© 2010 Joshua Stark
Last Sunday, I hunted the last day of California's seasons for waterfowl, snipe, quail, squirrels, and rabbits. My cousin met me at my parents' house down in the Delta, and we hit a friend's property looking, first, for geese. When that didn't pan out, we lit out for snipe.
Gallinago gallinago, the common snipe, is the only shorebird still legal to hunt in California, and it provides an experience unlike any other. A small, beautiful, wily bird, snipe make for a tough, but exciting hunt. Their environs - flat, open bogs, peat marsh, flooded harvested fields - prove deceptively difficult to traverse, and the open expanse of their habitat makes long shots the norm. Their mottled feathers provide perfect camouflage, and without their tell-tale scaip! sound upon flushing, they can be difficult to identify among other shorebirds.
However, it is snipe's ability to fly that makes this bird one of the most challenging prey in hunting.
Snipe can fly. Imagine hunting quail that flush at 30 yards, immediately flying as fast as an already-shot-at dove. Snipe lift off of the ground with a jump, zigzag down an invisible snowboard half-pipe about two to five feet off the ground, and then, suddenly, hit the afterburners and push straight up, like an F-15 on a short runway. Once into the sky, they circle for a few minutes, then attempt to alight as far from you as possible, but often still in the same field or bog.
Typically, snipe flush in singles - if more than one jumps at the same time, it is usually a coincidence. If the field has more than a few snipe, once they are airborne, they tend to group up into small flocks or pairs, circle a while, swing down at just less than the speed of sound, and drop into a landing at such a velocity, that one half-expects to see a small flock of snipe legs sticking out of the ground, their beaks buried into the mud.
Add to their aerobatics the fact that snipe are native to my home and are effectively a marginal prey species - most people don't believe they exist, much less actually try to identify and hunt them - snipe are just about my favorite game.
Two weekends back, after frightening a good number of geese with my impersonation of a speck with whooping cough, I decided to wonder over where I'd heard a snipe flush earlier that morning. As I stepped out into the field, I saw two shorebird species take off in two large flocks. One flock was killdeer, an easily recognizable plover. The other looked like a brownish bird, and I knew a couple of snipe were in there with them; I'd heard 'em call out. I watched that flock, trying to pick out the snipe, but they all looked so similar... they banked in, low and fast, and passed me at about 25 yards... they actually all looked like snipe... but in a flock of perhaps 60 birds?
I watched them land in the far end of the field. As I started towards them, they kicked up, and you could have knocked me over with a feather. They were all snipe! I hunted that field for about 45 minutes, trying to figure out how to hunt so many birds. I took two before heading home for a baby shower (that's right).
So Sunday looked like we'd at least get some shooting in this field. As we walked out, we were met by dozens and dozens of birds. In this 10-acre check, maybe 200 snipe flushed, and the shooting quickly started. Most of the birds were passing by Kevin, but I took a couple of shots, and got one bird.
When you shoot a snipe, you have to completely block out all other snipe flying, look straight at the spot it landed, and get there fast. Their camouflage is near-perfect, their boggy habitats are only illusions of flatness, and the muck and water can swallow up a small bird. Once in hand, I looked up, and here came a big flock, passing left-to-right. Kevin had shot at these birds, and so they were really ripping, but I raised, and with a lucky shot, got my first Scotch double (two birds in one shot). My heart jumped from elation to despair, ack! Which bird do I follow?!? I screwed up big-time, and split the difference.
I found one bird, but the second was lost forever.
While looking for it, I noticed a man walking up with a yellow lab. This being private property, and a friend's, I immediately walked over to him. He called out, "Do you have permission to hunt on here?" I said yes, named the owner, and mentioned that I'd hunted here my whole life.
He asked what all the shooting was about, and I said snipe. He repeated it to himself, with an "ah", and then told me he'd gotten permission to hunt, and he had a goose setup a few hundred yards away. I told him I was sorry to have been so close (it was foggy), and that we'd bug out in a couple of minutes.
I felt bad; I'd always had permission to hunt this property, but this guy set up a big rig of decoys, and it was the last day. Kevin walked up to me, and I explained the situation. My cousin was disappointed, and understandably so: He is a refuge hunter, where you need to elbow your way in, and he saw no reason to leave when we were clearly 300 yards away. I told him that folks out here, hunting on friends' lands, have an expectation that it won't be like a refuge hunt.
So we hit another spot, found a few snipe, but the big news about this spot was a beautiful, fat greenwing teal drake that refused to leave a patch of water on the flooded field. Kevin flushed it to me, and I (of course) missed, and it headed back around to Kevin, who dispatched it with a great shot. So all was not lost. In all, we brought home three snipe and that teal, and made for a great morning to the season's close.
That afternoon, I drove back out to the fellow's goose spread, and when I saw him picking up his decoys for the day, I headed out to him, introduced myself and apologized again. He was gracious, and said it hadn't been a good late-season hunt anywhere this year, anyway. We talked for awhile, and he invited me out to goose hunt next year, on property across on another island. From this gaffe, I now have another friend and hunter.
There is a gentlemanly graciousness that goes into hunting, a romanticized ideal that attracted me to the endeavor almost as much as the stalking and shooting and being outside, and I love to play that role whenever I get a chance. Sometimes, it even gets me another hunt.
If you ever find yourself out in a flooded field or bog next year, and you jump a snipe, give it a try. Grab some steel 6's, and walk straight out right where that bird jumped, and you'll probably get a couple of shots. Folks tend to ignore them, but snipe make for a fine hunt, arguably better than sitting in a blind on a blue-bird, windless day.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Ever eat a stinging nettle?
© 2010 Joshua Stark
Last week I took two trips down to the edges of folks' ditches to cut Urtica dioica (or maybe U. urens, I'm not sure) for a friend, and to try some, myself.
I've never handled stinging nettle on purpose, before - when you grow up next to a plant everybody calls "electric grass", you tend to stay away - but the past few years, I've become more and more interested in free foods out there on the edges. Weeds, most folks call 'em. In fact, last year, when I found a GIGANTIC patch in a friend's corn field, I asked if I could pick some. He looked at me sideways, and said, "yeah, sure. I only sprayed yesterday, so they shouldn't be browning, yet. Go ahead." Okay, so I didn't pick those last year. I waited, knowing they'd be back.
flx1247rg
And in the meantime, I read up on them, and talked to my foraging guru, Hobbled Hank Shaw over at Hunter, Angler, Gardener, Cook, and to another fellow forager-in-arms, Kari over at the Erratic Crafter. Both were very excited to hear about my nettle riches, with Hank promising to show me how to process them, and Kari promising to come out and pick with me. Neither disappointed.
What I found in my readings is that nettles are a super-food. I've read differing accounts (thanks, Internet) of their value, anywhere from 20-40% protein, with high levels of vitamins A, B, and C, and possibly some minerals (iron, I've been told). I'm no nutritionist, but I do know that greens are good for ya. I found a good selection of recipe ideas, from nettles as a side-dish to nettle beer (given to me with the caveat that the Irish can make beer out of "concrete and shoe leather if needs must!").
Last Wednesday, the family hit the field, on a slow trip down the Delta, looking for stuff growin' on the side of the road. We found, mostly, fields full of wild radishes (not as good as it sounds). One field was loaded with amaranth, and I'm going to try to get out there before the ploughing and spraying commence. We also found a couple of smallish patches of nettles, but didn't stop, because I knew where we'd find more.
And we did. The nettles are about 10"-15" high in the Delta fields right now, perfect for picking. I grabbed gloves and the snips, but quickly realized that I couldn't snip with a glove. Here's a picture of my eventual technique:
I did get stung a few times by what I've learned is formic acid, the same stuff that some ants use when biting you. It burns and welts a bit, but if you only get touched a couple of times, it's no big deal.
I filled that bag full of nettles, with what processed out as about a pound. You only cut the top 4-6" or so of the plant, I've been told, so filling took a little bit of time. But it was a nice, gray day on the Delta, so I didn't mind.
After filling the bag, I hit the road for Hank's place, so he could teach me how to properly prepare these. I love Hank and Holly's place, it's cozy while still with a touch of elegance, and they are always welcoming and comfortable people to be around. We talked for a bit, poor Hank with his gigantic, caste foot propped up much of the time. Of course, we talked food and hunting, but we also talked politics, as they are both journalists, and I work in... well, I'm a lobbyist. Occasionally.
When we commenced to preparing, here is what Hank taught me:
Get a big ol' pot of saltwater boiling. Throw in (with the tongs! Use the tongs!) a bunch of the nettles, and let them cook up for about 20-30 seconds. Pull them out, and plunge them into icewater, to preserve their color. Next, roll them up into tea towels, wring 'em out, and vacuum seal and freeze.
The following Saturday, I had a great time with my good friend Kari and my daughter, out picking nettles. Kari got a bagful, and I picked three bags' full, because halfway through my picking, I got a phone call from Hank that he wanted more! He was pretty jazzed about what he'd found in a book on pasta - I won't spoil any surprises you'll find better-written on his blog, just keep checking in. Kari and I had hoped to also pick wild rose hips, but the previous freeze had gotten the better of them, and they were all black and mushy. No luck.
Back home, with my pile of nettles processed, my wife "suggested" I eat one first, so she could observe my behavior for the next 48 hours. That was seven days ago, and apart from a tiny nettle growing out of my right ear, nothing strange seems to have happened.
My sister-in-law cooked up some nettles in an omelette, and declared it the best omelette she'd ever eaten. Of course, she is a weight-lifter, and had just gotten out of practice, so I'd be willing to be she could have praised that concrete-and-shoe leather beer recipe I'd been given earlier.
I'm very excited at the prospect of nettles, a great green growing generously at your local marginal land, I'm sure. So, next time you are walking the dog by that patch of nettles at the edge of the park, take note, and come back when the little ones are just coming up. You can get yourself a real treat, and get to freak out your friends and family at the same time.
Last week I took two trips down to the edges of folks' ditches to cut Urtica dioica (or maybe U. urens, I'm not sure) for a friend, and to try some, myself.
I've never handled stinging nettle on purpose, before - when you grow up next to a plant everybody calls "electric grass", you tend to stay away - but the past few years, I've become more and more interested in free foods out there on the edges. Weeds, most folks call 'em. In fact, last year, when I found a GIGANTIC patch in a friend's corn field, I asked if I could pick some. He looked at me sideways, and said, "yeah, sure. I only sprayed yesterday, so they shouldn't be browning, yet. Go ahead." Okay, so I didn't pick those last year. I waited, knowing they'd be back.
flx1247rg
And in the meantime, I read up on them, and talked to my foraging guru, Hobbled Hank Shaw over at Hunter, Angler, Gardener, Cook, and to another fellow forager-in-arms, Kari over at the Erratic Crafter. Both were very excited to hear about my nettle riches, with Hank promising to show me how to process them, and Kari promising to come out and pick with me. Neither disappointed.
What I found in my readings is that nettles are a super-food. I've read differing accounts (thanks, Internet) of their value, anywhere from 20-40% protein, with high levels of vitamins A, B, and C, and possibly some minerals (iron, I've been told). I'm no nutritionist, but I do know that greens are good for ya. I found a good selection of recipe ideas, from nettles as a side-dish to nettle beer (given to me with the caveat that the Irish can make beer out of "concrete and shoe leather if needs must!").
Last Wednesday, the family hit the field, on a slow trip down the Delta, looking for stuff growin' on the side of the road. We found, mostly, fields full of wild radishes (not as good as it sounds). One field was loaded with amaranth, and I'm going to try to get out there before the ploughing and spraying commence. We also found a couple of smallish patches of nettles, but didn't stop, because I knew where we'd find more.
And we did. The nettles are about 10"-15" high in the Delta fields right now, perfect for picking. I grabbed gloves and the snips, but quickly realized that I couldn't snip with a glove. Here's a picture of my eventual technique:
I did get stung a few times by what I've learned is formic acid, the same stuff that some ants use when biting you. It burns and welts a bit, but if you only get touched a couple of times, it's no big deal.
I filled that bag full of nettles, with what processed out as about a pound. You only cut the top 4-6" or so of the plant, I've been told, so filling took a little bit of time. But it was a nice, gray day on the Delta, so I didn't mind.
After filling the bag, I hit the road for Hank's place, so he could teach me how to properly prepare these. I love Hank and Holly's place, it's cozy while still with a touch of elegance, and they are always welcoming and comfortable people to be around. We talked for a bit, poor Hank with his gigantic, caste foot propped up much of the time. Of course, we talked food and hunting, but we also talked politics, as they are both journalists, and I work in... well, I'm a lobbyist. Occasionally.
When we commenced to preparing, here is what Hank taught me:
Get a big ol' pot of saltwater boiling. Throw in (with the tongs! Use the tongs!) a bunch of the nettles, and let them cook up for about 20-30 seconds. Pull them out, and plunge them into icewater, to preserve their color. Next, roll them up into tea towels, wring 'em out, and vacuum seal and freeze.
The following Saturday, I had a great time with my good friend Kari and my daughter, out picking nettles. Kari got a bagful, and I picked three bags' full, because halfway through my picking, I got a phone call from Hank that he wanted more! He was pretty jazzed about what he'd found in a book on pasta - I won't spoil any surprises you'll find better-written on his blog, just keep checking in. Kari and I had hoped to also pick wild rose hips, but the previous freeze had gotten the better of them, and they were all black and mushy. No luck.
Back home, with my pile of nettles processed, my wife "suggested" I eat one first, so she could observe my behavior for the next 48 hours. That was seven days ago, and apart from a tiny nettle growing out of my right ear, nothing strange seems to have happened.
My sister-in-law cooked up some nettles in an omelette, and declared it the best omelette she'd ever eaten. Of course, she is a weight-lifter, and had just gotten out of practice, so I'd be willing to be she could have praised that concrete-and-shoe leather beer recipe I'd been given earlier.
I'm very excited at the prospect of nettles, a great green growing generously at your local marginal land, I'm sure. So, next time you are walking the dog by that patch of nettles at the edge of the park, take note, and come back when the little ones are just coming up. You can get yourself a real treat, and get to freak out your friends and family at the same time.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
See? Sometimes, marginal lands yield good results
© 2010 Joshua Stark
I'm still trying to find the time to actually hit the spots I'd like to write about here, as well as get some good ideas compiled. One of my many resolutions this year is to write about an hour per day, and I'm hoping this site will get some of that writing time. One thing I've learned, however, is that writing time takes from hunting (or fishing, or foraging) time, especially if you are 75 years old (at heart) like me. To paraphrase, I'd take a nap at the drop of a hat, and I'd drop it myself.
flx1247rg
I currently post to three personal blogs: one here, one at Ethics and the Environment, and one at Agrarianista, where I talk about my house garden and ducks and other things we may try to eat from time to time. However, I very much like the idea here, to blog about marginal places and such, so please bear with me as I get into this in fits and starts.
Last November, finally, I got a few hours and I hightailed it up behind a nameless reservoir to jump some ducks, get some squirrels, and possibly come across a turkey. Well, one outta three ain't bad (.333 batting average, anyone?), and I took one gigantic bushytail with my trusty twenty gauge. It was a tad old, but it still fried up pretty well, considering I did not marinate or brine or 'buttermilk' it, but just fried it in oil previously used for fish. Next time, I'll give it its own oil.
A few weeks later, I took my brother and my nephew up for squirrels and ducks again, and my brother got a nice squirrel, after we all had been outwitted pretty well by some other bushytails. Back up there two weekends ago, and he got a ressy' canada goose. A big, big, probably older bird, we'll see how it cooks up.
My trips this year have given me a serious appreciation for my double gun, a side-by-side twenty gauge from Huglu. Double guns are the best guns for the marginal lands, because when you hit one of these place, you are "meat huntin'", as it had been known when I was a kid. You never know what may come along, and depending on the season, you may get a quick chance at anything from a cottontail or dove up to a mule deer. I've walked with #7 shot in one barrel and a slug in the other, but my most frequent combination is #6 in one and #4 or #2 in the other.
I've also thought of some themes for posting in the future, like perhaps one on feelings of particular game meats folks may have (my wife has an aversion to squirrel, because it's a rodent, and looks and acts the part), and another on the concept of trespass, how it is legally determined, and what gray areas may exist. Please shoot me some ideas for what you might like to read about these marginal lands, their uses, protections, threats and opportunities, and what we may learn and get from these special places.
I'm still trying to find the time to actually hit the spots I'd like to write about here, as well as get some good ideas compiled. One of my many resolutions this year is to write about an hour per day, and I'm hoping this site will get some of that writing time. One thing I've learned, however, is that writing time takes from hunting (or fishing, or foraging) time, especially if you are 75 years old (at heart) like me. To paraphrase, I'd take a nap at the drop of a hat, and I'd drop it myself.
flx1247rg
I currently post to three personal blogs: one here, one at Ethics and the Environment, and one at Agrarianista, where I talk about my house garden and ducks and other things we may try to eat from time to time. However, I very much like the idea here, to blog about marginal places and such, so please bear with me as I get into this in fits and starts.
Last November, finally, I got a few hours and I hightailed it up behind a nameless reservoir to jump some ducks, get some squirrels, and possibly come across a turkey. Well, one outta three ain't bad (.333 batting average, anyone?), and I took one gigantic bushytail with my trusty twenty gauge. It was a tad old, but it still fried up pretty well, considering I did not marinate or brine or 'buttermilk' it, but just fried it in oil previously used for fish. Next time, I'll give it its own oil.
A few weeks later, I took my brother and my nephew up for squirrels and ducks again, and my brother got a nice squirrel, after we all had been outwitted pretty well by some other bushytails. Back up there two weekends ago, and he got a ressy' canada goose. A big, big, probably older bird, we'll see how it cooks up.
My trips this year have given me a serious appreciation for my double gun, a side-by-side twenty gauge from Huglu. Double guns are the best guns for the marginal lands, because when you hit one of these place, you are "meat huntin'", as it had been known when I was a kid. You never know what may come along, and depending on the season, you may get a quick chance at anything from a cottontail or dove up to a mule deer. I've walked with #7 shot in one barrel and a slug in the other, but my most frequent combination is #6 in one and #4 or #2 in the other.
I've also thought of some themes for posting in the future, like perhaps one on feelings of particular game meats folks may have (my wife has an aversion to squirrel, because it's a rodent, and looks and acts the part), and another on the concept of trespass, how it is legally determined, and what gray areas may exist. Please shoot me some ideas for what you might like to read about these marginal lands, their uses, protections, threats and opportunities, and what we may learn and get from these special places.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
My First attempt at cordial
Upon tasting, the judge (my wife) declared, "Wow! You've discovered the secret recipe for Robitussin!"
...
...
Friday, September 25, 2009
This Land is Your Land
© 2009 Joshua Stark
Unfortunately, not all of us are taking care of it.
These are pictures from the Sacramento Bypass, a free access land, after dove season. This kind of ridiculous behavior goes beyond the pale. I won't keep on about this, the pictures speak for themselves, and if I were to try to put words to it, I'd just wind up cursing.
Unfortunately, not all of us are taking care of it.
These are pictures from the Sacramento Bypass, a free access land, after dove season. This kind of ridiculous behavior goes beyond the pale. I won't keep on about this, the pictures speak for themselves, and if I were to try to put words to it, I'd just wind up cursing.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Marginal Produce
On some encouraging words from my friend Hank over at Hunter, Angler, Gardener, Cook, I'm back here at my 'Lands on the Margin' blog. I'd been putting this aside due to a number of constraints, not the least of which was my inability to actually get out to some properties that fit the description. But the past three weeks I've been able to visit a number of haunts, and so I can continue to attest to both my love of these priceless places on the edge.
About a month ago, my cousin offered to take us to his "no-fail" catfish hole on the Sacramento Delta, which turned out to be a little piece of publicly-accessible levee surrounded by mostly private lands. As it turned out, 'no-fail' that day meant three cats around 10", and a couple of shaker stripers, but we had a good time, anyway. I know that catfishing can be hit-or-miss at times, and just getting out there really piqued my interest to do it again. I'd spent many years chucking-and-ducking with long streamers and medium weight fly rods, and it was nice to just throw out a hunk of worms, sit, and talk about the barn owls.
A couple of weeks back, I also hit up a piece of property around Pollock Pines in the Sierra Nevada, bowhunting for deer. Though I saw nothing with antlers this day, I did find the nicest patch of blackberries I'd seen in a long while, and though I've got a great patch in Isleton, this one's berries were riper later in the season (being uphill), and the berries were particularly sweet, if a tad smaller. I went to work on them, and got to thinking about preserves, vinegar, and cordial. A few days later, on a trip out to Isleton, I picked a few pounds. I also noticed a patch of fig trees, and picked a few pounds of those, too.
So the last couple of weeks, I've been canning and making blackberry vinegar and a blackberry-plum cordial. I'm new to preserving these things, and I'm realizing that preserving them gives me the opportunity to see these foods and places in a new light.
Here in California, seasons mean something different. Being the largest ag. producing region on Earth and receiving over 2/3rds of all overseas imports, we have both an abundance of produce and a lively market year-round. But, rarely does one see figs or blackberries in the market, and if so, only during the Summer (or, of course, as a processed ingredient). People love them, and gorge themselves on them during their short season, probably just like we have done for millennia, and in a special way. When you bring in a bag of blackberries or figs, at least to my house, and you expect to cook with them, you had better be ready to fight. Hands quickly find themselves in bags, 'just for a couple more.'
I think it's because these fruits are just about the best tasting things you can eat, and they don't lend themselves at all to the mechanical picking operations. Few fruits do, which is why most of what you get at a grocery store is bland, but if you pick a blackberry while it is still truckable, you either have a low-calorie variety, or get ready to pucker. The best blackberries barely make it from the bush to your mouth, and many kids are caught in the bramble patch red-handed. The same is true for figs: one fig preserving recipe I found called for firm-ripe figs, which was new to me. In my humble experience, you either have firm, or you have ripe.
I was still able to make some good fig preserves, and the blackberry vinegar is great. I haven't tried the cordial yet, but what can go wrong with blackberries, plums, sugar, and brandy?
These foods, from the attempts at catfish and venison to the blackberry vinegar, are reasons enough to check out your local overlooked patch of public land. Just like we tend to forget about these places, we also tend to forget about the foods they offer when their season passes. These lands hold critters and fruits and berries, all marginal goods, and the best on Earth.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Spring is in the air...
Which, for Sacramento, means about four weeks of gorgeous weather.
So a morning trip out to the Sacramento bypass was definitely in order.
The Sacramento Bypass, stunted sister to the Yolo bypass, sits just North of West Sacramento. Bordered by the Sacramento and Tule canal, the bypass offers any manner of shotgunning and fishing. Of course, it's pretty desolate, and it gets abused a bit, but like many of these places, early morning, just before sunrise, it comes alive.
Arriving this Sunday morning before 7 am, nobody was there. I stepped out, grabbed my tackle box and spinning rod and camera, and started off down the road. Immediately, I wanted to stop and take pictures, but the light wasn't good enough, and I'm definitely no professional. Soon, however, I couldn't resist:
The North side of the bypass is edged by a canal and a nigh-impenetrable riparian zone. Birds aplenty here, all singing praises as I walked along the levee. Overhead passed pairs of mallards; perched atop a eucalyptus, a redtail hawk; at the edge of the tules in the neighboring farmland gurgled the redwing and brewers blackbirds, and of course, the occasional cowbird; too many starlings (one is too many in my book).
I was then offered a flight of white-faced ibises heading out from the flooded fields to some other flooded fields, I'm sure.
I'm not as quick with a camera as I'd like (those of you who have hunted with me understand), and a fishing pole and tackle box also make for a difficult, fumbling move. But I was able to get a fading away shot over the sunrise, so I was happy enough.
So on I walked, poking along, not seriously interested in fishing as much as looking around, but knowing I'd regret not bringing the pole when I got to the slough at the back.
The bypass is only about one mile in length, and the north entrance drives a person about half that length, so after a half-mile or so, then, I was at the back end of the property. However, Tule canal heads north and south from here, and I followed the levee road northward along the edge of its milk-chocolate waters.
I cast occasionally, but the banks are pretty high and pretty steep, and after taking a fall onto some river rocks, I poked around much more slowly. Unfortunately, where there weren't blackberries or wild roses at the river's edge, I found small bunches of poison oak at the lowest elevation I've ever seen them. However, most of it was mowed down, and so access isn't impossible, and if I had brought my long-handled net and the proper equipment, I could have sat and enjoyed an entire day there fishing for cats, carp, and the occasional black bass. As it was, I moseyed and cast here and there.
At one point, sliding like crocodiles from the far bank, two gigantic river otters came straight at me through the slough, snorting their warning. I snapped some pictures, but none really came out good enough. I moved along.
I didn't catch anything this day, though I got within a foot of a carp sucking on the weeds at the river's edge. I don't think I'd want carp from this particular slough, or possibly at this time of the year with such turbid waters, but who knows? Perhaps I've just fallen victim to a newer myth about the horrible trash fish that is the carp...
I did get to see this fellow, and about a half-dozen of his ilk, poking around. Aix sponsa, the wood duck, a reclusive, beautiful bird with some really amazing, haunting sounds.
I also found the remains of one of the lawn mowers used here, and decided to go all Georgia O'keefe for a bit. Here is what I think was my best shot...
So a morning trip out to the Sacramento bypass was definitely in order.
The Sacramento Bypass, stunted sister to the Yolo bypass, sits just North of West Sacramento. Bordered by the Sacramento and Tule canal, the bypass offers any manner of shotgunning and fishing. Of course, it's pretty desolate, and it gets abused a bit, but like many of these places, early morning, just before sunrise, it comes alive.
Arriving this Sunday morning before 7 am, nobody was there. I stepped out, grabbed my tackle box and spinning rod and camera, and started off down the road. Immediately, I wanted to stop and take pictures, but the light wasn't good enough, and I'm definitely no professional. Soon, however, I couldn't resist:
The North side of the bypass is edged by a canal and a nigh-impenetrable riparian zone. Birds aplenty here, all singing praises as I walked along the levee. Overhead passed pairs of mallards; perched atop a eucalyptus, a redtail hawk; at the edge of the tules in the neighboring farmland gurgled the redwing and brewers blackbirds, and of course, the occasional cowbird; too many starlings (one is too many in my book).I was then offered a flight of white-faced ibises heading out from the flooded fields to some other flooded fields, I'm sure.
I'm not as quick with a camera as I'd like (those of you who have hunted with me understand), and a fishing pole and tackle box also make for a difficult, fumbling move. But I was able to get a fading away shot over the sunrise, so I was happy enough.So on I walked, poking along, not seriously interested in fishing as much as looking around, but knowing I'd regret not bringing the pole when I got to the slough at the back.
The bypass is only about one mile in length, and the north entrance drives a person about half that length, so after a half-mile or so, then, I was at the back end of the property. However, Tule canal heads north and south from here, and I followed the levee road northward along the edge of its milk-chocolate waters.
I cast occasionally, but the banks are pretty high and pretty steep, and after taking a fall onto some river rocks, I poked around much more slowly. Unfortunately, where there weren't blackberries or wild roses at the river's edge, I found small bunches of poison oak at the lowest elevation I've ever seen them. However, most of it was mowed down, and so access isn't impossible, and if I had brought my long-handled net and the proper equipment, I could have sat and enjoyed an entire day there fishing for cats, carp, and the occasional black bass. As it was, I moseyed and cast here and there.
At one point, sliding like crocodiles from the far bank, two gigantic river otters came straight at me through the slough, snorting their warning. I snapped some pictures, but none really came out good enough. I moved along.
I didn't catch anything this day, though I got within a foot of a carp sucking on the weeds at the river's edge. I don't think I'd want carp from this particular slough, or possibly at this time of the year with such turbid waters, but who knows? Perhaps I've just fallen victim to a newer myth about the horrible trash fish that is the carp...
I did get to see this fellow, and about a half-dozen of his ilk, poking around. Aix sponsa, the wood duck, a reclusive, beautiful bird with some really amazing, haunting sounds.
I also found the remains of one of the lawn mowers used here, and decided to go all Georgia O'keefe for a bit. Here is what I think was my best shot...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
