There are many definitions of a north country spring, and they don't all come at the same time. We're north enough for late season snow well past official spring in most years, and this year April was cruel indeed cruel, with much of northern New England seeing not just one, but two plowable snowstorms in April. Spread out from late March to early April are any number of officials starts of spring: Ice out on the lakes; spring peepers and wood frogs; paired up wood ducks on the little pocket ponds; gobbling turkeys; fox kits poking their noses out of the den to toss around old scraps of deer hide or bones; the early wild flowers--trout lily is usually first here; fiddleheads ripe for harvest.
Spring sprung for real this year on May 1, with the convergence of some key events.
(1) Peas, spinach and radishes, foolishly planted before the last of those snowstorms, are poking up in the garden. Indeed, broccoli and lettuce starts are hardening off and ready to go in; the rest of seedlings will follow between now and June 1. The daffodils are blooming. The red maples are showing how they got their name.
(2) The first brook trout of the season have been caught. Since I discovered the one wild trout stream in my little town, my ceremonial trout has come from the bottom of the hill on a neighbor's farm from the appropriately-named Spring Brook. Three came to hand Saturday--one a corker of 11", huge for a stream I'll be able to step across in a few weeks. Local lore says the trout fishing turns on when the colts foot is blooming. Sure enough, the patch in the ditch up the road from the house was bright yellow when I passed on my way to the stream. No fish were harmed, but I did snag bottom and lose a nice trolling spoon.
(3) The ground has dried out enough to pull the boat and trailer out of the boat barn, which is off pavement and requires crossing a notorious spring mud hole that has never mired my truck, but did come close once. The old 15 HP Yamaha, now approaching 40, started on the third pull, and the afternoon was warm enough to launch the boat in Crocs and a T-shirt for a ceremonial buzz around the pond, following by a fruitless hour of trolling for the elusive lake trout of Narrows Pond.
Not a bad Sunday.
Real trout fishing in the north country is next, as the ice is going fast on my favorite ponds.
Spring sprung for real this year on May 1, with the convergence of some key events.
(1) Peas, spinach and radishes, foolishly planted before the last of those snowstorms, are poking up in the garden. Indeed, broccoli and lettuce starts are hardening off and ready to go in; the rest of seedlings will follow between now and June 1. The daffodils are blooming. The red maples are showing how they got their name.
(2) The first brook trout of the season have been caught. Since I discovered the one wild trout stream in my little town, my ceremonial trout has come from the bottom of the hill on a neighbor's farm from the appropriately-named Spring Brook. Three came to hand Saturday--one a corker of 11", huge for a stream I'll be able to step across in a few weeks. Local lore says the trout fishing turns on when the colts foot is blooming. Sure enough, the patch in the ditch up the road from the house was bright yellow when I passed on my way to the stream. No fish were harmed, but I did snag bottom and lose a nice trolling spoon.
(3) The ground has dried out enough to pull the boat and trailer out of the boat barn, which is off pavement and requires crossing a notorious spring mud hole that has never mired my truck, but did come close once. The old 15 HP Yamaha, now approaching 40, started on the third pull, and the afternoon was warm enough to launch the boat in Crocs and a T-shirt for a ceremonial buzz around the pond, following by a fruitless hour of trolling for the elusive lake trout of Narrows Pond.
Not a bad Sunday.
Real trout fishing in the north country is next, as the ice is going fast on my favorite ponds.