fair weather activities
Jun. 2nd, 2008 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
opabiniaOn Memorial Day, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ghostofantigone and I got lost in the F. Gilbert Hills State Forest. We hiked for three hours.
On Thursday, JD and I kayaked eight miles against the wind (2), pausing frequently to look at stuff. Heron didn't know what to make of us (few people see this stretch of the Sudbury River), but they flew away just in case. This year's baby pickerel, stalking water bugs along the hand-deep banks, are an inch long now -- one inch of ruthless, pointy ferocity. Heavy carp torpedoed at the surface after drowning insects, jumping clear out of the water for want of brakes.
I cast around for bass, and got a couple of taps, but nothing stuck. JD had better luck: He hooked about five, and landed two of them (3).
Sunday night, I ran four miles along Mass Ave. Perfect running weather.
(1) While camping at the mouth of a bat-filled cave in the mountains of Puerto Rico, I was pooped on by a beautiful and rare Epicrates inornatus. Holy smokes! I think the man who took that photo was the grad student whose Ecology project I hooked up with to camp at the cave!
(2) Four miles upriver, four miles back. The current was negligible. The wind changed direction just as we turned back. No lie.
(3) Anything caught in the Sudbury River gets released. Those fishes have it pretty good: They're clean enough to live full, healthy lives, but they're too contaminated for people to eat.
ghostofantigone and I got lost in the F. Gilbert Hills State Forest. We hiked for three hours. |
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Ghostofantigone pokes something with a stick. I saw a common garter snake in a brushpile. Just as I picked it up, I remembered how small snakes respond to capture. It is very unpleasant to be pooped on by a snake, especially so far from soap (1). I rubbed vigorously with crushed ferns from my elbows down, which greatly reduced the stink and revulsion, and gave me bright green forelimbs until we found a stream. |
On Thursday, JD and I kayaked eight miles against the wind (2), pausing frequently to look at stuff. Heron didn't know what to make of us (few people see this stretch of the Sudbury River), but they flew away just in case. This year's baby pickerel, stalking water bugs along the hand-deep banks, are an inch long now -- one inch of ruthless, pointy ferocity. Heavy carp torpedoed at the surface after drowning insects, jumping clear out of the water for want of brakes.
I cast around for bass, and got a couple of taps, but nothing stuck. JD had better luck: He hooked about five, and landed two of them (3).
Sunday night, I ran four miles along Mass Ave. Perfect running weather.
(1) While camping at the mouth of a bat-filled cave in the mountains of Puerto Rico, I was pooped on by a beautiful and rare Epicrates inornatus. Holy smokes! I think the man who took that photo was the grad student whose Ecology project I hooked up with to camp at the cave!
(2) Four miles upriver, four miles back. The current was negligible. The wind changed direction just as we turned back. No lie.
(3) Anything caught in the Sudbury River gets released. Those fishes have it pretty good: They're clean enough to live full, healthy lives, but they're too contaminated for people to eat.
