It's that time of year. Head north to the cabin, strip down, slather myself in doe scent, spread eagle on the ground, and do my annual deer tick survey. The little buggers should be out and about by now. Haven't had lyme disease for two years and kind of miss my time on the couch sleeping away the day. And the intense headache, can't forget that.
Lois saw a picture of what a cluster of tick eggs looks like so I'm prepared to visit me some havoc on the little suckers before they ever see the light of day. Yeah baby, I'm on a crusade. Search 'em out and burn 'em down.
I'm almost, but not quite, tempted to bring a rod and check out one of the local trout lakes. Can't remember, is it 'hope springs eternal' or is it 'April is the cruelest month of all'? Conflict among the semi-literate.
Called in the State to decide the trout issue. They said I should fish for trout and bring my best rod and reel. Added I should buy a two grand, classic, six-split bamboo pole. Even gave me a lake and the cell number of the game warden who'd confiscate my gear should I try fishing out of season. That was sure nice of them.
The drive usually goes well till I'm about five miles away. That's when the thought of a possible winter break-in takes hold. Not much of value to steal up there so long as the thieves don't find my two Itchy and Scratchy t-shirts.
This year I'll go alone. The first few days are all about cleanup. Dead flies and the occasional bat. Don't mind the work. It's a chance to visit with old board and nail friends from the '80s. Lot of personal history up there. It's one of my happy places. Home water and woods.
Write again when I get back.