I woke up at daybreak. I was awakened by the howling of wolves in the hills not too far from my camp. It started with a few short yelps, followed by a lengthy and dismal howl. Usually, it’s only at night that the wolves can be heard. My only thought was that the pups are starting to get more adventurous and one of them might have gotten lost and the mother was looking for it. When the pups get older, they are taken out of the den and put into a ‘playpen’ a low lying open area where they stay while the older ones hunt. It’s not unusual for one of them to wander off. I’ve come across a few pups around this time of year. It’s better to leave them alone because sooner or later the mother will catch up to them. The yelps and howls went for another few minutes and then they stopped.
I decided to make a venture up through Joe Lake, again today. I went into Little Joe when I heard a loud whack on the water. I knew exactly what that was, a beaver warning everyone within a quarter mile that danger was present. The beavers never dive without a warning, making a noise for everyone to hear.
There is timber everywhere. The rapids are choked with timber and one cannot canoe without the constant danger of encountering a deadhead or a sharp broken trunk ready to puncture anything that comes in its way. There are several spots between the lakes and on the rivers where the knots of driftwood and timber are so thick that you need to portage around them.
I find myself paying attention to all this detail in nature. Minutiae as most would say, but it keeps my mind off other affairs. The present industry of the beaver on the lakes has much significance to me than the battles overseas. A dam that makes the water levels rise has more meaning than a trench dug into some foreign soil.
I make my way back to Joe Lake Dam. Despite the success of catching all of the trout on Canoe Lake for the Colsons. I am determined to catch the big trout that inhabit the deep waters below the dam at Joe Lake It’s a battle of wits, patience and cunning.