Stay tuned.

Duck Dogs and More

Now that's the season's over and the gunners have hung up their waders for another year, it's high time to say something about the dogs.

Belle

Belle is the Grand Dame of the Yukon Jack Horseshoe Duck Club.  Kicking in on 14 years, Belle's been assigned to an advisory role for the last few years, but remains one of the best we've ever had swim from one island to another.

Rocky

In his tenth year as a duck club star, Rocky has seen it all and stood solid.  He's a strong swimmer and a dead-on retriever.  When not occupying the corner pad in the duck club cabin or sitting patiently along side one of the blinds, Rocky lounges at the Sauvies store and keeps Belle company.

Zoey

Sweet little Zoey is the songstress of the club dogs.  She always has something to sing about on the short ride from the cabin to the blinds.  Once on station, she's all business.  Trained to voice and hand signals, Zoe can be directed to a fallen duck even though she's not marked it.  This little bit of training comes in handy when the mallards are thick.

Ruby

Chocolate lab Ruby is the newest member to the canine crew at the club.  A bundle of happy energy and a staunch retriever, Ruby hits the water like a brown torpedo pitched off a PT boat.  She's got good manners of a lady and the stamina of a fullback.

 

Joe Dog

Joe Dog is the odd man out at the club.  A German Wirehair Pointer, Joe is a versatile gamer whether it's in the field or on the water.  Not as thick coated as the Labs, he takes to the nastiest of weather with a tail wag and a tooth chatter like a pro.

It feels good to pay tribute to the dogs.  There's not many of us that would lace up hunting boots and hike for miles through the brush or climb into waders and stand face to the wind waiting for the passing shot without them.  The companionship of man and mutt can't be praised enough.

So there it is.  Stay tuned.

It's Over Now

The 2011 duck season end was punctuated by the arrival of flip-flop weather which is now the norm for this part of the Pacific Highway. 

A quick storm dropped over 6-inches of snow on the island.  Sturgeon Lake and most of ponds around the club froze, blocking quack access and gunner success. 

Not many ducks were flying but the hunt was still on. 

A day later the weather changed again.  Temperatures jumped to the mid-50's and the rains came.  Sheets of rain only Moses can understand.  The snow vanished and the lake crested.  Water poured across the club, flooding ponds, flyways and passages.  River levels went from 4.5 feet to over 13.

What was days earlier a snow bank had disappeared.  Blinds were under water.  Pathways and dikes had vanished.

But the dogs didn't care.  They were ready for anything and didn't require an invitation to load up.

High water or not, we splashed the 3/4th's of mile out to the lake. 

The prime Mallard hideouts were all flooded so we all settled for the lake backside where small mounds of dry ground allowed us to keep the dogs out of the frigid water.  The shooting was as slow as church. 

The season ends.


So there it is.  Stay tuned.

A Morning in the Pacific Flyway

A strange day was brewing.  Snow and rain were in the forecast but the sun rose on the old duck-mobile showing a marginal weather day at the duck club.

Decoys were strung as a slight wind tripped over the lake, adding to the morning chill.   When all was ready, we hid back in the willows waiting for flights of Mallards, Teal, Pintails and Widgeons to buzz our sets looking for a place to land.

Then the strangeness came.

The usual manic quacking and honking of thousands of ducks and geese that drop into Sauvie's Island on their journey south that echoes across the lake ceased.  The wind stopped. Clouds and the predicted snow and rain vanished.  All was quiet, save for the distant howl of passenger jets streaking over head.

Hours went by and we waited. Dogs shivering, gunners growling.

But the Pacific Flyway came through again.  The weather rumbled to what was foretold, the clouds moved back and the wind held a rumor of snow.

In 45 minutes the limit was reached.  Another morning in the mud.

So there it is.  Stayed tuned.

The Boys Just Wanna Hunt

It's the end of the year for pheasants.  And a pretty good year it was.  All the usual suspects showed up the last week and scoured out several roosters in 30˚ clear weather. 

The weekend after was the annual friends and neighbor hunt.

Unlike last year when there was more than a foot of snow on the ground, we had stellar weather.  Started out at 17˚ and warmed to the mid-40's by the after lunch chukar hunt. 

Not as many birds were harvested this time around, but the laughter and b.s. was at record levels.

So there it is.  Stay tuned.


(Things are getting ducky - no reference to the 2012 Rose Bowl)

It's the Hat Man! The Hat!

 "Just what I need.  More stupid human tricks.   Of course they know I'll sit quietly and pose like a pro.  They've done it for years...Always the red sweaters too.  And those silly Santa hats.  Gimme a break.  Sending out a photo of the family and dog as an invitation to a Christmas Party.  Pure genius."

 "I don't care much about the bone in the glass, or this photo stuff.  I have to sit on a chair and look regal rather than stretch out on a couch.  It's just not dog friendly.  What a drag."

 "I think I'll spice up the evening with a little chaos.  Maybe I can swipe that hat and then devour the stupid wad of yarn at the end.  Yeah, the hat man!  The hat."

"Got it!.. Now we can all relax and...

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

(Wit and wisdom according to the Dog)

Orion Rests Under a Full Moon

 

11˚ at moon rise.  

Elk will feed on the south faces near the tops all night.  Cows and calves linger in bold groups like cloistered nuns.  Bulls stay back of the herd in solitary confinement keeping a keen eye on the harem.

They'll move before daylight and hide in silence while the sun breaks through the darkness.

By the time Orion the Hunter gets over the horizon it's near 0˚.

The trucks make an annoying scream as they start to warm up.  Boots squeak on frozen ground.  There's no wind, or moisture, only dust.  It hangs like a suspended contrail you can see for miles.

On the mountain, the faint light of morning reveals lingering snow from weeks before drifted in batches, crusted from the sun. 

No fresh sign. 

No elk again.


So there it is.  Stay tuned.