By Mitch Lee
As a boy hunting the woods around my Limekiln Lake home, I became fully immersed in the sport and adopted a complete man vs. nature outlook.
There was no thinking of homework or afterschool chores…just a total focus on the woods.
Hunting was a primal, natural pursuit that provided nourishment for my soul.
Hunting was unique for me. I enjoyed outdoor adventures every day of my childhood…
Catching pollywogs and crayfish in local streams, running through the woods with my brother and bouncing down the steep hillsides buried deep in fallen leaves, loosening small branches from the striped maple on the Inlet school grounds to make homemade bows and observe the grace of an arrow in flight.
It was never about slaying an animal; it was about understanding nature.
Hunting for me was catching any sort of animal, and not always—if ever—for a kill.
And in early June of 1978 it was all about pollywogs.
At the time it seemed that every small and large pool of water was teaming with millions of black pollywogs.
I searched the entire forest surrounding my home for the largest pollywogs that would produce the largest frogs.
I wanted to catch 50 or so of the largest ones and bring them home to put in the small pond we backed up in the stream on our lawn.
My brother kept some goldfish barricaded carefully with wire screen that allowed the water to continually trickle through.
I thought it would make a great brood pond for some big bullfrogs.
I had made several scouting missions over the past weeks and it was finally a great day to go and harvest the wogs.
My dog Mutt was of no great help in collecting these creatures but was my constant companion every time I ventured near one of those pools.
My job was to spot them, scoop them up, and plunk them into my minnow bucket before Mutt plopped in the water and stirred up the bottom.
Mutt and I ventured to the swamp at the far end of the sand road.
I peeled off my sneakers and slowly waded into the stinky, black slimey-bottomed water.
The hoards of Blackflies were so thick I could hardly see the water.
Mutt found a particularly mucky spot and bellied in. Her white fur turned a dark sticky black.
I hunted down 60 of the largest pollywogs I could find. I did not want to quit but had to retreat as one of my eyes was swelling shut from the bug bites.
We trotted up the road trying to stay a bit ahead of the swarm that was following us.
This successful day of hunting was capped off by dumping my captive critters into the goldfish pond.
We hoped they would not become an immediate meal of their new roommates.
Mutt and I watched them swim about in their new home for a few moments, but the bugs soon drove us inside.
For the next few weeks, checking on our new pets was a part of our daily routine.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com