I Smell Like a Rose

Call it Karma, good fortune, luck, whatever. I tend to have it. My friends say I could fall into a manure pit and a guiding hand would pull me up, wipe me off and vaccinate me. Some good people are usually involved in my fortuitous destiny.

Case in point. During deer season in Munising this year, an early winter storm dumped a foot of snow and 50 mph winds whipped it ruthlessly into drifts. Being the adventurous type, I was determined to make it to my deer blind over three miles of two-track road. I got stuck.

Now I am sitting there at 6 a.m. in the middle of a tag alder thicket thinking no tow truck will come to my rescue and no way the driver can find me anyway and I'll have to leave the truck until spring and what the hell was I thinking I'm stranded on Federal land.

I know there is only one house bordering that Federal forest and no others closer than five miles. I do not know if the owners are year-round residents. I waited until a little after 7 and set off to slog through knee-deep snow.

Now this is where the situation is darkest, dire straights so to speak, the bottom of the empty well pit. I am going to borrow a phone to call my hunting "friends" who will use my situation for their amusement -- the entire trip.

But as I walked, trudged and plodded through the white dream-like forest, I began to believe there was a benefit to my predicament. The silence was calming, the chill refreshing. Except for the exertion, I imagined Yoga would create a similar state of tranquility.

There were a couple of cars and trucks on the private property unmoved since the snow fell, but they looked like they had moved recently. A lady answered my knock on the door of the log home with a big smile and an invitation to come on in. I could have been a thief, a beggar, a rich man, no difference. She greeted me like a fresh house guest, offered coffee and water and a place to sit, never mind the snowy boots. "We track it in all the time."

Her husband was still in bed after celebrating all night long having harvested his deer the day before. But she dragged him out of bed to help me with my situation. It took him awhile to get moving. I met his father visiting from Texas, learned that the couple recently retired from the Army, and got acquainted with their Chocolate Lab.

When the husband came down, he informed me work of any kind does not start without breakfast. His wife already had bacon fried, broke seven eggs in the grease and toasted homemade bread. Over a delicious meal we discussed the Iraq War -- he was a veteran of Desert Storm and the current conflict -- talked hunting and traded fishing spots.

After installing a plow on his four-wheel-drive truck so he could plow out his neighbors, he and his Dad pulled me out of my snowbank and plowed a path out to the main road.

Before I went on my way, I complimented his Dad on raising a good man and called them the "Salt of the Earth." He said not to tell anyone. Sorry but I'm telling everyone the story without using their names since I don't know how they would feel about having a World Wide Reputation.

That's the UP. Good People.

Snow What?

There is nothing like a trip to Michigan's Upper Peninsula to gently nudge you into the next season. Of course, sometimes it kicks you in the seat of the pants and buries you up to your back pockets in the impending weather patterns.

All week long I sweated 60-degree sunshine in Alma. Sunday, I woke up in the Superior Motel to two inches of snow. By the time I ate breakfast and hit the road, there was six inches of heavy wet white stuff blanketing the forest.

A week ago I was fishing Saginaw Bay without long johns. Sunday I was fishtailing down Doe Lake Road. I got to see the first idiots of the winter along M-28, who couldn't keep it BETWEEN the ditches. The ditches this time of year haven't had time to freeze; still mud.

Nice guy that I am, I stopped and offered cellphone assistance. Actually, I just wanted to gloat once I was assured everyone was alright.

The conversation with the guy in the new Caddy went like this:

"Everyone OK?" "Yeaaah." "Did that little OnStar woman call ya when you started that slide or after you hit the ditch?" He rolled his window up.

For me snow is a good thing. It's like rain, but you don't get as wet if you get caught in it. It's a grand renewal. It hides the dirty brown left over from fall and provides an insulating blanket for spring's perennial growth. Deer hunters dream of a good "tracking snow."

I remember as a young kid, I danced and caught snowflakes on my tongue. Nooo, that was when I was drinking. We came out of the Swiss Inn in Lake George one night before opening day to one inch of snow. We all pulled out our guns and seeded the cloud cover for a couple more inches.

I don't know if the snow will stay for the opener next week, but I don't care. I scoped out my spot and there are three scrapes and a nice rub within forty yards of my ground blind.

Here's wishing the hunters luck and maybe a nice dusting of tracking snow.