A Last Hunt

Last week I said it would be quiet here for a while, and I've been true to my word and then some. Finals ended last week, but I've been kind of lethargic since. Not physically tired, as sort of generally sour on life. I don't know why. I I certainly haven't had many ideas to blog about, or much interest in finding any. Yesterday felt like the darkest day of the year for more than astronomical reasons.

It's not going to be a very restful break. I need to begin prepping next semester's classes, and though I've taught some of them before, I seem not to have too many records or notes from those, either at home or in my office at school. So I'll spend much of the next two weeks reinventing the wheel.

But I'm not ready to start that yet. This morning, I got the idea to run somewhere and do some winter trouting. The Muskegon seemed like my best bet, and not unreasonably far for a day trip--at least if you have a full day. However, the idea of fishing didn't come to me until about 9 AM. After two and half or three hours in the car getting there, there wouldn't be much time to fish. And the thought of the drive alone took a lot of the luster away from the scheme. So instead, I opted for one last hunt at a nearby game area.

I'd hoped to get out again when small game season reopened in December, but the snow discouraged me. It gets a lot tougher once you get a few inches on the ground. I had no reason to think today would be particularly good, but I needed to get outdoors.

The outing met my expectations. As on most other outings in southern Michigan, I saw no game at all. But I did get into some beautiful woods, and found some ski trails to visit later this winter, as well as some decent looking grouse habitat to investigate next fall. At one point, walking along the edge of a small creek, my boot caught on the wire securing someone's muskrat trap to a tree, pulling the trap onto the surface of the snow. Sorry to whoever set it. I wrapped the wire around the tree to prevent it from tangling up someone else. Once I'd yanked it out, it wasn't going to catch a muskrat anyway.

I wore out pretty quickly breaking a trail through six or seven inches of snow. After about two and a half hours, I trudged back to my car, feeling pleasantly tired. My heart pumped hard, but comfortably. My legs tingled from the exertion. I'd sweated through the three layers I wore, but hadn't realized that until the hunt was over. And my mind felt at ease for the first time this week. Unsoured, I should say. Back at my desk now, the task of organizing classes doesn't sound any more inviting than it did this morning, but I no longer have that "already beaten" feeling I did earlier.

So small game season ends, for me anyway--clay bird season begins. Maybe tomorrow morning.


Tag: Hunting