heron counts! i got the morning blues...

I woke up and it was 6 degrees below up here on the mountain. But i am a mountain lion and sprung up with my canines bared in a rictus (good word that) of cold and ejected old Lois who is moaner and gets cold feet. But we have signed up to do heron counts at a place called Colony Farm and nothing would deter me.

So what are heron counts. Herons live in colonies and people have become worried that urban noise and polution might be affecting their numbers. We quite enjoy it, but when the temperatures drop low I have to exercise my iron will to get us moving. This morning we only saw one heron and it was hunched and cold and bedraggled and I could not to scope it well as my eyes were full of cold drizzles, not to mention my nose full of snot.

On a good day we can see Seals that come up a tributary of the Fraser River, and Beavers, and Coyotes and sundry other critters. The tributary also has a chum salmon run that people are starting to build up so No Fishing. But it is also fascinating because one side of it is bordered by a Native North American Reservation. or as some people say a First Nation Reservation. The word 'Native' by itself  is big no-no in Canada. At the moment some of the men are carving a wonderful wooden canoe fo ceremonial purpses. It will have 12 paddlers and is long, smooth and made out of a huge cedar log.

We stopped to wonder at it and were well received. The chief carver told us that the craft had been in his family for generation and he had been apprenticed to his father and that the two of then travel all over Canada creating these masterpieces. If they are not paddled, museums clammer for them. Good looking, lean with a sort of Mohawk look, but I checked and he did have a tomahawk let alone a tommy gun.

Next Blog: the Perry's as Stream Keepers! 



















































fraer

siberia

The wolves howl and the end cometh! The trees weep white and conceal the shapes of dreaded wolverines! Will I make it through the night? Winter has come and I think fishing is over unless I have the fortitude to wade through the snow and try for Steeelhead ( rainbow trout that go to sea and then come back to spawn). I now realise that I have fallen too much in rivers and do not want to usher in a cold and watery grave.

So if I cannot write about fishing I am going to send you a picture of my Salmon bracelet made of silver and designed by a Native North American Chief. At the moment Lois and I are having difficulty doing it justice through a comeral lense then I will take it over the seas. i will then carry a notice saying: DO NOT STEAL! I do not want to leadyou on the path of temptation

minus minus temperatures

It is now below zero! Even the wolves do not howl! All I can do is tie flies. I start with the best names. I like 'Woolly Buggers' best. As it says it is fuzzy and has peculiar sexual habits. What more could one ask for. One trawls it. Not through gay bars, but through deep water after big victims. It will take both salmon and trout, but who knows? I have never caught a salmon on it.

My next favorite is called 'Tequila Sunrise'. It reminds me of one morning when I woke up in El Paso with a gringo in my mouth and had to spit 10 times before I could release the bugger. The fly is gaudy and sort of pink like a dance hall lass. Like a dance hall gal it does catch. Its victims do wriggle. Not on a bed but up and down and down deep. so endeth the first lesson. Fasten your fly.