Just at the junction of the minimum maintenance road and the half mile dirt track into my cabin, a pack of recently somewhat unprotected, shoot em if you feel threatened, grey wolves declared their presence. Right nice pile of poop, that. Plenty of wolves in this neighborhood. I see one or two each year. But they usually only leave a pile or two in the trail or the dirt track - just once in a while, just to let you know they're around- no big deal, here a turd, there a turd........ But this ! This is a proper display. This is art. This is fecal art ! This just screams, "Hunting season ? Bring on your proposed hunting season ! We can give a crap about your freaking howling hunting season !!!"
This harsh place in April. High 30s by mid afternoon, then plunge to mid twenties as the sun goes down. Spring peepers jingle through the freezing dusk. A snipe wings his tremolo love songs throughout the whole of the night. Drumming grouse claim and strut their favorite ancient logs. The rivers run at 4 degrees C. And the northeast wind will not quit. The urgency of springtime living fills these cold valleys. Too cold for and old curmudgeon and his steelheaded memories. Check fish lust to comfort level ratio - comfort it is. Check fish lust to chore list ratio - chores it is. Back to the west, where it is beginning to green up........where the sunfish have begun.
The wolves can have it. It is truly theirs. I'll be back..............
