Trout Whisperer - Reflections…

Just after the ice would go out in the spring, he became a boreal forest beach comber and he wasn’t one to pick up just anything, no, he wanted very specific pieces of driftwood, and some of his favorite finds were wind blown beaver chews from last fall.
They had all the bark off, most of them were easy to tuck in his over the shoulder Duluth pack and when he would get home from his morning’s forays, he would stack what he found in the crook of a garden shed. It was kinda amazing how many red and white bobbers he piled up as well.
September eventually came round and then on a quiet evening he would construct a raft, sometimes it would be six foot square, once it was over eight feet long and four feet wide but later in life he built them smaller, and the summers driftwood collection would be piled at least four feet tall.
The raft was stuffed with pine cones, birch bark shreds, and even some dried grasses. They were always fun to see.
Invitations were quick, just a ring or two on the tele and neighbors knew, that evening was a night not to miss.
No wind, a soft sunset, cooler air was a must, and then he would get in a small skiff all by himself, while everyone else lawn chaired themselves on the beach as he rowed out, then he would set the raft on fire, row back to shore and the flames went up, the wood burned gently sending the most remarkable reflections shimmering on the water.
~ The trout whisperer