Stranger Danger

It was a stranger to me.

I can imagine little kids yelling “Stranger! Stranger! Stranger danger!”  Clearly, that is an enormous burden to put on someone, and in this case, it wasn’t even a someone, but a something.  A river.  The Au Sable River in northern Michigan.

Well, in my defense, I have only been acquainted with a few rivers thus far.  I was born near the Mississippi River, and my recollections are few, of course.  The baby pictures are cute.  As a young adult, I was a newspaper reporter in a town along the Mississippi, a difficult job far away from home.  So my memories of that time are not that positive, and my river memories are merely of some flooding one spring and a non-stop flow of barges down the river.  Now, I live near the Detroit River, a majestic body of water, but with work, family and other obligations, my interactions have been rare.

A few spotty introductions to a few rivers and creeks have occurred along the way, but I didn’t enter into a relationship with any of them.  They were casual acquaintances, if you will.  I do have a life-long love of a small lake near Gaylord, where my family has a cabin, and it’s a very special place for me.  But even a river novice such as I can articulate notable differences between my beloved lake and a river such as the Au Sable. 

Naively, I could state that they both are populated with fish, that fishing is a popular past-time on both bodies of water.  Nature abounds in both settings, which are both stunning in their very different ways. The loons and eagles favor the skies above both.  But the lake’s beauty is much like a mature woman, all grown up and set in her ways.  Yes, she kicks up her heels now and again, but she stays fairly serene in her northern woods. 

As for the Au Sable, it’s a mysterious figure darting in the shadows, churning with dark emotion. It’s a laughing, red-haired tomboy racing across the countryside, singing a song.  It’s a peaceful old man, snoozing in the warmth of the summer day, his belly rising gently in time with his snores. 

But I didn’t see its beauty at first.  I simply saw a stranger who was very threatening to me.  You see, my husband fell in love with the Au Sable many years back, and I must confess that I was jealous.  I call it his mid-life crisis:  All of a sudden, he’s spending time with strange people named “Orvis,” “Rusty” and “Spike.”  He started wearing different clothing:  Strange rubber pants, little vests that barely covered the mid-section; funny-shaped netting hanging from his back and little pouches with funny little flies stuck on them.  He couldn’t visit the river enough. 

Then he had the audacity to suggest that we should explore purchasing land along the river.  Well, I put my foot down.  What was he thinking?  He swore he’d never do anything without my full support and endorsement.  But then enticing letters from strangers started coming in the mail, offering all sorts of lures to the river:  Rustic cabins, hundreds of feet of riverfront, prime fishing areas.  It was clear that he was being seduced, and I was powerless to stop it.

The unimaginable occurred:  We bought our little piece of Au Sable paradise.  He proudly brought me up and introduced me to this vixen.  Needless to say, I wasn’t amused.  I was terrified.  How could I compete?  It didn’t help that our children were thrilled and instantly connected with the river.  The land was rugged and foreign.  The wild species were just that:  Wild.  And the river?  It laughed at me!  Honest, it did, that cheeky thing.  It invited all my loved ones right in, and so they went.  They made friends willingly.  And my beloved husband wept with the joy of it.

I, on the other hand, hesitated.  Slowly, oh so slowly, I began to make peace with the Au Sable.  I count Mother Nature as a very special friend, and clearly, this river was also friends with the good mother.   That was a plus for the river.  The sun seemed to be a friend as well, choosing to set nicely in front of our new property most evenings, causing the ripples of the water to dance on the leaves of the birch trees.  What a temptress. 

I discovered kayaks.  These mighty little vessels bring one close to the river’s many qualities.  Hours can fly by as one flows down the river.  The journey provides a true close-up view of the nooks and crannies carved out by the constant flow of water, along with the wildlife that enjoys all those special spaces.

A massive load of logs arrived recently.  They are fancy housing for the trout, and a wonderful reuse of the awesome trees of the forest.  I imagine creating little islands of nature among them.  The beavers had a similar idea and have created a castle worthy of royalty.  Sadly, they keep adding more rooms and snitch our chatty aspens when we are not looking.

Over time, I was lured into the river for a fishing jaunt.  So I put on the funny rubber pants, which look so much better on my husband than on me.  I put on the little vest my husband purchased for me in his desperate attempt to get me to play nicely with the river.  I picked out my own favorite flies, selecting them based on the creativity of their name, not their functionality of landing fish, much to the embarrassment of my husband in front of all the fisher dudes.  And I defied my husband’s best instructions on how to fish.  I knew how to fish.  My little lake had taught me a few things!  And darned if the river didn’t offer me a fish for my efforts.  How I laughed.  And the river chuckled with me – in a good way. 

A charming temptress, the Au Sable. 

The years have passed.  I have settled into our little river house along the Au Sable.  I imagine writing my novels here.  My children imagine their mother in her later years, a novelist, inspired by northern woods and naughty rivers, strolling along the banks of the river, with dear Mother Nature at my side.  I have made my peace with the Au Sable.  I know that my husband will always be smitten, and I am at peace with that as well. 

And so, it’s a stranger no longer, this river.  Rather, it’s a kindred spirit with plenty of attitude, just the way I like my kindred spirits.  Just don’t tell my husband that I am smitten in my own special way. 

River Murmurings                                                                                               

“…And then all the noise. All the noise, noise, noise, NOISE! They'll bang on tong-tinglers, blow their foo-flounders, they'll crash on jang-jinglers, and bounce on boing-bounders!”

--The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, Dr. Seuss

 With great respect to Dr. Seuss, who in my humble view successfully explained everything important in life, this column is not about Christmas.  It is about noise.  What does that have to do with matters pertinent to the Anglers of the Au Sable?  Let me elaborate.

Now that the windows are wide open at our river house, and my camp rocking chair has opened for business on the dock, the joyous choir of Mother Nature and the Au Sable has burst forward in joyous harmony. Long before this morning-averse nature lover is even pondering the incomprehensible concept of waking up, our northern birds are singing their little hearts out, punctuated on occasion with the unique call of the loon and the red squirrel.  And as we know, the choir carries on all day long, until the sun sets over the river, signaling the end of another great day in northern Michigan.

A couple of musical acts – both as different as the day is long -- deserve additional critique.

We will commence with the geese, a highly vocal crew who I find simply fascinating.  Now this is a major shift for me; my experience with geese rests with my parents who live on a small lake, which apparently is prime goose real estate.  For years, a battle of epic proportions took place during the warm weather days, to see who would rule the front yard.  Think a goose version of “Game of Thrones.”  My parents purchased all sorts of advanced weaponry to persuade the geese to roost elsewhere; their grandkids innocently thought they were toys for their entertainment.  We would all help the cause when we visited and we have darn good video of those clashes.  After many years, a delicate peace rests with all of the parties.  One goose couple has been allowed to nest at the farthest point away from the house.  And it helps that the neighbor’s dog continues the skirmish.

So it has been amazing for me to watch the social dynamics of the river geese, a decidedly different goose population that those duking it out with my folks.  My favorite goose musical is a version of “West Side Story” where the different “gangs” demonstrate their goose muscle through river dances and songs.  And that’s when the “noise, noise, noise” ensues – these actors can really belt out the notes – the word cacophony comes to mind.  Representatives from each gang come together in the middle of the river, flap their wings and squawk at each other.  They then retreat back to their home bases, and another group take up the dance.  Once this set of military exercises is complete, they feed, with soft white butts in air, then undertake an elaborate cleansing process where they communicate with an amazing array of sounds.  The picture below depicts one of the goose squads, before the war games commenced one lovely Sunday morning.

Further, the geese announce their presence each morning with great authority. I have no idea where they go every night for their “goosely” slumber, but they return trumpeting and triumphant early each day, culminating in a large splash as they execute their precise landings in the river.  Somehow, this rude interruption of my sleep patterns doesn’t irritate me as much as a similar set of sounds when my husband is snoring. 

 On to our second musical act -- one that produces a far more delicate melody, a river lullaby perhaps.  The members of this choir are many and I will try to do them justice.  Let’s start with the wind stirring up the aspens, the percussion perhaps?  This amazing set of sounds is so special that I’ve actually tried to find a CD of aspens in the wind. 

Our aspen musicians have a diverse range, from the most gentle of whispers to wild outpouring of background music.  The wind and the aspens join the songbirds to provide the orchestral accompaniment for a variety of solo acts, all magically choreographed to blend what should be discordant sounds into perfect harmony:   The low, deep voices of anglers floating in a McKenzie or Au Sable river boat, comparing notes on what flies seem to be tempting the trout.  The sweet sound of children looking for some sort of treasure at the river’s edge.  The heavy breath of a single canoeist paddling upstream.  The splash of kayaks heading downstream, along with an occasional peal of laughter.  The deep boom of thunder, reverberating down the river.  The delicate sound of flapping wings of a heron or an eagle above. The dance of wind chimes – the wind’s triangle in the percussion section.

These river murmurings are magnified by the Au Sable itself – nature’s high-quality sound system.  Noise, noise, noise indeed, but oh, what magical noise.  Back to our friend the Grinch:  “And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say - that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day.”

 That would suggest that all of us lucky enough to spend time with the magical Au Sable have mighty big hearts.  Enjoy the music; it’s free of charge.