Field Journal
December 23, 2017
The day was clear, sunny, and cold as any late December day should be. I went to Martindale for some fishing and hunting. I started in mid-morning, off fishing for steelhead, casting from my kayak along the north shore of the Snake river. The chill was numbing, my fingers soon began to ache from the cold. I drifted down river, continuing to cast. This is how I remember steelheading from when I was a boy. After a while, the line began to catch as I cast it out. Perplexed at first, I soon tracked down the problem. The eye loops of the fishing pole had frozen up, gripping the line. Enough of that, I needed some exercise to warm up, and tools that were working properly. I kayaked up to Goose Island, beached the kayak, snuck across, and shot a nice mallard drake. Then I went back to my kayak, paddled down around the downstream end, and picked up my prize as floating in the slack water. With the air a bit warmer now that it was later in the day, and sun shining on me, I fished a bit more for steelhead in the pool. Then I decided to pack it up and head up to Big Flat.
At Big Flat, I started paddling upstream. While checking out a water bird floating on the lake (it turned out to be a grebe) with my binoculars, I flushed a mallard pair. I wasn't ready, so I couldn't get a shot off before they were well out of range. As I made my way up, I flushed another mallard pair, also out of range. Past the power lines, in the tule patches, I heard geese flying overhead. Backing into some tules for stability, I watched them to see if they would get low enough for a shot. They didn't, but they did distract me so that the mallard drake that was hiding in the tules made a clean getaway when it suddenly burst out and took to the sky.
I made one pass around the inlet, where a chill breeze was blowing down from the land. As I finished, it was getting toward mid-afternoon. Or what would normally be mid-afternoon except that it was just a day after the solstice. It would be getting dark soon and I would have to watch the time. i would not be able to go as far as I usually do. I figured I could cross the lake, check out the secret pond, cross back, and then get back before darkness fell.
There was not much at the pond. As I went back to the Big Flat side of the lake, I could see the line on the cliffs where the golden sunlight stopped and the bluish shade of twilight began. By the time I got back to the entrance to the inlet, I could tell I would really need to book it to get back while light still remained. Now in the shadow of the land of Big Flat, the air had chilled down again. I began paddling with deep, powerful strokes, abandoning efforts at stealth. My kayak cut through the water in the evening gloam. The splashes from the paddles began to freeze on the waterproof covers over my legs. I could feel the fatigue setting in through my shoulders, back, sides, and arms; dig into the water with the paddle, push back, then do the same with the other side, over and over. I glided back past the tules, past the power lines, down to the final stretch. At the pump house, I flushed a final pair of mallards. I reached for the shotgun, but it was crusted in a slick layer of ice; the safety frozen on. Those ducks escaped as well.
I arrived at the take-out place of the jetty as the light was nearly gone. I hauled my kayak and gear out, wheeled the kayak back to the car, and then encountered a conundrum. You are supposed to fully unload your firearm before putting it in any motor vehicle - both for safety and because it is required by law. But the action on my shotgun was frozen. I couldn't pump out the shells. The heat from my hands did little to thaw the release lever. How to solve this?
What I found I could do was push the safety, breaking the ice seal and readying the gun for firing the shell in the chamber. At least I could stash the shotgun with an empty chamber, which would be far more safe than if the chamber had live ammo. I stepped off the gravel of the parking lot (since the regs say that you are not allowed to shoot from, along, or across the maintained portion of any public road, and the Big Flat parking lot might qualify), shouldered my shotgun, aimed at a patch of dirt, and squeezed the trigger. THUD! By good fortune, the shock of firing jolted the action free. I then cycled the remaining two shells out of the magazine and stashed my gun away in its carrying case, in my car. I put away the rest of my gear and headed home.
The day was clear, sunny, and cold as any late December day should be. I went to Martindale for some fishing and hunting. I started in mid-morning, off fishing for steelhead, casting from my kayak along the north shore of the Snake river. The chill was numbing, my fingers soon began to ache from the cold. I drifted down river, continuing to cast. This is how I remember steelheading from when I was a boy. After a while, the line began to catch as I cast it out. Perplexed at first, I soon tracked down the problem. The eye loops of the fishing pole had frozen up, gripping the line. Enough of that, I needed some exercise to warm up, and tools that were working properly. I kayaked up to Goose Island, beached the kayak, snuck across, and shot a nice mallard drake. Then I went back to my kayak, paddled down around the downstream end, and picked up my prize as floating in the slack water. With the air a bit warmer now that it was later in the day, and sun shining on me, I fished a bit more for steelhead in the pool. Then I decided to pack it up and head up to Big Flat.
At Big Flat, I started paddling upstream. While checking out a water bird floating on the lake (it turned out to be a grebe) with my binoculars, I flushed a mallard pair. I wasn't ready, so I couldn't get a shot off before they were well out of range. As I made my way up, I flushed another mallard pair, also out of range. Past the power lines, in the tule patches, I heard geese flying overhead. Backing into some tules for stability, I watched them to see if they would get low enough for a shot. They didn't, but they did distract me so that the mallard drake that was hiding in the tules made a clean getaway when it suddenly burst out and took to the sky.
I made one pass around the inlet, where a chill breeze was blowing down from the land. As I finished, it was getting toward mid-afternoon. Or what would normally be mid-afternoon except that it was just a day after the solstice. It would be getting dark soon and I would have to watch the time. i would not be able to go as far as I usually do. I figured I could cross the lake, check out the secret pond, cross back, and then get back before darkness fell.
There was not much at the pond. As I went back to the Big Flat side of the lake, I could see the line on the cliffs where the golden sunlight stopped and the bluish shade of twilight began. By the time I got back to the entrance to the inlet, I could tell I would really need to book it to get back while light still remained. Now in the shadow of the land of Big Flat, the air had chilled down again. I began paddling with deep, powerful strokes, abandoning efforts at stealth. My kayak cut through the water in the evening gloam. The splashes from the paddles began to freeze on the waterproof covers over my legs. I could feel the fatigue setting in through my shoulders, back, sides, and arms; dig into the water with the paddle, push back, then do the same with the other side, over and over. I glided back past the tules, past the power lines, down to the final stretch. At the pump house, I flushed a final pair of mallards. I reached for the shotgun, but it was crusted in a slick layer of ice; the safety frozen on. Those ducks escaped as well.
I arrived at the take-out place of the jetty as the light was nearly gone. I hauled my kayak and gear out, wheeled the kayak back to the car, and then encountered a conundrum. You are supposed to fully unload your firearm before putting it in any motor vehicle - both for safety and because it is required by law. But the action on my shotgun was frozen. I couldn't pump out the shells. The heat from my hands did little to thaw the release lever. How to solve this?
What I found I could do was push the safety, breaking the ice seal and readying the gun for firing the shell in the chamber. At least I could stash the shotgun with an empty chamber, which would be far more safe than if the chamber had live ammo. I stepped off the gravel of the parking lot (since the regs say that you are not allowed to shoot from, along, or across the maintained portion of any public road, and the Big Flat parking lot might qualify), shouldered my shotgun, aimed at a patch of dirt, and squeezed the trigger. THUD! By good fortune, the shock of firing jolted the action free. I then cycled the remaining two shells out of the magazine and stashed my gun away in its carrying case, in my car. I put away the rest of my gear and headed home.