I quickly glance, while rounding the bend entrance to Mud Lake, seeing no boats in the grass flats, hellish stumped shore lines or in the larger pond area. Perfect. “I’ve the place to myself”, talking while no one can hear. 10 o’clock parades a full sun and cloudless sky reflecting deep blue upon smooth surfaced waters. I’m content to watch ripples my boat motion makes as they drift onward towards shore. Slowing the motor again I scan for other fishermen. “Not a one”, I ponder shuffling my legs picking up my rod dangling a 6 inch pre-baited artificial lime green worm. But that’s not to say I’m alone.
Down throttling allows an array of sounds to invade my solitude. There’s a breeze humming distant cedar, grey birch and red maple tree tops while equally hissing the three foot tall shore line marsh grasses. Readily a glistening speck of red denotes the presence of a singing red wing black-bird weightlessly perching on top of bending grass-now this bird darts to another stand of tree limbs and stumps just 15 feet further away towards the hills. Faint ripples 30 yards off begin the constant water marks of an otter cutting its way across my bow as a second follows close behind. And the Giant Herron is now lifting its way 25 feet above the shinning, dazzling water as it reflects sunlight into diamond sparkled beams of light. Frogs, crickets, grasshoppers and locust tune in randomly while occasional fish ‘pop’ the waters surface near and far. No, I’m not alone. But really, does Nature ever leave any one, place or thing alone?
I’ve spent many days, though not enough of them, often paddling this water shed located on the North-Western side of Lake Bonaparte. This place is known as Mud Lake. If you think of a very large pond with a stream beyond it you’ll have a close to true visual of this place. Basically, Mud Lake is the outlet for the Lake itself. It’s name, Mud Lake, I’ve always thought was simply born from the shallow waters held here along with the presences of it’s’ completely flat, mud bottom. Some days, like today, I arrive around 10ish not expecting to do much but fish and boat until I’ve sense enough to leave-sometimes I can stay all day, well into dusk or later. And I’ve always viewed local wild life seen here as spectacular features of every visiting moment -today is no different. I watch as I fish.
I’m remembering a recent study done at the University of Florida which found Mockingbirds can recognize the features of people who have or do threaten their nests. In this study, (http://news.ufl.edu/2009/05/18/mockingbird/). several people walked menacingly close to a nesting site of Mockingbirds while recklessly moving their arms towards their nests. The birds remembered these people in the following days as they approached their nests and responded by ‘dive bombing’ the people who had done so while allowing those people who had not threatened the nests to peacefully walk by. In just one day, in just a few minutes, these Mockingbirds imprinted people’s faces within their memory so as too recognize the peaceful from the dangerous. All animals are born knowing, or with the ability to learn, how to survive- how to delineate the safe from the dangerous. “So”, I ask myself, “I’ve been coming to this spot on this Lake for, oh, 55 years-do I assume the wild life here ‘knows’ me by sight?” If I had a ‘bottom dollar’ I’d bet on it. Heck, the Heron can live 23 years; the loons 12; the ospreys, now high above me, can live 26 years; white gulls 28 years; the black birds 15 and owls, hawks, eagles can live on as well. That’s a lot of time to see me each year as I venture these waters here.
I laugh now as the Great Blue Herron slowly sweeps his way from the far side of the pond and lights easily upon a branch not more than 10 feet from me. “Now why”, I ask, “Would you pick a place this near me?” Two of the otters thrashing yet 20 feet from my boat I quiz: “Why are you so nearby as well?” Loons swim equally as near teaching their baby how to fish: “And you too”, I continue “You’ve got the whole Lake to fish-?” For the first time in my Life I realize I’m not the only one looking here. Heck, if this natural place was thought to be a zoo wouldn’t it be me who most represents something in a cage? Here I am held within my limited boat space encapsulated as such with comparatively little ability to move about: I don’t fly; can’t walk on water (not gonna try it); I don’t swim, well, not like a fish or like the otter can. My thoughts heighten as I imagine numbers of birds, insects, fish, perhaps bears, coyotes, even moose now reportedly roaming these hills, to be watching me as I binocular spy my surroundings. “Truly”, I ask, “Should I be charging these critters admission to see the ‘Man’? I’m wondering now how the echo of my laughter sounds to all those who have come to see ‘the Man’ yet again as I work to catch what most here make a smorgasbord out of daily.
I’m leaving Mud Lake for today much differently then I have ever left this place before. I’d never thought of the owls thinking I hadn’t shaved in 12 hours. I can sense the Herons thinking if they eat another fish today they’ll bust while watching me for hours trying to catch just one! I can hear the group behind me now as I motor out of sight, well not out of the eagles’ or hawks’ sight, but anyway this is what I hear:
Herron-‘I can’t believe he’s using a green worm today?-That’ll never work!”
Otter- “I’m trying to herd fish his way but he really needs to try swimming”
Owl- “Fifteen fish to his right-can’t he see anything?”
Otter- “Yeah, I know, I know. What happened to his tail anyway?”
All- “ Well, he’ll be back-he always comes back.”
See you guys later and, by the way, I say out loud with a backwards glance, “How do you like my new hat?”
Franque


