February is the shortest month of the year, but the longest month of my soul. As much as I try to keep to my motto of living in the moment I can’t help but see this month as a mere passageway to better, easier, warmer times.

The recent warmer weather has put a little bounce in everybody’s step, but it sure has made the woods hard to walk around in. The roadsides are black and dirty looking, the ice is a little scary, and my yard is a minefield of dog doo. (The ballyhooed snowstorm will ease the eyesore landscape for a short while, anyway.)

As you may gather, I’m having a little trouble getting motivated. But then I happen to notice a flash of color on the bird feeder, and there in front of me is one of my first, favorite signs of spring. The goldfinches are becoming gold again! The males are getting all dressed up for mating season, and I could swear they are getting just a bit more territorial every day, staking their claim to ground, seed, tree branches, and, of course...

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Last week, on my day off, it was one of the coldest days of the year thus far. Lots of things I want to do, lots of things I should do. Also one of the coldest days of the year thus far. But, it really was a beautiful day, so I was antsy, Weda was antsy, we’re both prowling around the house like angry wolverines.

Sharon orders me outside (and take that dog with you!) to go for a walk. As I may have mentioned, it’s cold. So I picked through my mental file of places to go and up popped Gilmore Creek. This is a very cool place, runs from Gilmore Lake (what are the odds?) to the Wisconsin River just below the Rainbow dam.

If you’ve ever heard a fisher-person talking about the “tubes,” the mouth of Gilmore creek is that place. During the Spring perch run this is elbow to elbow, hook to ear with people, a place for me to avoid. The place we’re going is about halfway between the two. Just follow Cty. E past the Rainbow, and immediately past the point where you first lose sight ...

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Well hello again. As I write this Christmas has come and gone, and Santa was very good to me. One of the gifts I got was a book, Cut and Run, by Mike Monte.

The book chronicles a good piece of the early days of Wisconsin when the northern section of the state was pretty much clear-cut to build the southern part. Chock full of pictures, this book is well worth the reading.

I look at the photos and several thoughts occur to me. The first is that these must have been Men, and I mean that with a capital M. I have done my share of logging with axe and crosscut saw, and believe me it’s a tough way to go. Never have I done it for the hours these old jacks did, let alone the day after day grind of it. Look at the pictures in this book and notice the shoulders on these guys, and imagine what it must have taken to build up this kind of muscle.

Another thought occurs to me: what would our state look like now if the lumber companies had thought to practice just a litt...

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As I write this the shortest day of the year is coming to a close. Thank God say I, night coming before suppertime has a way of wearing a guy down.

Today also marks the first time out on snowshoes this season for me, first time ever for Weda. I must say she does quite well at staying off the tails of my shoes except in passing, and I can’t help but notice a 34-pound dog makes a lot less drag than a 95-pound one.

For most of his life Erin would try to walk on the backs of anybody’s snowshoes when the snow got too deep, or he started to get tired, or, I’m convinced, when he just felt like messing with me. Ah memories.

I always wait until it’s definitely too deep to walk easily without the webs before I get them out. Actually I usually wait about a week too long, but it always feels good to go across the snow rather than through it for the first time of the season.

I wanted to get some pictures of tracks today, and normally the day after a snow is perfect, but t...

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I like old stuff. Old dogs, old people, old tools and old guns. Not the engraved masterpieces you see hanging over the fireplaces of the wealthy, just old, semi-worn-out guns a guy doesn’t have to be afraid to use.

I have lots of old things cluttering up the place, and I still use most of them. As far as I’m concerned, an old thing should be used or it loses something of its value. I have an 1896 model 30.40 Krag, acquired by my Grandfather Fritz under, well, let’s just call them rather dubious circumstances.

It’s a beautiful old gun, but not worth such a lot of money that I’m afraid to take it out hunting every fall. It is quite possibly the most accurate rifle I own, and folks that know a bit about weaponry always ask if it’s for sale. Nope.

The main value in this gun is simply who has owned it before me. It just gives me a small connection to a man I never met, as well as being kind of a funky piece of history. Google it on the net and you may learn a little bit...

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When I was about 15 I fell victim to one of the best scams my Dad ever pulled. Knowing I was a bird hunting nut, he brought home a book, and told me there was a lot of grouse hunting information in there. Well, I read and read that book, never noticing that it really wasn’t about grouse hunting. That book was A Sand County Almanac, by Aldo Leopold.

The stuff in there is hardly hunting techniques or strategies, but more a philosophy of hunting, and the simple joy of being out there with a good dog, watching it do what it was born to do. A dog you tried to train, and who is trying in vain to train you.

My dogs have always seemed puzzled that I can’t smell what they do. I’m sure they feel bad for me, and that they secretly wish they could have gotten a smarter human, but okay, they know I’m trying so they continue to try to help.

In A Sand County Almanac Leopold talks about hunting the edge of a tamarack swamp in the fall, and the change that comes ...

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Hello again. I guess it’s been a while since we’ve talked. In that time fall has begun.

Now, a lot of folks seem to think of fall as a time of regret. Regret for the fish not caught, the tanning not done, basically the summer not experienced.

For me, fall is a time to experience for itself, neither as a time of regret nor as a time of dreading what is to follow. Missing the warm weather? Think about all the great cold-weather clothes you have. Me, I just got a couple of pair of high-tech silk long johns. They are warm without being oppressively so, not bulky, they wick sweat, and gun to my head, I have to admit they make me feel sort of special.

Mostly I’m pretty much of a traditionalist when it comes to cold-weather gear, I like wool shirts, pants and socks, a good Kromer hat and some waterproof boots. To each his or her own, but that’s what works for me.

On the other hand, anything made of silk for only $19.98 has to be good, right? Each fall we get the L.L...

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Sharon and the dogs and I went for a jaunt around Sweeney Lake today. Big fun, unless you ask Doc the dog. Any terrain that isn’t straight up is probably straight down, this is some truly mean country.

Doc being a senior citizen, he likes flatter country, especially if it happens to lead toward the couch. Sophie, well, she can boing up or boing down, doesn’t seem to matter to her.

So park the car up by the power lines, walk about a quarter mile east and grab the snowmobile trail down through the stuff that was cut over last year. Don’t worry, it gets better. Pretty soon you come to a little bridge across Sweeney Creek, very pretty stuff.

Sweeney Lake is a drainage lake located in the center of a moraine, one hell of a big hole left by the glaciers. Viewed from the air I imagine it looks a lot like an old volcano, as the land rises and dips, rises and dips, and then rises some more.

Going from lake level straight up will break your heart, if not your legs. I’v...

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I talked to my neighbor Catherine the other day in general about tourists. I said I feel a little smug about living here when I see them all going home on Sundays, and of course Labor Day weekend. She said she feels lucky to live here.

I thought about that a little, and I think we both feel the same, only failed in our choices of words. Blessed, that’s more in tune with the way I feel about living here. Blessed with living in a place where so many people spend so much money and time to simply visit a few times a year. Blessed with being so easily in touch with the changing seasons, simply by being here for the changes.

I feel like the people who only come “up north” for a weekend here and there, maybe a two-week vacation in the summer, miss the most important events of the year. Now, I don’t mean to demean those of you who do that, just want to talk a bit about living where you want to be.

In my line of work (read the bio) I have yet to have anyone say “man, I wish...

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Well hello again. I promised a little bit of woods-craft, and I hope this meets your expectations. I guess this article might be titled “gearheads,” as that is pretty much what I’m planning to talk about.

As a young boy I became addicted to magazines and catalogs; Outdoor Life was like a bible, the Herter’s catalog was a dream book.

Just a few years ago I read a biography on the Herter’s company and found out it was pretty much all made up: from how to light a fire in the wilderness (some variation on the two-sticks technique) to deterring a charging Grizzly bear (spit in its mouth, honest to God). The advice given was pretty much the product of Jacques Herter’s imagination.

I found it easy to be intimidated by a magazine or catalog who’s primary aim is to sell you as much stuff as possible. The thought of venturing out into the wilderness without that special tool, knife, gizmo or doodad was simply unthinkable.

A knife should be a g...

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