My skis are still rattling around in the back of the truck. I haven't taken the time yet to put them into storage up in the rafters of the garage. That's because March obviously did not "come in like a lion." So I'm holding on to a faint hope that this month might actually go roaring out like a lion. And just in case we do get an unexpected late storm, I want to be able to sneak off to Pattee Canyon for one last ski.
But with all due respect to the wisdom of the proverb inventors, it doesn't look promising.
I guess you could say that my back yard is a symbol of the spiritual malaise that settles in during that window of time between winter and spring when I'm not sure what I should want to be doing in that big old natural world out there.
In case you're interested, Horse Latitudes is the name given to those belts of latitude where climactic forces create calm, hot weather over stretches of ocean.
The name came about because Spanish sailing vessels transporting horses to the West Indies would apparently find themselves becalmed for long periods at those particular latitudes, and if things went on too long, and fresh water ran out, they would have to throw the horses overboard to save the crews. Or so the story goes.
My personal Horse Latitudes are not nearly so dramatic. I think of this time of year as an opportunity to gain a little traction before moving into full-blown spring. But this year, it's all happening too soon.
Patches of green are elbowing their way into the sun through the dry brown grass of last year. My roses are showing signs of life and, of course, crocuses are busting out everywhere.
My friend Dersu has been showing up with his observations of springlike natural occurrences since early January. Homer reported in two weeks ago on a long and snow-free hike that took him deep into the Bob Marshall Wilderness in early February.
On a recent inspection and maintenance outing to the family cabin up at Swan Lake, I was able to drive all the way in to the cabin without chains, shovel, or four-wheel drive. That is particularly notable because I cannot remember ever doing that before in February. And the rocky beach around the lake was as bare and dry as if it were summer.
If you have taken a good look at the rivers lately, you are aware that they appear to be in excellent fishing shape. In fact, if you take the time to look, it's possible to watch a hungry trout slurping mouthfuls of bugs in the waters that flow right beneath our downtown bridges. That's a situation that has obviously not been overlooked by the fly fishing crowd.
Friends have reported excellent success at some of their favorite summer fishing haunts on recent warm afternoons. Pickups dragging drift boats or rafts out to float the nearby waters seem to be everywhere I look.
It all suggests to me that there is something going on out there that I might be missing out on. My raft is still folded up and stored in winter repose. My fly rods are in a dark basement closet.
And I'm sitting here musing about the Horse Latitudes and allowing myself to brood a little about the not-so-rosy implications of this dry, warm winter for the long, hot months ahead.
But not for long. In fact, I'm not going to waste another minute on it right now. I know there's nothing for any of us to do about the weather. And I know that if I dawdle long here in this little malaise, I'm going to miss out on something that might be just what any good doctor would prescribe.
So for starters, I'm going to take my scoop shovel to the backyard. Then I'm going to gather up my fly rods, bring that raft out of hibernation, and get out there on the water. Of course, there will also be that little matter of getting my fishing license taken care of. That comes in with March, too.
It's a lot easier to escape the Horse Latitudes when you live in a place like we do. But I'm still going to keep those skis handy. After all, you just never know.
And speaking of escape, my old friend John called a little while ago to remind me that I promised to put in a plug for the annual Trout Unlimited Banquet this weekend. The West Slope Chapter is putting on their big event Saturday at the Holiday Inn. It all begins at 6 p.m. And to my way of thinking, it's as good a way as any to launch another year on the water.
Greg Tollefson is a Missoula free-lance writer whose column appears each week in Outdoors. He can be reached at gtollefson@montana.com
|
 |
 |
Add your comment now! Write your comment in the form below.
(Email address is for verification only. If you'd like to email a story, look for the link above)