Post by tuketu on Aug 11, 2021 8:23:20 GMT -4
Dance of the Donuts
Last weeks’ plans to bear hunt did not go as I had anticipated. Between bad weather and forgotten obligations my week off work ended up allowing me only 2 days of hunting. With the bears now resorting to a nocturnal phase I had resorted to Tree Twiddling - an art, which, I am proud to say, I’ve perfected. To relieve the tedium of the hours tree bound and with no bear sightings to stimulate my senses I would anxiously spin my thumbs in my palms and rhythmically swinging my legs in time, oh so gingerly so as not to draw attention to myself from any potential onlookers below.
Today’s’ forecast seemed to hold little promise of a hunt. With high winds & heavy rains and only a slight possibility of clearing late in the day a trip to the woods seemed unlikely. Besides it wouldn’t be the first time Lazy Daye, our local forecaster’s Crystal Ball had been clouded in deception. But lo & behold, about 2pm the sky began to break and it was a scramble to get dressed and on route. Although a bit later than my usual routine, I was up and in the stand about quarter to four, praising the foresight of our hit & miss meteorologist. I had a good feeling about today, with a break in the weather, after the storm front, “what a perfect evening to connect” I thought.
There had been subtle changes at the site since my last visit to the stand. The area was totally devoid of any evidence of confectionary delights. I had theorized that the squirrels had organized. It was blatantly obvious that every attempt was being made to ensure each crumb and morsel of bait would have a home before the onset of winter. By all accounts it was highly suspected that these little red tree rats were contriving with their feathered friends of Indigo Air Services … those retched Blue Jays, the likes of which provided courier service to the outer reaches of the hemlock canopy. A rather ingenious plot I had to confess.
Even more aggravating was the way they flaunted their indifference to my cause, with their chitter-chatter, laugh at me and tail to my face insubordination. I watched as they scurried into the barrel, only to emerge arse first, tuggin’ on the biggest, plumpest fritter or jellied filled donut they could find. With their jaws anchored deeply into the sweet abyss of some of Tim Horton’s finest, I watched these tenacious tree truckers as they comically, jerked & yanked, with all they could muster, until finally they reached the open air of the barrels entrance and could sense the cooling squish of fryer oil beneath their tiny bark biting feet. Then came the couriers, those cursed Jays with their peck, gulp & go, laissez faire attitude. Fanning their wings they glided aloft to the nether reaches, tucking their precious cargo into every little crotch and cranny the softwoods had to offer.
For hours I watched the antics of fur and feather, eavesdropping on the chattering gossip of what I can only surmise as being a well-deserved coffee break to which I have unknowingly been catering. I began to ponder the obvious … Geez what’s left for the bears to indulge? Sweet Lord, these thievin’ little Buggers are bombarding the barrel from first light until dark! The poor bears, to avoid being pecked, pestered and scolded, are waiting for the day shift to knock off, so they can come in and clean up any tidbits that may have gone undetected. Once the shroud of darkness prevailed the silent giants attentively provided essential janitorial services to ensure I have a clean barrel to fill come morning.
Baiting had been diminished to a daily “Dance of the Donuts“ and I the choreographer of cuisine.
Oh …but I have digressed ….No bears tonight …Nightshift is late again !!!
tuk
Last weeks’ plans to bear hunt did not go as I had anticipated. Between bad weather and forgotten obligations my week off work ended up allowing me only 2 days of hunting. With the bears now resorting to a nocturnal phase I had resorted to Tree Twiddling - an art, which, I am proud to say, I’ve perfected. To relieve the tedium of the hours tree bound and with no bear sightings to stimulate my senses I would anxiously spin my thumbs in my palms and rhythmically swinging my legs in time, oh so gingerly so as not to draw attention to myself from any potential onlookers below.
Today’s’ forecast seemed to hold little promise of a hunt. With high winds & heavy rains and only a slight possibility of clearing late in the day a trip to the woods seemed unlikely. Besides it wouldn’t be the first time Lazy Daye, our local forecaster’s Crystal Ball had been clouded in deception. But lo & behold, about 2pm the sky began to break and it was a scramble to get dressed and on route. Although a bit later than my usual routine, I was up and in the stand about quarter to four, praising the foresight of our hit & miss meteorologist. I had a good feeling about today, with a break in the weather, after the storm front, “what a perfect evening to connect” I thought.
There had been subtle changes at the site since my last visit to the stand. The area was totally devoid of any evidence of confectionary delights. I had theorized that the squirrels had organized. It was blatantly obvious that every attempt was being made to ensure each crumb and morsel of bait would have a home before the onset of winter. By all accounts it was highly suspected that these little red tree rats were contriving with their feathered friends of Indigo Air Services … those retched Blue Jays, the likes of which provided courier service to the outer reaches of the hemlock canopy. A rather ingenious plot I had to confess.
Even more aggravating was the way they flaunted their indifference to my cause, with their chitter-chatter, laugh at me and tail to my face insubordination. I watched as they scurried into the barrel, only to emerge arse first, tuggin’ on the biggest, plumpest fritter or jellied filled donut they could find. With their jaws anchored deeply into the sweet abyss of some of Tim Horton’s finest, I watched these tenacious tree truckers as they comically, jerked & yanked, with all they could muster, until finally they reached the open air of the barrels entrance and could sense the cooling squish of fryer oil beneath their tiny bark biting feet. Then came the couriers, those cursed Jays with their peck, gulp & go, laissez faire attitude. Fanning their wings they glided aloft to the nether reaches, tucking their precious cargo into every little crotch and cranny the softwoods had to offer.
For hours I watched the antics of fur and feather, eavesdropping on the chattering gossip of what I can only surmise as being a well-deserved coffee break to which I have unknowingly been catering. I began to ponder the obvious … Geez what’s left for the bears to indulge? Sweet Lord, these thievin’ little Buggers are bombarding the barrel from first light until dark! The poor bears, to avoid being pecked, pestered and scolded, are waiting for the day shift to knock off, so they can come in and clean up any tidbits that may have gone undetected. Once the shroud of darkness prevailed the silent giants attentively provided essential janitorial services to ensure I have a clean barrel to fill come morning.
Baiting had been diminished to a daily “Dance of the Donuts“ and I the choreographer of cuisine.
Oh …but I have digressed ….No bears tonight …Nightshift is late again !!!
tuk
