From the
folks at Cape Cod Outdoors. The best, area specific, outdoor site.
From the
folks at Cape Cod Outdoors. The best, area specific, outdoor site. In January we find ourselves walking lonely beaches,
fishing frozen water or just keeping the bird feeders filled. In
other words, observing the beginning of another year and a cycle of dormancy
or desperation for the living.
Even if we are content to remain inside and secure from witnessing the challenges
of the "new year", we nonetheless recognise now as a time of ending
and a time of beginning. Behind all of us are the efforts and risks we took
to survive this far. Before us all, the tests of our preparation.
This the time of year, out walking our beach, we find a merganser or seal
sand blown and stiff above the high tide mark and wonder to ourselves. Was
it disease or age or ignorance that brought it to this last place? Did its
experience and learning serve it well or fall short of the mark.
This time of year we also learn where the baitfish are in winter by watching
these same species feeding along the rips, channels and bars. Are they surviving
because of their knowledge and ability to learn or is it just the luck of
the draw?
If we watch and walk far enough and long enough we begin to form our own
ideas of how to best care for ourselves and how some other animals do so
as well. We notice through the seasons certain patterns of behavior and
oft visited locales for a few of our more familiar wild neighbors.
Perhaps the puddle ducks have moved into the backs of bays to take advantage
of the open water from inlets and shelter from the wind. Seals may be seen
upstream or inland from the ocean where the fishing is adequate and the
surf less challenging as long as there is safety for the pups sleeping ashore
in the midday sun. And the Great Blue Heron has returned to the same shoreline
it wintered upon the last three years, sufficiently undisturbed.
Perch are found by fishers who cut holes in the ice at those places that
produce best only in winter (though safe ice doesn't look promising). And
the trout may be hunting and feeding shallower than at any other time of
year.
Foxes scavenge, raccoons come out for a warm spell and deer have shifted
their bedding to southeast facing hillsides.
We see and take note of these things to add to our knowledge of our surroundings.
We automatically collect our memories of our walks on the beach this year
and maybe some of last year's. We organize our sightings around themes of
snails or Eider or Fox. Then we begin to see a pattern and watch for more
information on future outings. We remember what fits into these patterns
and hold in abeyance the rest. To the best of our ability. Like the seal,
perhaps.
If we keep a journal of our travels, we have the advantage of reviewing
and collecting our experiences while we write. And again in years to come.
I try to keep a journal to preserve the richness of the outdoors I experience.
But frankly, sometimes I'm too tired or busy or just too plain lazy to want
to take the time after a day afield or afloat to sit down and think and
write for half an hour. Twenty five years ago, I found a solution for me.
I made a checklist.
Since then I've taken a minute or two, that's really all it takes, to record
the essence of the day. I check off: the year, month and day. Then the:
weather, locale and time afield. I note what I was trying to do, what worked
and what didn't. What I saw, caught or didn't. I leave room to comment if
I want. Done.
The idea is to do all the writing up front on the checklist so you can just
grab a blank form and check off, or number or write single words and be
done quicker than microwave tea. I check from lists of weather types, often
frequented locales and species that I usually pursue. I leave a few blank
lines to add the unusual.
What I've learned from reading back over past years is two fold. How much
I've forgotten is amazing and mortifying too. And, second, how I don't recall
many things because they weren't the focus of my initial effort. For instance,
observations I made of animal patterns on shore weren't central to my fishing
efforts at the time and weren't being added into my "field" thinking
later. Of course just comparing, say, what we have seen in May for five
years produces patterns impossible to discover if we don't quite remember
if that owl we saw migrating through in '95 was in May or July.
I like my walking and watching to feed my awareness and give me still more
chances for learning and prospering afield. My two minute checklist has
become nearly invaluable to me as a teacher. One I can return to again and
again.
Give it a try, if you've a mind too, at this time of beginnings. Weather's
hard and we're indoors and its a good time to play with paper and pen and
concepts.
I think you'll enjoy, as I do, how much more you see. And learn.
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