In the Right Place: Classic

I was in a fairly rough patch of woods Friday and saw this White-Tailed Deer before she saw me. Her classic profile was illuminated by almost Rembrandtian light.

She then sensed me, turned, and found me:

We had a stand-still-and-stare contest for a while and then she calmly turned her back on me and walked off without even a lift of the tail. Cool lady.

By the way, in case you were wondering, the 2022 antlered deer-hunting season ended yesterday in Maine with an expanded archery opportunity in some wildlife districts. Theoretically, you no longer need to wear orange blaze clothing in the woods for safety. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 9, 2022.)

In the Real Place: Complete Conversion

The conversions of our fishing vessels from lobster trappers to scallop draggers is complete with the installation of “shelling” (or ”shucking”) “houses” (or “huts”) behind the wheelhouses.

These temporary wooden structures are shelters from the wind where the scallops will be sorted by size and shelled (or put overboard if they are too small).

Only the muscle that the mollusks use to open and close their shells (the adductor muscle) is kept. That’s what most people call a scallop, at least in restaurants.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 9. 2022.)

In the Right Place: Taking a Bough

This image of a Christmas/Holiday wreath appeared yesterday in my monthly column in the Ellsworth American.

To read the column about the history of such wreaths, click here: http://www.5backroad.com/montly-column

In the Right Place: Food for Thought

I can’t help but think that cattail seedheads in their prime look more like corndogs than they look like cats’ tails. But then, I suppose it’s not very romantic to think of corndogs waiving in the breeze – especially in the early winter, when the seedheads crack and expose their “fluff,” looking like cats’ tails with the mange or corndogs that have gone way beyond their expiration dates.

Nonetheless, that fluff is one of the warmest of natural materials and often was harvested in days of yore. Native Americans reportedly lined their moccasins and papoose boards with it and early settlors stuffed quilts with it. It also was considered to be some of the best tinder for starting fires.

We reportedly have two species of cattails in Maine, one native and one thought to have originated in Europe. The native species is Broadleaf or Common Cattail (Typha latifolia), shown wintering above. The other species is the Narrowleaf Cattail (Typha angustifolia).  

The plants’ leaves, flowering seedheads, and stalks die off in winter, but the essence of the plant lives on in its extensive root system (rhizomes) and patiently awaits a green reincarnation in the spring. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2022.)

In the Right Place: When Baying Is Best

I felt like I was in a Stephen King scene yesterday evening when I stepped out to look at the strange sky. The nearly full moon was rising behind thick storm clouds. It was less a moon and more a phosphorous-coated specter hidden behind a threadbare window curtain. It didn’t reveal what it was; it just produced a glowing light that illuminated the area in a creepy way and cast impenetrable shadows.

At first, there was silence, the kind of silence that seems to weigh over you at night like a bed blanket that’s too heavy. Then, a nearby coyote let go with a wail that shattered the silence to smithereens and immediately burned out my fear-flight fuse. A second coyote answered, as did others in a series that eventually became five relatively close coyotes. They sounded as if they were within a half mile to a mile of me. The chorus lasted about 10 minutes, until the light dimmed as the rain clouds thickened into a dark paste.

This episode seems to confirm the theory that coyotes don’t bay at the moon, as such. They bay when the moon provides light and illuminates the pack’s home territory, reminding them to warn off tempted intruders. It often is easier for them to hunt as a team in the moonlight, when they’ll communicate their positions with howls. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 6, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Panic in the Garden

Wind gusts of up to 20 miles per hour yesterday had the high grasses doing frenetic hula dances. Here you see what we’re told is one of the many cultivated forms of high panic grass (Panicum virgatum), a name that it may have been given due to its reaction to wind.

Panic grass is an important native American prairie tallgrass species that also is called switchgrass. The grass looks good all year with its always-upright blades of forest green turning to sandy tan. It looks especially interesting when it’s snow-capped.

The native grass has been used for forage or hay for cattle, and is being studied as a possible biofuel. It often is planted to stop soil erosion, but some of its cultivars are considered to be invasive by some gardeners. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 5, 2022.)

In the Right Place: State of the Woods Report

After several days of rain, our woods are freshened and (within stands of balsam fir trees) dizzyingly aromatic. In the denser areas, the trees seem to wait patiently for the sliding sunlight to reach and great them.

The sodden trails allow quiet passage through what often is pervasive silence:

The primary hunting season here for antlered deer ended November 26, but hunting them with muzzleloaders and bows and arrows is allowed in designated areas through December 10.

A muzzleloader is defined by Maine’s hunting regulations as “a firearm that is capable of being loaded only through the muzzle; is ignited by a matchlock, wheel lock, flintlock, or caplock, including an in-line caplock or shotgun or rifle primer mechanism; has a rifled or smooth-bored barrel capable of firing only a single charge; propels a ball, bullet, or charge of shot; and may have any type of sights, including scopes.”

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 4, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Rites of Passage

Here you see Friday’s sunset over Great Cove. It looks a bit like a painting by a jumpy artist who couldn’t control his pallet knife. However, those straight-line marks were neither natural nor accidental; they were contrails of very high-flying jet planes.

As you probably know, contrails are ice crystals formed by the condensation of water vapors from extremely hot aircraft engine exhausts in the cold temperatures and low vapor pressures of high altitudes. Click on the image to enlarge it. (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 2, 2022.)

In the Right Place: 'Tis the (Other) Season

Many of our lobster-trapping vessels recently have been transformed into scallop-dredging vessels by the addition of metal masts, booms, and (stored on their decks when moored) “drags.” The drags are complicated chainring-net-and-wood dredges that are trawled along the sea bottom by the boom to scoop surprised scallops.

Vessels with or without that special equipment also may be scalloping boats for divers who descend to sea bottoms in SCUBA-type apparatuses and hand-harvest the more expensive “divers’ scallops.”

These transitional times also can produce seagull-frenzies when the always-hungry birds see such things as the prior season’s lobster bait containers being cleaned out and choice bits being tossed overboard:

If I’m reading Maine’s complex regulations correctly, the scallop season here opened Thursday, December 1, for diving and will open December 12 for dragging. (Images taken In Brooklin, Maine, on December 1, 2022.)

In the Right Place: Things That Break Our Way

Most of the day yesterday was miserable: dismal rain, high wind, trees down, and power outages. Then, in the afternoon, the clouds broke, warm light seeped slowly into our dismal world, and – best of all – the sun found the waxing gibbous moon circling above in a now-blue sky. The moon’s cold countenance softened in the unusually early light and bright background.

As you probably know, a “waxing” moon’s observable surface is one that is becoming more and more illuminated for us, on its way to becoming fully Illuminated. This moon will appear roundly full to us on December 7 and then start “waning” until it disappears from view as a “new” moon soon to be born again.

A “gibbous” moon’s observable surface is more than half illuminated, but not fully so, which means it looks distorted or “humped” to us. (“Gibbous” derives from the Latin for “hump-backed.”) (Image taken in Brooklin, Maine, on December 1, 2022.)

November Postcards From Maine

November can be cold, wet, and dismal. But this year the month seemed to have more squintingly bright days and fewer painfully frigid ones then in prior years. Water views were especially nice in the drier air. Nonetheless, it did get cold enough toward the end of the month to start freezing the ponds and we did get our first snow of the year in the form of a two-minute November flurry.

We did have plenty of rain, but we needed it and our streams now are robust. The deciduous trees are virtually devoid of leaves, but stands of coniferous trees still make the forest trails enchanting.

Evergreen Fern and Brocade Moss glowed even on gray November days. Tamarack (Larch) trees revealed themselves by suddenly turning yellow and then dropping all of their needles. Winterberry was more bountiful this November than it has been in decades, and a few tenacious apples clung to their branches through rain and shine.

As for the inhabitants of the woods, at least one buck seemed aware that deer hunting season begins in earnest in November. He appeared to browse only land that was posted with “No Hunting” signs. We saw toads until mid-November, an indication of the month’s relative warmth. We also were visited by an unusually large number of Blue Jays that took over the feeders.

On the waterfront, November is when most of our lobster fishermen (male and female) wind down their season and bring in their traps for winter storage.

As for recreational boating, most of the vessels have been stored and their mooring gear hung or packed away. Nonetheless, a relatively warm day did entice one hardy oarsman to go out on the water again.

November also is the time for splitting, stacking, and storing the winter wood that will burn beautifully in wood stoves and fireplaces.

Finally, November usually is the beginning of three months of our most dramatic sunsets and this November did not disappoint.

(All images in this post were taken in Down East Maine during November 2022.)

In the Right Place, And Still They Come Category

Lobster fishermen (male and female) continue to winddown their season and bring ashore their traps for winter storage.

Here you see two trap-packed fishing vessels coming into the Town dock at Naskeag Point yesterday to discharge traps.

Some vessels will be brought out of the water and spend their winters “on the hard.” Others will stay in the water and  be fitted with their masts, booms, and “drags” (netted dredges) for winter scalloping.

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 29, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Sun Sandwich Category

Yesterday was dismal gray until late in the afternoon when it started to turn dismal dark. Then, along the horizon, the clouds thinned and parted just enough for us to catch a glimpse of the sun setting above Great Cove.

The sandwiched sun beamed low, rejuvenating rays of golden light on us and through the woods. Dismal begone!

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 28, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Progress Category

Congratulations to our neighbor for splitting two cords of wood and stacking it neatly in his fine woodshed before serious weather arrived:

This is the way his shed area looked yesterday, which should be compared to when he was splitting the wood in early November (wood-splitter on the left):

This reminds me that, many years ago when I was young, the old folk then would talk about “being taken to the woodshed.” It meant being taken for physical punishment to a private place by a parent or superior. A variant of that was “being horse-shedded.” No punishment is allowed near the pictured woodshed, but it is a place for hard work. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 5 and 27, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Rare Find Category

The buoy fruit tree is very rare and especially spectacular in the winter when the tree loses its leaves, but retains its multicolor fruits. In fact, it’s so rare that I know of only one such tree in existence, and that is this one at the WoodenBoat School campus.

Well ….  Maybe my imagination has gotten out of hand again. But, I think that this display rightfully may be called “found object art” or “found art,” which is defined by Wikipedia as “art created from undisguised, but often modified, items or products that are not normally considered materials from which art is made.”

These “fruits” are lost lobster trap buoys that have washed up on the shore of nearby Great Cove and hung on one of the shore trees. Maine requires its lobster fisherman to define their trap territories by using individualistic design/color combinations on their buoys – sort of simplified coats of arms for our noble fishermen (male and female).

When the buoys are collected like this and seen up close, it looks a little like abstract-impressionistic art of the Jackson Pollock type:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 24, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Parades Category

While an estimated three million people were cheering the floats in Macy’s Parade on Thanksgiving morning in the City of New York, this is what I was watching in the Town of Brooklin. There was one exceptional addition to the scene, which we’ll get to in a moment.

Here, we’re squinting into the south-southwest, peering through Great Cove, past several islands in Eggemoggin Reach, and into the seeming infinity of the Atlantic Ocean. The empowering sun is sending us a friendly sign in the form of a glitter path.

Then – here’s the exception – to the north-northeast (on the right) there was movement. Something low and dark was coming my way steadily, but the sun was silhouetting it too much to enable identification.

When the intruder got into the glitter path, it revealed itself as a pulling boat being rowed fast and expertly by a man who apparently was  celebrating the holiday morning by scudding across the glassy Cove:

I think I’ll try to remember this as my Brooklin-sized Thanksgiving Parade, a parade in the form of one real float. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 24, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Protection Category

Visiting some of my favorite boats in winter storage is like visiting good friends in the hospital – it’s embarrassing to see their grace sullied by immodest exposures and unnatural crowding; yet, it’s good to know that they are being protected during their vulnerability.

If these boats could have talked yesterday, when I visited on that brisk Thanksgiving Day morning, it probably would not have been about the delicious meal I soon would be eating in front of a fire; it probably would have been about their eager release into Great Cove on a warm, salt-scented June day next year.

As you see, the WoodenBoat School’s post-and-panel Boatshed is now sealed (except for a small entry hatch in the back):

Although not heated, the building’s skylights can provide warmth. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 24, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Greetings Category

In the Right Place, Winter Magic Category

Most of the leaves are on the ground in the woods, where the rain and cold have turned them into a rough rug of gray, brown, and black. Coats of ice are forming on puddles and ponds. Our world is withering into colorless winter dormancy. And YET, there are little visual oases in the woods that glow green with vibrant life – seemingly magic places where one can imagine over-wintering leprechauns hiding.

Above, you see what apparently are Evergreen Ferns living up to their common name. These plants (Dryopteris intermedia) usually will continue to photosynthesize the sunlight into sugars, and thereby stay green, throughout the winter.

Next to those ferns, is one of many species of rootless moss that I have not been able to identify precisely. It’s trying to cover a dead birch with its emerald-colored blanket of “phylids,” which look like very small leaves and contain a natural antifreeze substance that will keep them evergreen.

Below, you’ll see ice forming on a small local pond, while cattails and other wet-footed flora stand by and cool their heels until spring:

(Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 20, 2022.)

In the Right Place, Good Luck Category

I finally got my buck this hunting season, and with the digital ammunition that I prefer. I’ve been unsuccessfully trailing this hefty white-tailed deer since mid-October, sometimes getting wet and filthy from slipping and sliding in the bogs that he likes.

But, early yesterday morning, I had the good luck that persistence sometimes provides. I saw him looking the wrong way as he browsed a field’s edge; and, even more fortunately, he was upwind from me. I got within “shooting” range for the first time.

He then sensed something, stiffened, and quickly looked over his shoulder at me with widened eyes and flared nostrils (“click, click”). He spun and, with several loping steps (“click”), glided back into the woods like the ghost he has become to me.

He has eight “points” on his “rack,” although two are small and perhaps cannot be “scored” as points yet. Researchers are quick to explain that these bucks (and a few abnormal does) wear pointed “antlers,” not “horns.”

Antlers are “cast” (away) each winter and regrown quickly in the spring and summer. Horns (think goats and rhinos) continuously grow slowly from their core, as I understand it. (Images taken in Brooklin, Maine, on November 20, 2022.)