Enough Is Enough

Do good intentions always have good consequences? I don’t think so. It seems that every other day, I hear of some new law or some new proposal, that touches upon my life in a negative way.

Let me point out that I am all for clean air and clean water. In fact, I don’t know anyone who isn’t. But some measures to ensure that our environment are not well-thought-out and in fact, some seem nothing short of dictatorial.

Let’s begin with gasoline. Modern gas contains ethanol, which comes from corn. To make ethanol, corn that would otherwise remain in the food chain gets re-routed to ethanol production. This in turn causes rising fuel prices. Furthermore, the new gas raises havoc with small engines. Everything from outboard motors to rototillers and lawn mowers to chain saws, have a shortened life expectancy. The ethanol rots fuel lines. It also draws water into the gas mix, causing breakdowns.

But now the law says that ever-increasing amounts of ethanol must go into the makeup of gasoline formulas. Need it or not, we are now burdened with it.

Next, we might look at light bulbs. Incandescent bulbs were deemed wasteful, so now people are compelled to switch to the new, mercury-containing curlicue bulbs. I read the two-page instructions on what to do if you break one of these modern marvels. They include opening all doors and windows, cutting out the flooring where the bulb broke and then calling a hazardous waste disposal unit. Do I want these things in my house? Definitely not.

That’s why I bought a lifetime supply of those “awful” incandescent bulbs. Call me greedy and self-serving, but if my old-fashioned light bulb breaks, I can just pick it up…no “hazmat” suit or respirator required, and throw it in the trash.

Then we have lead. As a fisherman and hunter, I use lead. Lead bullets, lead shot, lead sinkers and lead jigs. But now, these are being demonized and phased out.

It began more than 20 years ago when a doctor Kevin Potkvas conducted a study on loon mortality in New England. Over a long period, he acquired numerous loon cadavers. I think that one, perhaps two, of these dead loons had ingested lead fishing tackle. All of them, though, exhibited deep gashes on their backs, consistent with propeller wounds.

But what do environmental groups, including the Audubon Society want to ban? Are they interested in establishing slower speed limits for motorboats on inland waters? No. Instead, they now have a bill before the Maine legislature to ban all lead sinkers and jigs under a certain size. This would affect all Maine waters.

But since loons require many acres of surface area in order to establish a breeding population, they as a consequence, do not inhabit streams and rivers. Loons do not live on trout streams, in other words.

But that makes no difference to Audubon. They want to ban lead period, on lakes, ponds, rivers and streams. This puts fishermen at a decided disadvantage. It also puts trout at a disadvantage, since fish caught on jigs (jigs with lead bodies, I might add), are seldom seriously injured by hooks. Such fish are easily released, unharmed.

But ban these artificial lures and people will have no choice but to resort to natural bait. And when trout take natural bait, their chances of survival after being hooked and released decline greatly.

I have contacted the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, Maine governor Paul LePage and also, George Smith from Sportsman’s Alliance of Maine, and have asked them all to consider having Audubon amend their bill to allow for continued use of lead sinkers and jigs on brooks and streams, places where there are no loons. Whether my efforts will bring fruit remains to be seen.

Readers may wonder why I haven’t contacted Audubon. I haven’t because in talking with various people connected with them, I see no chance for reason.

As a side issue here, I wonder why environmental zealots don’t address the problem of mercury in what ought to be pristine Maine waters? Did you know that brook trout from Aroostook County, Maine, have a high mercury content? It’s true. The stuff is airborne, coming here from other states to the southwest. But that’s a political issue that won’t be easily won. Far easier to put the heavy boots down on fishermen.

Another lead item concerns non-toxic shot on migratory waterfowl. In heavily-hunted areas such as Merrymeeting Bay, a lead ban may have some small validity…not much, since lead is the next heaviest metal to gold and when it lands on a mud bottom, such as in Merrymeeting Bay, it quickly sinks. Even so, it’s possible that every decade or so, a duck could ingest lead shot.

But the lead shot ban exists everywhere, even on the ocean. When the ban was first imposed, I was guiding duck hunters out on Jericho Bay, a place with deep water and swift, powerful tides. No duck ever born could, even it if it wanted to, swim down to the bottom and pluck up a lead pellet. That is an impossibility. But still, lead shot is prohibited, even there. Even in the Bay of Fundy, where tides run faster than the average person can run, lead shot is banned.

The recent groundswell among the anti-gun crowd in Maine has brought up some interesting, needless proposals. Among them, Democrat lawmakers are proposing that gun owners have special liability insurance. Yes, you read me right. Mandatory, government-imposed insurance. Sound familiar? It’s scary. It scares me.

Also, holders of concealed carry permits would have their information made public. This would enable criminals to target their homes, looking for guns to steal. It just doesn’t make sense. To me, this sounds more like 1930 Germany than 2013 Maine.

And the latest bit of deviltry, that I heard on the news last night and which prompted me to write this blog, has to do with smoke from woodstoves.

The piece highlighted all the bad components of wood smoke. Well, duh, everyone knows that it isn’t good to breathe in smoke…any kind of smoke. But the new momentum has as its basis the simple fact that people can SMELL smoke from other people’s woodstoves. And if you can smell it, one man said, it is hurting you.

I often write about the almost cloying effect that the first whiff of woodsmoke on the air has on me each fall. One particle of woodsmoke per several million isn’t going to hurt me or anyone else. And yet the news story interviewed a man (someone obviously from some place other than Maine) who wants wood burning banned.

“I smell it when I walk my dog,” he said. To that, I made a gesture toward the television screen and quickly turned it off. And I’ll bet anything that this same man, who wants to take away our most renewable source of energy, walks his dog on other people’s property. I bet that in fact, he purposely takes his dog down the road so that it can defecate on someone else’s land. That’s the reason so many people walk their dogs on public places. Is there an irony here? I think so.

Anyway, I’m sure some readers will have different views on topics mentioned here. So be it. But as for me, I’ve had enough. No more. No more.

Book Prices Way Out Of Line

I think a short note regarding book prices is in order. Several readers have contacted me wondering why my book Foraging New England is listed at an outrageously high price. I appreciate people telling me about that, since I was aware of it.

Anyway, I found out the reason and it is nothing that I have any control over. When books are about to go out of stock or when a new version is about to be released, prices skyrocket. And since I recently revised Foraging New England, and the existing supply of the current version is dwindling, the distributors have jacked the price up to a ludicrously high amount. Why they do his is beyond my ken. 

I would suggest that anyone wanting a good foraging book for New England buy Wild Plants of Maine. Most, if not all, of the plants in that book also grow throughout New England. Of the two books, I like Wild Plants of Maine better.

The reason for that is because of the publisher. Foraging New England is published by Globe Pequot Press, a company I have written for for over 20 years. But GPP is a big, national publisher and as such, has hordes of copy editors, whose job it is to parse, change, delete and in general remove the author’s original wording anywhere possible. These are freelance people who subcontract for the company and their eviscerating of manuscripts is a way for them to justify their existence.

So what people read in a nationally-published book, not just my books but anyone’s, is often a far cry from what the author originally wrote.

On the other hand, Wild Plants of Maine is from a Maine-based publishing house. And except for correcting spelling errors or accidental syntax errors, what you read in WPOM is what I wrote and what I meant. The publisher of this book, Just Write Books, Topsham, Maine, has a care for her authors and listens to them and works with them, not against them.

That, for anyone interested in getting into writing and publishing books, is the difference between national publishers and smaller publishing houses.

Again, I apologize for that ridiculous price spike on Foraging New England. It’s a good book, but not that good.

By the way, I appreciate the nice comments about my cabin fever piece. Take heart...spring is coming.

Tom

Groundhog Day

Today, January 31, 2013, I went outside and located young chives, happily growing as if spring had already arrived. Nearby, were young sprouts of orpine and also, spearmint, all newly-emerged from the earth. Alongside a raised bed, dame’s rocket looked as green and healthy as when it went to sleep last fall. So what gives?

Well, it’s been a winter of contrasts. December came in cold and snowy, a real old-time Maine winter. But early January saw a warm spell and the first full-blown mud season of the year. Then for nearly two weeks, temperatures hovered at or somewhat below 0. And last night, a warm wind blew (blew is an understatement…gusts topped 60 mph), accompanied by a heavy rain.

The warm temperatures and rain melted all the snow. And the plants that I found had no doubt begun sprouting during the last cold snap, then they got covered with snow, an insulator, and now they sit out in the open, sans snow.

My lawn looks lush and green, a sad reminder that it could have used one more mowing before putting away the mower. For all intents and purposes, spring has arrived.

But wait, as they say on TV. The weather forecast calls for teens and single numbers tonight, so this taste of spring will be at best, short-lived.

No matter what, though, winter is at least and probably more than, half over. The old saying: “The provident farmer by Candlemas Day has half his wood and half his hay,” points to the second of February being the traditional mid-point of winter.

Candlemas Day, a church day, has fallen into disuse by the general populace, replaced by the more fashionable, Groundhog Day. But even Groundhog Day has its basis in truth. Groundhogs are not very sound hibernators and often wake up during warm spells in winter. And they do indeed leave their burrows and venture about.

I do like the optimism surrounding the groundhog’s predictions. If he sees his shadow, we are in for six more weeks of winter. Well, six weeks from February 2 puts us in the middle of March, quite early, in my opinion, for spring to arrive.

So take heart. Winter’s back is broken and from now on, despite sub-zero temperatures and lots of snow, it’s all downhill. And now please excuse me, since I must go out and pick some wintergreen leaves for tea, before the deep freeze sets in.

Cabin Fever

For me, sub-zero weather means enforced confinement. That is, it’s far too cold for outdoor activity, so I sit inside, write, play music on my pipes and feed the wood stove.

Friends tend not to drop by either, given the biting cold and also, the risk of flu. Every other person I speak with on the phone, it seems, either has or has had, the flu. So keeping away from sick people becomes a priority for me and this means days on end without the company of other humans.

Besides that, getting the flu could spell trouble for me in a big way. Living alone, I have no one to help in case of sickness. But my lifestyle is my choice and it didn’t just happen that way. We “pays our money and takes our chances,” so the old saying goes.

All this makes me wonder how the old-time trappers ever managed it. I’m not talking out west mountain man times either, but rather old-time Maine trappers. These people would take off for a month or more in the dead of winter, running their traplines and living in remote camps far away from civilization.

At least we today have radio and television, email and telephones. The old timers had nothing. But this much I know, from talking with older folks who were around during the early and mid-20^th century; there wasn’t much time to sit around and get lonesome, since the trapper’s life was one of constant work. And when they weren’t preparing hides and doing camp chores, they were sleeping. It was work while the sun shone and sleep when it didn’t.

In looking over my photo collection, I came across a photo of the headstone of a Revolutionary War soldier who served during the winter at Valley Forge. Thinking about the privations and hardships those men endured makes me feel foolish about my own slight discomfort.

So when the door handle freezes on your car and you have to warm the key with a match, don’t cuss; just be glad you have a car. And even though heating fuel has become way overpriced, just be glad that you don’t have to burn half-green softwood, the way those old-time trappers did.

As far as getting lonely, email has taken up a lot of slack and single people, even those out in rural areas, can connect to the world at the pressing of a few keys.

In retrospect, things ain’t so bad after all.

Snowbound

With back-to-back snowstorms behind us, the Town of Waldo where I live has approximately 18 inches of snow on the ground. And with that amount of snow covering the banking around my cottage, the indoor temperature has risen by several degrees. Besides that, before the insulating blanket of snow came, even with the woodstove pumping, it was hard to feel totally warm and comfortable. Not now, though. As long as the snow lasts, keeping warm inside will present far less of a problem.

My morning was spent shoveling snow, probably my least-favorite activity in the world. The acquisition of one of those snow scoops, the kind that you push instead of lift, has made things at least somewhat easier. But when snow gets just so deep, it’s difficult to dump the snow from the scoop. The best I can do is to partially upend the thing and push on it. Then, when pulling back on the handle, the snow stays in place, as long as it was well-packed. That just goes to show that nothing comes easy.

The accumulated depth of snow now has caused me to re-think my plans for January 1, the first day that we may go ice fishing and keep trout, togue (lake trout) and salmon under general law rules. Wallowing through knee-deep snow to get out on a lake isn’t fun. Besides, I’m not totally sanguine about the thickness of ice on local lakes and ponds. Safe ice had only begun to form and now the snow will act as an insulator, making it difficult to add ice.

So after my morning’s labors, I’m just happy to come back inside and plan dinner…what I refer to as dinner, anyway. It’s an old-time country term for what most everyone now calls lunch. But lunch, in my vernacular, can happen anytime, as in, “I think I’ll stop and have a little lunch.”  

And of course dinner to everyone else is supper to me. It’s stuff such as this that I ponder now, what with my reinforced confinement in the house. The plow man hasn’t come yet and with all the driveways he has to plow and the depth of the snow, it’s possible I may be stuck inside for several days. And goodness knows what deep thoughts (as in lunch, dinner and supper distinctions) I’ll ponder in the meantime?

But not to worry. I have thawed out a package of squid from last summer. These, I vacuum-sealed in special bags and they are as good as fresh. And later, the pack of lamb chops I took from the freezer last night will make for an elegant supper (dinner, if you will).

Tonight is supposed to come off clear, albeit cold…the Weather Channel calls for temperatures of 0 Fahrenheit. But as long as it’s not too windy, cold won’t present a problem. I hope to set up a telescope and do some stargazing. Skies are often quite transparent after a storm front departs. And transparent skies, meaning a lack of upper-lever turbulence, mean excellent viewing.

And if the full moon poses a problem, then I might dispense with the scope and do some limited stargazing with my image-stabilized binoculars. These keep shaking to a minimum, the end result is something like a great leap in magnification. With these 10 X 30 Canon binoculars, I can plainly see all four of Jupiter’s Galilean moons. And of course, star clusters and other celestial goodies come to life in the Canons.

So being stuck at home because of snow is really no big deal. It used to happen to people all the time and they easily took it in stride. It’s only today, with the demand for unhampered access to stores and whatnot, that being snowbound makes folks uneasy. As for me, it doesn’t make much difference. I’ll use the time to write a few columns and work on some new jigs and reels. Besides, I have three bottles of Sam Adams Boston Lager in my refrigerator. It could be worse.

Happy New Year.

We Have Much To Be Thankful For

Right about this time of year, I become quite appreciative of all the good food that I either caught, grew or picked in the wild. The Highland Scots have a saying that kind of sums this up in a nice way: “A fish from the river, a staff from the woods and a deer from the moor, three thefts no Gael was ever ashamed of”       

Of course in our case here in America, we needn’t steal a fish or a deer and in Maine, we have more than enough wood to supply staffs for all. But still, the saying illustrates what was important to those braw, kilt-clad lads across the pond.

And speaking of all that good, wild stuff, I am everlastingly grateful to those who pioneered the art of food preservation and brought it to the current level of technology. Now, we can have wild greens, picked fresh in spring and summer, frozen and served at any time of the year. The same goes for fish and game. Vacuum-sealing machines keep air out and freshness in.          

My freezer brims with frozen goodies from the woods (or the moors, if you will), the streams, the ocean and even my own garden. And my shelves are lined with home-canned goodies, such as goosetongue and dandelions. And of course, garden stuff too goes into canning jars. I particularly enjoy my home-canned carrots.

While somewhat demanding, it was enjoyable and rewarding to gather and process all these wonderful things. And now, while reaping the fruits of my previous labor, I can relax and contemplate the wonderful blessings available to us all.

Today at noon, my meal consisted of mackerel fillets, fiddleheads and corn-on-the-cob. The mackerel were placed on ice as soon as the came off the hook, taken home, filleted and sealed in vacuum bags. The fiddleheads were given equal care and the corn was from my own garden. All in all, it was a taste of summer on a raw and dreary winter’s day.         

Now, during the holiday season, I like to mull over my blessings and give thanks for all the lovely things that the good earth provides. And likewise, I hope all readers of Wild Plants And Wooly Bears, wherever dispersed, have a chance to sit down, relax and count their blessings too.

Season’s greetings and my best wishes for a happy, safe and prosperous new year for all.

Tom

Silent Killers

A silent killer stalks our woods and fields, meadows and hedgerows. It strikes quickly and efficiently and shows no mercy. Its predations account for a near-mass slaughter of certain native creatures. This is an introduced predator and we introduced it. And we bear responsibility for its existence.

By now I can hear readers thinking, “Oh, my, what terrible creature might this be?” Well, the answer may come as a surprise. The introduced predator is the common housecat, gone wild. The feral cat population continues to swell as the exurban push continues.

With every new house that sprouts up on formally wild land or agricultural land that was sold out of inability to pay continually-rising property taxes, the number of housecats roaming those places increases exponentially. And when that happens, the number of native bird and small mammal species diminishes accordingly.

My interest in this topic was piqued by the decreasing number of ruffed grouse, woodcock and also, snowshoe hares on my woodland property. It took me a while to figure out what the problem was. I blamed fishers, weasels, foxes, bobcats and coyotes. But coyotes don’t catch too many game birds. They instead, concentrate upon small mammals. And while coyotes are a relative newcomer to these parts, foxes, bobcats and the rest were here well before we were. Something different had to account for the sudden slackening in small game and game bird numbers.

And that something was housecats. As more and more people moved out my way (a large agricultural landowner had gone out of business and subdivided their land…after cutting all the useful timber), I began seeing more and more housecats in the woods. And only shortly thereafter, the small game population went south.

In addition to the heavy toll these feral cats take on small game, they also kill songbirds. I can no longer maintain a bird feeder, since these cats hide in nearby bushes, patiently waiting to leap on any ground-feeding bird that might chance to pick up a sunflower seed that had dropped to the ground.

These cats are of two types; fully wild and part-wild. The fully-wild cats have litters outdoors and the offspring grow up as genuine wild animals. The other variety is cats that people feed sometimes and might even let in their houses on occasion. But that’s as far as it goes. These animals have the run of the woods and only show up at home for a meal or when bitter cold weather prompts them to go for creature comforts. They, of course, are not properly cared for in that the irresponsible owners do not have them vaccinated against rabies, distemper or any of the other diseases that cats are prone to.

Maine law states that cats, like dogs, must be under the owner’s immediate supervision when off the owner’s property. But of course no one bothers with obeying that law. I have even had cat owners scoff at the suggestion that they keep their cats home.

So who is to blame here? Well, the cats are animals and simply follow their animal nature. So the fault clearly lies with the owners.

Sadly, I don’t see any help for this situation. Perhaps some day more people will exercise responsibility in this regard, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. 

By the way, the mystery item shown in my "What's It?" quiz posted a while ago is the interior skeleton of a common squid, also known as a "pen." These are of a translucent, cartiliginous material and they are found inside the body, or "tube" of a squid. 

Nobody got the answer right, by the way.