The power flickered, and a flash of lightning lit the darkness. The western window reveals dark clouds to the south, a pattering of rain adding a sheen to the now darkening coats of the whitetail in the field. I hear Aurora stirring, time to give her a front row seat to greet the storm. She takes two full handfuls of my robe as I greet her in her crib. Yes, I write in a robe, enjoy that image forevermore. The deer rejoice and frolic in the cool rain after the humid air is split by the approaching burst of winds.

Quiet again, Aurora’s bottle is empty and the storm subsides. The deer lie down in the wet grass, and their babies lazily pick at the cherries beneath the trees. Acorns fall from the tall oaks and sound as big as walnuts in the silence. Gold finches squeak overhead in large groups, merging into their traveling troupes for the long haul. The abundant Red-headed Woodpeckers squabble over branches and bugs, and the Ruby-throated Hummingbirds quarrel despite what must be a gallon of sweet water I make them. Never can have enough, I suppose.

The sun is higher now, red-turned-golden in the trees. Black Walnut leaflets rain down from their spires the first week of September to match the golden sunrise. I hear the first commuter rambling down the gravel road out front. No owls sing today.

Well after seven, the baby is fed, the sun is well into the canopy. The stone wall out back is now painted by golden rays. There is work to be done on this fine Wednesday in September. Morgan wakes next - It's finally time for me to drink some coffee.

A day in the life.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

I return to a stash of images I captured over Father’s Day on the Bay, when Aurora had a few more spots on her coat. Her sunglasses barely fit on her face here, pictured in the arms of her Gaga. She has since filled out quite a bit, with those same sunglasses now barely fitting her face in the other direction, they are now too small!

We were treated with the quintessential sunrise and sunsets that only the eastern facing shore can offer, far before the humidity and haziness of summer set in. If I am not out fishing, then I am on the porch watching the shipping vessels go by on their slow march to port

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Turning my lens towards the west reveals the mainland, and the neighboring wildlife preserve that has offered me many subjects over the years. This week’s subjects are the typical visitors: the Great Blue Heron, standing over the jetty in search of lunch, and the reluctant Canada Goose preferring to keep the heron at wing’s length.

The sun began to fall for the evening when I noticed movement on the shore of the preserve. Far beyond in the tidal basin resided dozens of ducks foraging in the last of the light, but on my side of the tall reeds were three adolescent red foxes. The foxes’ night was just beginning, as the flock of ducks resigned to their nightly float.

I woke up and read the fishing report, and the Spanish Mackerel have made their way up to our neck of the bay. My dad and I have had some of the most fun on the water over the years targeting these fish, and made some of the best fish tacos as our reward. I hope to return in the coming weeks to have a crack at them, but time is of the essence. As I write this, he is behind the wheel heading down to chase a few himself. Jealous! You guys will be the first to know if I get that chance - until then I am dreaming of deer season

That’s all for this week folks, Thank you as always for reading!

Patrick Murphy II

From that same porch we observe quite a bit of wildlife at the foot of Blue Ridge Mountains. The many trees around our farm are laden in fruit and acorns, providing forage for a robust herd of Whitetail deer. I counted about 16 last night as we sat, and that was just the back of the house! Among that herd are five fawns, born in the spring of 2026 among what used to be knee high grass. My wife and I have watched them gain stability on their gangly legs, fill out, and already begin to lose their spots as they enter adolescence. Nature’s balancing act of forage, shelter, and water seems to be in perfect harmony among these foothills.

Among that same herd live a handful of adolescent male Whitetail, entering their second and third year and climbing up the hierarchical totem pole. I find August to be the best time to get to know the males, as their velvety antlers have just about reached their pinnacle before mating season starts. They cruise along with their ladies without an ounce of aggression, often hanging back while the rest of the Does munch clover along the fence line. The males remain fearless in the warm heat of summer, which makes for excellent observation. Soon enough, when that first cold wind blows over the ridge line, their male counterparts will gain a grudge with one another and break up their bachelor groups for mating season. Until then, I’ll be enjoying the soft glow of the evening sun reflecting off of their velvety antlers beyond the firepit.

The images today reflect some of the sights you might see from that same porch I described above. Mama Whitetail watching over her babies has been there just about every single day. We are lucky people to have such a sight come right to our back door.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

In case you missed it - over the past few weeks, I have presented a few images that I collected over the Murphy family beach vacation 2026. We took a chance on a house on the shores of the Pamlico sound after many years on the ocean side, and the sunsets never disappoint. The body of water is vibrant with life, most easily visible when the sun is low in the sky. Species of fish and rays break the surface - disturbing the expanse of golden water stretching toward the evening sun.

The final 30 minutes of every day make for quite a scene, with the sun disappearing more swiftly as it gets closer to the horizon. Late in the week on an especially still evening, I dedicated a night on the deck to firing long exposure shots as the sun plunged beyond the mainland into the blue of night.

The photos today are displayed in order, shot between 7:30 and 9:00pm EST. Anyone who has visited knows how much the skies, clouds, and colors can change - so I did my best to show just how dynamic the colors can be in such a short time frame. I documented these as my exposure lowered, on a tripod, in 15-30 second exposures respectively. for those that may not know, I shoot with a Canon r6mkII 28-70mm lens for landscape and portrait.

To put it simply, as the photos progress into further darkness the water softens, this is an artifact of extending the exposure to my sensor. Movement in the image is softened as one single image absorbs more information the longer the sensor is open. This causes an effect that makes the surface look smoother, even though light winds and current disturb the surface. It may not look like it, but during each shot there were fish jumping and waves crashing. A little bit of camera magic creates the illusion of smooth, glass like surfaces on the water. Normally the foreground would be completely black if exposed for the setting sun, but the shadows were lifted in post- creating the balanced lighting you see here.

That is all for this week, folks! I hope you enjoyed a brief insight into creating such an image with waning light, as well as the final result.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

The Miss Hatteras is a 75 foot head boat operating out of Oden’s Dock in the town of Hatteras, North Carolina. A short drive down from Buxton where we were staying, the charter offers 40 people an opportunity to toss lines into the Atlantic in search of many species of fish. The benefit to large group charters such as this is that they offer access to many anglers for significantly less than a private charter, while still giving each angler the opportunity to keep what they catch. This arrangement is an excellent introduction to children and new anglers to see what the fuss is all about with fishing - without breaking the bank. World class fishing can be found south of the Buxton bend, even just one mile off shore.

On this day, we were targeting Black Sea Bass, Red Snapper, and Grouper just outside of the Hatteras Inlet. The infamous shoals of the Pamlico sound make for an interesting run out to the open ocean, where we would set up over old shipwrecks and artificial reefs. Standing in the marina, one might think to themselves that the ocean is just a couple hundred yards away. In reality, a boat of this size takes on too much water to sail straight out, and instead has to navigate a labyrinth of channels deep enough to avoid hitting bottom, much like the local commuter ferry. This is why you see so many skiff style, flat bottom or twin-vee boats in the Carolinas. The Carolina Skiff is purpose built to skate over these extremely shallow shoals by taking on mere inches of water beneath the hull. So if you look at a map as the crow flies, we only went a mile or so off shore, but it takes almost an hour to get there due to the maze of channels. Once we arrived, the method of take was bottom fishing - where the angler would drop a weighted line straight to the bottom, and bounce their bait along the ocean floor using tension in their lines.

The Miss Hatteras on this day was run by Captain KP Scott, and under him were two mates - mate Matty was on our half of the boat. From bow to stern, the boat is split into two groups of up to 20, serviced by one mate on each half and the captain looking down from the top deck. We anglers are set up with bottom rigs containing two hooks over a 10 ounce weight - the bait of choice is cut squid. This set-up is a low maintenance, easy casting method that does two things: it keeps people from hooking the person next to them, and makes for multiple opportunities at catching fish on one line. Right out of the gate my nephew, Trey, showcased the potential of two hooks by doubling up on his first ever Black Sea Bass. Too small to keep was hardly a problem for this boy as he claimed his first double. Capt. KP gave special attention to the first timer, ensuring that his fishing memories were that much sweeter. Morgan yanked one up next, and the party had officially started as everyone else's lines quickly became taught in a school of sea bass.

One hour out to sea, we fished for about 45 minutes before the winds of fate blew a new course. Once at sea, the wind halted to complete stillness and the ocean became a sauna. The clarity of the water was quite something, each drop of the line you could see the weight sink almost all the way to the bottom at 70 ft depth. But when that wind stopped, our luck changed. A passenger on the boat began to have a medical emergency due to the extreme heat - forcing the captain’s hand. The bullhorn sounded, and signaled to the anglers to pull their lines in. The one hour ride out quickly became a one hour ride back into the dock as the paramedics were alerted to his condition.

On a half day (four hour) trip to introduce the kids and newbies to some fishing, setting aside 3 of those hours to transit quickly diminished our odds of success - but by no means did it muddy our family memories. In the short 45 minutes of fishing, we must have all hooked at least 3 sea bass each. No keepers to take home to the fish fry, but these photos will stick with the kiddos for years to come. To the captain’s credit, after ensuring the safety of the passenger, he turned right around and salvaged the remaining 45 minutes of our morning on the sound side just outside the dock. In my mind, the commitment to the remaining paying customers was commendable despite the frustrating loss of time.

That’s it for this week folks! If you are keeping count, the Murphys have come home empty handed on their last two fishing outings. I plan on breaking that cold streak, as we have plenty of summer left to see.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

Buxton has been put on the national map as of late due to the viral videos of houses collapsing into the ocean due to shoreline recession. The thin ribbon of sand that we call barrier islands is ever changing. Passing storms, large surf, strong currents, and punishing winds push and pull at the island’s footprint year after year, causing the sand beneath our feet to resemble a living, breathing thing. Observing the unique ecosystem from year to year makes for quite a perspective, and only with the passage of time can you truly digest the fragility of it all.

The biggest change for our family this year was that the house we chose was on the sound side, facing west toward the Pamlico Sound. Similar to the Chesapeake, it is a brackish water estuary - meaning freshwater flows in from the mainland, while saltwater flows in from the mouth of the Atlantic. The depth is shallow and treacherous to boaters, but the sea life is bustling and vibrant.

Being on the western facing coastline over calm water means that the sunset would play out at center stage for us every night. Every other year of my life we witnessed the sunrise over coffee, while saying to ourselves “Man, I bet the sunset tonight is going to be something else.” This was the year I finally got to see it.

I took a few separate images, some with differing techniques I have picked up along the way. Traditional landscapes, long exposure, and Intention Camera Movement (ICM) are the tools of the evening. I hope you enjoy the results!

My family got into some other adventures over the week, but I will save them for the time being and leave you dreaming of a cocktail beneath the Buxton sun.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

For over 30 years, our family has converged along the shores of the Outer Banks - and this year is no different. Although we found ourselves on the Pamlico Sound this time around - photos today come straight from the dock of our sound side abode. Calm seas and sunny skies blessed us this year, quite the contrary from our previous week in Corolla, which you loyal readers may remember. Duck blinds pock the horizon below the sunset, and wind has relented enough for the water to resemble a lake. Life is good out on the island.

I’ll keep it brief this week since we are halfway through, but sandy toes and tight fishing lines are on the horizon.

I hope you enjoy the images I gave a quick edit, and if you follow my on instagram (@flintlock.photo) you may have seen the video clips straight from the sky. Until then, I am out of office

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I’ll talk to you next week, thanks as always for reading.

- Patrick Murphy II

Morgan, Patrick Sr., and I met the charter captain beneath the Solomons Island Bridge at the public dock and boat ramp. The charter was a new one for us, Captain Travis of Schooled Up charters manned the helm and his son Nick served as mate for the three of us. Father-son teams are always great to watch, there is no BS on deck and you will always know exactly where you stand - literally and figuratively. This boat is only so big, and casting next to 5 people can end up in a snag if you don’t look over your shoulder first.

We set out with the goal of “live lining,” a technique where one uses smaller living fish to lure and catch larger fish. In this case, local knowledge of the food chain goes a long way, and a fish called Spot is a delectable treat for the highly sought after Striped Bass. This means that in order to catch the Striper, one must put in the work hauling in a few Spot to throw their way. In short, the math is simple. Big fish eat smaller fish, and no plastic bait can out perform the real thing.

The trade off to live lining is you have to use precious time catching the spot before executing the search for large fish you really came for. Once acquired, the odds of you catching a fish are much higher, but you have less time to do it. Our first attempts at wrangling some fish food were thwarted by a school of Croaker that must have been 100 yards long. Every time one of us dropped our line, we came up with a croaker, and unfortunately those wont do as bait. Occasionally the Croakers were broken up by the Oyster Toad, which might be the ugliest fish I have ever seen. I failed to get a photo of one, so I will add someone else’s for reference. We swatted Croaker off of our lines for well over 2 hours before we finally got out first spot in the bucket. I will never complain about catching fish, and between the three of us we must have caught 25, but my gosh that was A LOT of Croaker.

We ended up with about 10 Spot in the bucket and about an hour left on our clock. We had a decision to make. Stay in the Patuxent, elbow to elbow with the father’s day crowd, or make a run for it knowing we may only have a few minutes at the new spot before our time is up. We chose to run north toward Calvert Cliffs, a popular State Park famed for their shark teeth and fossil gathering. We pointed out bow toward Cove Point and the rest was history.

Upon our arrival, there was only one other boat, and he had lines in the water so fast it would make your head spin. Within seconds, we were hooked up. Morgan fought the first fish, and before she could reel it in I was on the second fish. Dad came up quickly with the third, and all three rods were whistling. The sound of a fish tugging through the drag is a sound that will put a smile on any angler’s face - but when a chorus of lines sing, it is nothing short of heavenly. I stood to the right of the mate, Nick, with the net ready, and as he scooped up the fish a second one came in on its tail. He scooped and barely missed a double opportunity, that was a first for me!

These fish were playing ball! We arrived at the top of the ninth, and there were 2 outs as 11:30am arrived. During the frenzy, we brought 5 Stripers on board, but to our dismay none were legal. Some of you readers may know from previous posts that Striped Bass are some of the most heavily regulated fish in the Bay. An angler can only keep one between 19”- 24” inches, or what folks refer to as “the slot.” Every fish we caught was closer to 30” which were HUGE, but unfortunately illegal to keep. Fish too big is a strange problem to have, but very fun nonetheless.

Rods were pulled in and we began the run back to the boat ramp around noon, ending our half day on the water. We were treated to the beginnings of an air show at the Patuxent air field, with the Blue Angels arriving later that day due to the 250th anniversary of the USA. A C-130 cleared the airspace above and the coast guard did their rounds. Nothing cooler than seeing engineering like that in action, up close and personal.

As far as my first Father’s Day, not sure I could have spent it any other way. Perfect weather on the Bay, my wife the fishing demon at my side, and my Dad - the one who gave me the fishing bug in the first place pulling in the best fish in the water. Hard to top that.

That’s it for this week folks, glad to be back to my regularly scheduled writing.

Thanks as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

Starting off with the birds above, in this case the Red-winged Blackbird and its unmistakable song. The toot of a flute, followed by the rasp of a reed, and you know it’s the one. These jet black birds can be seen at this time of year darting between tall wildflowers and waterside shrubs. They perch periodically, scouting for the newly hatched insects to rise forth from their muddy thickets. Once exposed, their tiny wings don’t stand a chance compared to the eight inch tall bird. I stood listening to the raspy calls emerging from the brush as three or four at a time launched themselves into the open air above the water, plucking bugs from their short lived lives to sustain themselves, as well as their concealed young.

In between salvos of the blackbirds making their claims, a familiar migrating bird emerged from over the distant treeline. The Double-crested Cormorant is the perfect link for this story. It flies from pond to pond, but sustains itself beneath the surface. Swooping in low and fast, it makes a dramatic stop as it skids across the surface of the pond resembling a sea plane. Its buoyancy keeps its shoulders low in the water, making it seem as if it might sink. Though when you see the Cormorant’s next trick - its seemingly low buoyancy makes much more sense. This bird feeds on aquatic life, and swims arguably better than it flies. Finding fish in this pond took a mere moment, after one short dive our subject emerged with a juvenile Crappie (or Blue Gill to some). I’m sure even the Cormorant pictured would tell you it usually isn’t that easy.

While watching the aquatic shorebird dance beneath the waves, a mammalian subject drifted slowly into frame. I spotted only the nose at first, but shortly after some rustling along the shore. I was so excited, because if you recall, the winter time had revealed a local otter in the mix. Unfortunately, this was not the case - this was more stout and much less adept at swimming compared to the playful otter. At this point the Park Ranger pulled up and saw the subject as well, which prompted a radio call - and a shake of her head. Hmmm…what could have the ranger so concerned as to radio in? I didn’t see the flat tail of a Beaver, so what could it be? And then it hit me.

As a frequenter of the Chesapeake Bay I am all too familiar with the plague that is a nutria. It is a large rodent resembling a musk rat, is non-native, and can to quite a number on the local flora and shorelines. If the ranger saw it, I can see why they would want to get out ahead of a potentially nesting Nutria.

Since these photos, I also partook in a nighttime experiment that some of you may have seen on my Instagram story. I keep an eye on a few accounts that keep an eye on the night skies as I take my first baby steps into astrophotography. One of them had posted that a coronal mass ejection had occurred, sending energy toward the earth's atmosphere. This phenomenon is the most common way that we on earth witness the Northern Lights, or Aurora Borealis. I set up my rudimentary “Northern Lights” insta360 kit that I have stashed for a rainy day, and sat it out overnight in an attempt to capture it. A camera I normally use for 3D walk-throughs on real estate listings is equally capable of capturing celestial phenomena. Pretty cool, huh?

The mechanism is quite simple. The camera is set like any other star photo, exposed for darkness with very long exposures to allow as much light from the stars in as possible. The unique aspect of this camera is that it shoots in 360 degrees, that is to say, a sphere around the camera. Imagine walking down the road in google street view. The camera captures all around you, and the user can then choose what to frame for the image later, ensuring you don’t miss a thing. If I connect that spherical lens to a battery, it can take images all night long. It might take something like 1000 photos, which I can later layer into one “moving” image. For the layman who may not be aware, this is the concept of a film camera. Single images running consecutively at a fast enough speed resemble a moving image. In this case, software layers all 1000 images consecutively based on capture time. My, how technology has evolved since “Talkies.” It’s a beautiful thing.

Sadly, the clouds did not cooperate with my goals of capturing the Aurora - but the lightning bugs certainly did. I’ll take that consolation prize every time.

That’s it for this week folks, I hope to get out and capture the stars again soon now that the Summer is at our doorstep. A trip to the Bay is on my horizon, as well as a trip to the Outer Banks - and you know my camera will join me.

Thank you as always for reading -

Patrick Murphy II

The Red-winged Blackbirds shrill call hit my ears before the water's surface reached my eyes. Underneath their song at a lighter tone twinkled the Tree Swallows, carving the air with their wings as they gathered hatching bugs over the pond’s still surface. I stood still and observed their darting and twirling, when I noticed the pond’s stillness disturb just off the far bank. At the epicenter of the ripples arose the snout of a mystery critter. Was it the Otter from the winter? Or perhaps a new resident? Time will tell, as he is well over 100 yards away.

My attention turned to the shrubs behind me, when I spotted this Red Admiral butterfly had just landed. The feller was kind enough to even open his wings for me long enough for a portrait. After quite a long pause, he proceeded with his butterfly to-do list, and a small flash of yellow arose behind him. That small flash of yellow turned out to be a new lifer for me when it comes to photography. I have seen and heard the Yellow Warbler before, but never with the old Canon in hand. Add this one to the list, gang!

All this in about 30 minutes, the sun was getting high and my day had to keep rolling. I stuffed my camera in the car, and ran the 5K offered by the awesome trail system laid out through the State Park. Along the way I spotted all the new Whitetail, a big Tom turkey, and baby Cottontails the size of cotton balls dart into cover as I approached. To them, the now thick grasses are as high as skyscrapers, and offer the cover of a fortress in such a vulnerable time. The males are chewed up, scraped, and lean from their mating time, as you can see in the photo provided. Take a closer look at his ears and you will know he is no pushover when it comes to his lady.

Behind the scenes my wife and I are spinning many plates and have welcomed many positive changes between our personal lives. Much to be excited for on the horizon for us Murphy’s, all while juggling whatever life throws our way. I will document as the fun arrives!

That’s it for this week folks, get outside and watch the earth awaken one day at a time. I can’t believe it’s already June! Almost half the year behind us, and nothing but sunshine ahead.

Thank you as always for reading -

Patrick Murphy II

I was on a final walk through the spring woods one evening with my family last week, trying to do a little scouting on the ground for my last ditch turkey effort. My wife and I carried our baby through the woods on a cool evening listening to the birds above sounding off their evening roll call. A cool breeze caressed our face and the waning sun navigated the branches at a horizontal angle from our left side, painting the hillside in streaks of deep orange. You may remember my photos from last week of the sprouting Mountain Laurel we found on the trail side. IT was so peaceful as to warrant silence from everyone present, including Aurora. So far she seems to be a bigger fan than even I of birdsong, she has a tendency to go limp from sleep quickly during our evening walks in the woods.

The only sound competing with the local Hermit Thrush was the click of my camera sensor, which ate nicely on the Laurel bathing in the evening light. Taking a break from snapping, I looked around for other subjects, when I noticed a rustling beneath the laurel. I looked down to find a freshly hatched Rat Snake silently parting the carpet of leaves remaining from last fall. I watched him noodle through the twigs and foliage, and couldn’t quite get a shot - until he turned around and faced me directly at about five meters. His camouflage under those conditions made it impossible to find him with my bulky 100-500mm, but his white belly soon betrayed him. Here is the shot I came away with.

As for the Turkey Report, I come to you bearing bad news. For the first time since I bought my first license, I put up a big goose egg on the scoreboard for spring 2026, and will be eating Tag Soup next Thanksgiving. The mighty bird bested me this year, but I can certainly say I learned a lot, and spent a lot of time in some of the most beautiful hunting conditions I have ever enjoyed. I spread my efforts over two separate public land hunts on some of Virginia’s largest WMA’s, and spent several mornings watching the world come alive over Virginia’s Piedmont. Central Virginia was full of birds willing to play ball, but I only had one day to make it count. Loudoun and the Northwest of the state were the quietest I had ever experienced, as I only heard one gobble on opening day before Old Tom shut the party down. While I left empty handed, I must say I feel fulfilled. A bad day hunting Virginia is a great day hiking in pristine weather during the most beautiful time of year to be in the woods. There is always next year!

Unfortunately, this week I also have some bad news to share. My loyal companion since 2015, Jetty, has joined my other pets on the other side of The Rainbow Bridge. Monday I received the call - and it still does not feel real after all the memories we built together. When I got the news, I visited my parents house where she lived, and spent the afternoon reminiscing, and continued to catch her shadow out of the corner of my eye. I know many of my followers are personal friends and family, so I wanted to share the news directly today. I intend to revisit this with a proper Wilderness Wednesday dedicated to her memory, but I have barely had time to process it myself in just two days. I appreciate the kind words, and I invite you to share any memories of her you may have with me in the comments - I will make sure to leave them open on Substack this week as well should you feel moved to join in. It’s gonna be a big hole to fill for that good ol’ girl, and I hope to see her again someday when my time comes.

That’s it for this week folks, I’ll see you next week. Thanks as always for reading!

- Patrick Murphy II

In between parental and professional obligations, my wife and I have become quite adept at carving out time for our family of three. Lucky for us, Aurora tends toward our same hobbies so far (as if she has a choice) and is always up for anything. Two things we have noticed when it comes to her temperament are her love for a car engine, and her love for birdsong. Both will calm her immediately - the engine on my Chevy puts her to sleep while the birds she listens to for minutes at a time. I wonder where she gets that from?

Since last Wednesday, Mother’s Day has come and gone. Morgan and I planned a retreat to the local State Park, Sky Meadows, which you followers are well acquainted with by now thanks to my birding images from the same location. Our local “walk in the park” is quite a grand gem - just a casual entrance to the one and only Appalachian Trail. I never lose sight of how lucky I am that my local outing for trail running and birding is such a prize just 15 minutes away, not many people I know can say the same.

I loaded up the rucksack with snacks and my camera, and strapped Aurora to my chest. On our trail loop I resembled a pack mule rather than a father and husband, though perhaps they are one in the same under our roof when considering our hobbies. Morgan and I linked the quintessential Sky Meadows loop: Piedmont Overlook, Ambassador Whitehouse, and concluded with a return down North Ridge trail. The weather was perfect, staying notably mild until after the steep climb. Aurora was quiet as a mouse listening to the woodland birds while she entertained the frequent photo stops her mother and I took. Aurora even had a bottle with a view, how about that for royal treatment?

For those interested, the current birding at the park is sublime. Indigo Buntings perch on what seems like every other tree, between Towhee and Vireo’s of several types. Distant woodpeckers echo across ravines in such a way that gives my heart a skip. Perhaps it was a turkey I always say to Morgan, but at this point, that is almost certainly a pipe dream.

We concluded our day at Apple House just off 66, with a surprisingly subdued crowd. It is not often that you don’t have to elbow your way into a restaurant on Mother’s Day in the Piedmont, or anywhere else for that matter. But the rush never came, and we ended up having a quiet lunch over a couple of orange crushes, followed by apple cider donuts to share. Two unconventional ways to get your fruit, to be sure.

That’s about it for this week, folks. I wish I had good news to share about turkey season but alas, only three days remain and I have my work cut out for me. I hope to bring you good tidings next Wednesday! In the meantime I will share an image of this week's recent adventure, to keep you looking forward to next week.

Thank you as always for reading,

Patrick Murphy II

We suffered a prolonged cold snap since I last wrote to you about the temperature drop during my Striper fishing trip. The morning sun arrived with a chilly feel, with the only moisture from day to day being dew drops soaking my toes in the freshly cut grass, which burned off by 10AM. Luckily that story changed with a full day of much needed rain, which kicked off a feeding frenzy for the local birds as the worms rose from the saturated mud.

Rising early enough to beat the birds to their morning roost, I settled into my blind and watched the world awaken just after the local raccoons concluded their night shift. As always, the Cardinals and Wrens competed for their time in front of the camera, being less bashful than the rest. Several shots of this male and female pair flitting about the Autumn Olive turned out quite nicely if I may.

About 8:30, the gray squirrels seem to punch in, right on queue. Emerging from their hollows, they crawl the trunks and branches overhead, making a game of never touching the grass unless absolutely necessary. Only when they arrive at their destination do they carefully make their way into the tall grass. Observing them closely, they duck beneath the blades, dig for a moment, and emerge with a dry aged walnut, planted precisely where they left it last fall. Treats on demand are well and good, but treats after a long wait taste that much sweeter.

You may notice a disturbing lack of Wild Turkeys, and you would be correct. The local hens and Toms have humbled me this year to a degree even I have a hard time believing. The turkey report is looking grim with only ten days left in the season. With how quiet it’s been in the turkey woods, there is a chance that both my camera and I go without eating well this year. But, never say never! If you have been with me for Wilderness Wednesday long enough, you may recall I said just about as much last year, and yet managed to harvest a beauty on the last morning of last year's spring season. It certainly is not for lack of trying while my wife and I juggle a new baby, scouting, and early wake up calls. My sleep tracker app is giving me the business daily, but I will push through for ten more days until the fat turkey sings.

If you go back and see the images I have compiled over the last month, you may notice the canopy has filled in almost to its summer fullness. Before you know it we will all be in our flip-flops applying sun tan lotion on a local shore or dock. Drink in the last drops of spring right alongside me!

I hope you enjoy the images I have captured during my favorite season of the year. Thank you all as always for reading!

- Patrick Murphy II

Morgan and I left town Thursday afternoon to meet her cousins at the family lake house for some long overdue family time. Her brother, Greg, and his wife Lydia, just had their second daughter which we had yet to meet! So the four of us plus Morgan’s two cousins Tori and Taylor made a weekend out of the babysitting party. We had one excellent day of weather on Friday, followed by a mediocre day Saturday, and then a cold front blew across the lake on Sunday bringing the temperature down to 45. This is important later, and regardless we made serious use of the hot tub with the lake temperatures under 75.

Morgan and I have always been opposites when it comes to our sleep routine. I wake early every day to find time to exercise and watch the world wake up, and she rises as she pleases even if the sun comes knocking on her window. This has led to a beautiful synergy for feedings during our new routine as parents. Friday I woke at 3:45 to turn on the coffee pot, feed our baby girl, and then sneak off into the night clad in camouflage to try my hand at a little public land hunting in a local WMA. Oakley Wildlife Management Area is not just any WMA, but the largest Virginia has to offer at ~4,500 acres. A nature lover like me could hike all day and never see each end, and luckily I wouldn’t need to. I have been here once before to do some scouting in the spring of 2023, and that old intel set me up for some early action.

I hiked my way into a tree line I had once used as a scouting post, and at 5:30am I was greeted with the sweetest sound in the entire world, a gobbling tom turkey. Off to the races! All I had to do was wait for the sun to rise and the game was on. One gobble after another, over and over, it was music to my ears after only hearing one single lousy gobble in Loudoun so far this year. I drank it in as the sun rose over this pristine Virginia landscape on this beautiful spring day. Dew hung onto the short grass and every bird known to man sang their song as the world woke up. It was clear by 6 that I had my work cut out for me - some less than stellar hen calls came from the tree line to my left. That can only mean one thing: competing hunters. A second group soon called out. Two groups, plus myself, all chasing the same hollering Tom. Cat, cat, cat, and mouse. That’s public land in Virginia for ya.

Tom made his move and pitched down, but it was opposite me heading north. I immediately legged it to the eastern tree line and circled around with plenty of elbow room to spare so he goes about his business. By the time I had got there he was already in the trees making a run for safety beyond the boundary. Knowing the others would do the same I had to make a gamble and head him off based on where I thought he was heading. I raced across the clear cut to the northeast without a sound, and regrouped in the pines just south of the neighboring solar farm. There I let out one sexy hen call, and was returned with a VERY close gobble. I guessed right - and left the other in the dust. I had him all to myself.

Our Tom headed back my way, but paced back and forth about 100 yards away gobbling like he had no care in the world. There was something he didn’t like, because he would come no closer. I sat frozen at the base of the widest pine I could find and scratched the ground with my hands to simulate a hen foraging through the needles for bugs. 15 minutes went by in silence, and I knew the boundary was only 300 yards to the north. The next gobble I heard was almost silent, he had made a run for it. I stood up and creeped toward the boundary, and my fear was confirmed. He had entered the safety of the solar farm and my chase was finished. That game of cat and mouse lasted over 3 hours and 4 miles of hiking. I was the only other hunter that had him pegged, as the rest gave up calling and hiked the wrong way. I’ll take it as a win, because the next best thing after breasts in the freezer is a story of being bested by a discerning old Tom like him. I’ll see you next year buddy, and you wont outsmart me this time. I spent the rest of the morning walking to terrain I had never seen prior scouting for sign and looking for landmarks to inform my next trip. All in I hiked about 8 miles and familiarized myself with much of the WMA. Once I returned to the truck, I was run ragged and ready to get back to my girls with a good story to tell.

Three days before the trip, I received a text from an old buddy Justin, a fishing guide for Hemby which is a household name for sportsmen on Lake Anna. His text said one phrase: “the fish are on fire.” So after a full days rest, Sunday I woke to meet him at the Marina for a morning of fishing the spring season.

We set off at 6 sharp to a cove only about a mile away, where we dropped the planes in the water and trolled a fishy looking underwater ridge. We struck within minutes on 2 Striped Bass before the sun was even up, one of which was a keeper. We hit gold. One strike after another and his fish finder was lighting up like a christmas tree. Poles were bending so fast I wasn’t sure I would be able to keep up with the demand, and I was wishing dearly it was warm enough to have my fishing fiend of a wife by my side to share all this gold with. It was a great pallet cleanser to have a few fish in the box before sunrise after busting my rump chasing one single turkey around for 4 hours to no avail.

Though the tides of fortune quickly changed at 7am, when a local bass tournament had a shotgun start. Suddenly we were intercepted by multiple bass boats, one of which cut our lines in a very intentional manner. These lake guys only have so much water to play in, and when money is on the line, they don;;t care who is in their way. We got buzzed at 40 mph and muscled out of our honey hole, I’d never seen anything like it. Justin assured me as a previous competitor himself that this was the case, and a long narrow lake such as this is ripe for confrontation.

We picked up the planes and headed south to another spot alongside his fellow guide who had also found luck. I learned an important lesson about cold fronts that day: lakes are far more susceptible to them compared to my home turf of the Chesapeake Bay. Between 6am and 8am the water temperature had dropped from 74 to 70.1 degrees. It may not seem like much, but to a fish it is enough to stop the party altogether. Below, the fishfinder was showing me more fish than I had ever seen. I am talking about thousands schooled up in the channel. But try as we might, they were no longer in the mood to eat thanks to the drastic temperature swing. We were practically hitting them in the face with live bait to no avail. The difference two hours can make!

Justin and I spent the rest of the morning catching up and talking turkey, deer, shooting sports, and family. All in all we pulled in 9 Striper, 4 of which came home with me. For the uninitiated, that’s 8 fillets and many happy mouths to feed. I have some photos of my prize, alongside my beautiful wife and my precious baby girl just before I cleaned them for the crowd.

Though I am looking at another year without the bird I love giving me the time of day, I did manage to add some fish to the freezer, make a few memories in the woods, and share them with family. In the end that is was the sportsman’s life is all about.

Thank you as always for reading!

Patrick Murphy II

For a few hours before work, schedule permitting, I sneak into the woods with my camera in my backpack along with a snack and my turkey calls. The season is a short one after all, so I gotta squeeze every drop of juice out while I can. In that time I have heard the Common Yellowthroat’s call as it has moved back to its warm weather home, alongside several Vireo types. Every morning at 6:40am two Canada Geese fly overhead like clockwork, honking their horns en route to their daytime feed stop. And just after they finish their tune, the percussion of the surrounding development fills my ears along with the hum of the morning commute underway. It’s easy to feel like the walls are closing in on this little slice of heaven I sit on when roofers, builders, and chainsaws undo the silence I have desperately sought after. Add on the fact that I haven't heard but one single Gobble this season, and it can leave a feller feeling morose.

Lucky for me, just as I was beginning to feel down on myself - this lone Hen wandered over the horizon lazily picking its breakfast from the ground. Life remains in these trees after all! I was happy to have her join me for my morning snack, and I managed to sneak a few photos of her since she came all this way. Maybe she can hang them on her turkey sized fridge at home, but I’ll need her mailing address for that. Preferably I’d like her husband’s mailing address, so I can go find him instead.

It’s easy to have doubts about your stealthy-ness in the woods when no one else is around, but I know I am doing something right after my meeting with the Hen. Six different Whitetails came and went while I sat motionless, allowing me to take a few of their portraits as well. I’m always happy to take photos home, even if big Tom hasn’t made an appointment yet.

Looking ahead to this weekend, I welcome a very much needed change of scenery as Morgan and I come up on two months of being parents. We will be rendezvousing at Lake Anna to catch up all together for the first time since the Holidays, and with the spring scenery my camera will certainly be in tow. Since I have a serious case of turkey trouble at home, I am looking forward to putting down the turkey calls and picking up a rod and reel on what will hopefully be prime time spring fishing. Just yesterday, I received a text from a local guide I know down that way saying only one sentence: “the fish are on fire.” The timing makes sense, with the air temperature relatively stable (except that recent frost) the water temperature is soon to follow. The fish will liven up in the lake just the same way as our Piedmont canopy has begun to burst with new life for the year. A good fight with a Bass has a funny way of curing a man of his turkey trouble diagnosis.

That’s all for this week folks, I hope you enjoy a few of the images I have collected from my early mornings watching spring bloom. Thanks as always for reading!
- Patrick Murphy

Speaking of my blind, this week marks the first week of my favorite event of the year: Spring Turkey Season! There is absolutely no better time to be in the woods than RIGHT NOW. Though, if my title gives any indication, it has been a quiet start for me in the trees.

On opening morning last Saturday, I was off to a promising start. I walked into the darkness at 5:15 am to silence, no birds had yet awakened (except Aunt Susan’s neighboring rooster). Typically if I am early enough, I am still in owl hours. I know for a fact that there are two pairs of hooters, one pair of Barred Owls and one pair of Great Horned Owls. Two very distinct and equally beautiful calls carry across the land underneath crystal clear stars. Though even they were refraining from making a sound. It was the kind of quiet that makes a twig beneath your boot sound like a gunshot.

Light footed and leery I settled into my tree trunk and opened my ears. Starting about 5:30, the songbirds began their slow build to crescendo. At 6AM sharp, I heard one distant gobble amidst the cacophony of songbirds now awake to the north on neighboring land, and my heart started thumping. Off to the races!

If you have never heard the songbirds at first light in spring, it is deafening. Cardinals and Wrens by the dozen form a chorus so loud that it leaves your ears ringing by 9am. Towhee, Blue Jay, and Mockingbird fill any gaps in the songbird’s melody. So many birds sing at once it begins to sound like one long note, and good luck hearing a turkey gobble amidst that din. It’s hard enough without the distraction!

Finally, just as the various melodies begin to wane, the wind begins to blow. By 7:30 it was blowing gusts of 20mph across the landscape, playing the old hard wood limbs like woodwinds. If there were any more gobbles since 6, I sure was not hearing them between gusts this strong.

The sun rays of late morning streaked my legs and turned a chilly morning into a hot one, and unfortunately I had places to be and chores to finish. The legal hours for early Turkey in Virginia end at noon, so it was perfect timing for me to stretch my legs and call it a day - though not without a plan. I know from years past that the gobblers in my area frequent neighboring pieces of property, as well as cross a major thoroughfare to find new forage. So with my remaining minutes before noon, I let out a few calls on key spots to make sure that any distant turkeys may come to investigate this new hen in town (me). I called 3 times, counted to 90, and turned around to head to the truck. Wouldn’t you know it, I rounded the corner and was greeted with an image of the tailfeathers of a HUGE gobbler. He had seen me just before I saw him and turned tail, already 60+ yards away heading for his secret hideout. I could tell he was big by the way he ran, like a waddling duck rather than an athletic sprinter. He walked to within 20 yards of me without making a peep! And I was left with my jaw hanging in the grass, and no turkey in the smoker.

Nothing like Virginia’s greatest bird to keep you humble. He beat me fair and square, and certainly earned his right to a few more acorns that day - and hopefully had a good story to tell his lady about the clumsy human he bested. I know I had a good one for Morgan when I got home about the silent giant that gave me the slip.

There are plenty more mornings to go and meet my match out in the beautiful spring woods. I hope to have a few more stories to share in the coming weeks, as well as a few photos!

Thank you as always for reading!

- Patrick Murphy II

Five years and tens of thousands of miles have passed, and in that time I’ve gone from a single man into a married father. My wife and I sat around last night watching all the photos of animals and destinations float by on our Aura frame, pointing out which ones the Tacoma delivered us to. After which, Morgan had the genius idea of playing the song “Riding with Private Malone,” aloud from her phone, which is a song I had nearly forgotten in the decades since. Well, it had the desired effect for a man who was already feeling nostalgic, and it prompted me with a fun writing exercise that doubles as a tribute to all the years riding shotgun on Ol’ Turkey. This Wilderness Wednesday I’ll share with you my “Private Malone” inspired letter, that now sits neatly folded behind the front cover of the Toyota owner’s manual in the glove box.

“Dear New Owner of the 2021 TRD Offroad,

My name is Patrick and this used to be my Tacoma, but now it’s yours. It hails originally from Tysons Corner, but it was my loyal steed for 5 years in Middleburg, Virginia. This was the first car I could truly call mine, and a monument to finally getting my life on track after many years of squandered opportunities, wasted time, and stupid decisions.

My first step in rectifying that was earning my CDL - which got me my first job that paid enough to buy this Tacoma. At the time I was a young, single outdoor enthusiast that spent time fishing the coasts of the Chesapeake Bay, and Outer Banks - as well as hunting Virginia’s Piedmont and Blue Ridge Mountains. My first Whitetail deer, my first Eastern Wild Turkey (plus many since), and the biggest Whitetail Buck I have ever laid eyes on have taken rides in the back of this truck. I have had coolers stuffed with Striped Bass, Perch, Spanish Mackerel, Yellowfin, Bluefin, and Bonita. I have had a pile of Mahi Mahi in the back that you wouldn't believe. I packed it with Blue Crab pots and the crabs to match.

I added the ARE CX Evolve cap 2 years before selling - and then it became my land skiff. I’d spend nights under the stars all spring and into summer - then do it all over again once it got cold enough in the fall. I slept under the stars of Grayson Highlands, and crawled the roads of Daniel Boone's playground of Asheville and the Black Mountain. This truck was frozen solid in the harsh Monongahela Forest by a blizzard - 1 inch thick ice hugged every inch of her exterior. I strapped surfboards and snowboards to the roof, and spent weekends working for a brewery filling her bed with kegs and a jockeybox to pour beer anywhere from Washington DC to Richmond.

2 years flew by before our Tacoma’s greatest accomplishment so far - hosting a warmed seat for my now wife. She was there for it all. This Tacoma carried her and I to our Wedding day on October 12, 2024 at Mountain Lake Lodge in Pembroke, Virginia - where we saw the Aurora Borealis alongside all of our family and friends. And this Tacoma carried me to where she could carry me no further, the birth of my first daughter - Aurora. I knew someday the Access Cab would not be enough, I just didn't think it would come so fast.

Take care of her, as she took care of me. Spin those wheels until they fall off. Take her out to stretch her legs wherever you may be, and get her dirty once in a while. Have fun and keep adventuring!

- Patrick”

Thank you as always for reading!

One of my favorite sights of spring are the flowering trees in all their various stages. For a few short weeks, the Forsythia and the Redbud match up and create yellow and pink fireworks along the roadsides of Virginia. Put a Red Bird in a Redbud and now you have got yourself a combo that is impossible to ignore. I’ll post such an image if I am ever lucky enough to snag one.

This week, both work and weather have got me confined to the backyard once again, while I desperately find time to scout for turkeys. Virginia's Turkey season opens in just a few days, and I have much to accomplish between now and then. Lucky for me the sunshine has decided to stretch a little further for a little longer as Spring takes the throne over the Mid-Atlantic.

Behind my house stands a Red Maple about 30 feet tall. The enormous monument to forestry acts as a small metropolitan area for a vast array of critters. The canopy is claimed by a murder of Crows, whose territory is always in question according to the local mockingbirds. Below is the Blue Jay, using his muscle to elbow out the lesser songbirds from the feeds and seeds. Sharing the same branch is the Eastern Bluebird concerned only with the newly hatching flies and ants while the rest quarrel over millet. Cardinals and Wrens serenade the scene while Gray Squirrels rudely interrupt their performance with arguments among themselves. Red Belly Woodpeckers battle for territory against the same squirrels, as well as Starlings, in the Red Maple’s many tree hollows. A brown creeper inches up the trunk in search of invisible bugs, and the Mourning Dove coos from the leaf litter. My Backyard Chorus as spring arrives.

Green has just about consumed the landscape, the Iris takes center stage while the daffodils exit stage left. The season of birth moves quickly, and all will soon be green above in the trees - but not before the Samara of the Maple give us one last show as they fall.

Enjoy some images of the backyard Blue Jay and Finch this week. I plan to get out and do some serious scouting in the coming days, so hopefully next week I will have something to show for it after adjusting to my new schedule as a father.

Oh - and in the spirit of April Fool’s: I had a funny image generated by AI for you to enjoy inspiried by my hobbies and the greatest bird in the world. I had planned to spin a web of a story but decided genuine photography was always more enjoyable than AI generated. Hope you have a laugh.

Thanks as always for reading!

Patrick Murphy II

Real Estate photography has a way of steering my wife and I to places we may otherwise never have an excuse to see across the DMV. Business for the year is ramping up with the market, and in this case brought me to Upper Marlboro for a property shoot. As many of you loyal readers may know, my grandpa Big Mike’s house just so happens to be 20 minutes to the southeast. After staring at the same four walls since the arrival of our baby girl, Aurora, my wife and I thought we could use a change of scenery - and this was just the excuse we needed.

Spring is my second favorite time to see the Chesapeake, second only to Autumn. The water is beginning to awaken from its winter slumber as fish run beneath and air blows above. The reeds are filled with Bluebirds swooping, their soft song drowned out by the Red Wing Blackbird.

Differences between air temperature and water temperature can make for animated surf, or intense fog during the day. But when the temperature drops to match the water, you have never seen water so flat. One giant mirror stretches from my jetty to the Anne Arundle county line, the surface dappled with waterfowl of all kinds. The Iconic Striped Bass flashes its white belly from beneath the surface of the shallows, while Mallards cut the air with a whistle in their wings. The music of the Chesapeake.

I was greeted on one occasion by the local River Otter during his morning breakfast routine along the shoreline. This is one of the luckier sightings one can have in North Beach, besides the Bottlenose Dolphins in July. The Otter meandered right up alongside our property before he saw me, and retreated to the nature preserve. I suppose he decided I was too much company for this early in the morning, and he would rather dine alone.

Oddly enough, the Otter’s chirp sounds quite similar to the predator sailing overhead. The local Osprey have returned for the warm season, two of which inhabit the nest to the east of my grandpa’s house. For the entirety of my life Ospreys have inhabited the platform perched on the eastern flank of Bay Avenue. That is over thirty years! This platform, now piled high with a driftwood nest, leans slightly on the tip of a telephone pole. Every morning and evening we have the privilege of watching the duo dance on the wind, waiting for their prey to slip. In the blink of an eye, you can watch the Osprey’s effortless floating turn into a dive so fast you might miss it. Perch tend to be their prey of choice, but many bite off more than they can chew (or lift!) with a more sizable fish.

Diver Ducks of all kinds float lazily on the calm surface, diving below to pick apart minnows and shad. They are small in stature, only about a foot from nose to tail, so that is about all they can manage to gulp up. Lucky for us anglers - because there is an army of them stretching into the horizon. Bufflehead flutter across the surface with short flights - giving cover to the more rare migrators such as Redheads. A keen eye with a bird spotter can carefully discern the species mixed in. Cormorants have yet to mix in with the smaller divers, making it a fair fight.

Clam boats, such as the Sawdust pictured, meander along the coast harvesting hard shell clams. Beyond the anglers who don’t fear the cold weather and water, the shipping channel remains as busy as ever. I managed to capture both in one photo this week, a lone angler juxtaposed against the Carnival cruise liner beyond. During our stay there were no less than 10 cargo ships anchored south of the Bay Bridge waiting their turn to head to port in Baltimore and beyond. With the mild weather on Saturday, we were even graced with the sight of sails of recreational sailboats and catamarans hailing from Harrington Harbor and Deale. Due to our location, we occasionally are graced with the appearance of military aircraft heading to Andrew’s Air Force base. Geopolitics have a role in how many and how often, and unfortunately war is a popular business these days. We had a chance to see multiple C-17 transports on approach, as well as helicopter 96633 flying low over North Beach. I have even seen on 2 occasions the famed Air Force One circling our airspace.

The final day ushered us out with intense fog over the water, brought on by the immense change in temperature. While viewing birds became impossible, photos can still be captured under the right conditions. Pictured in the fog today is the Chesapeake Bay Detachment of the Naval Research Laboratory, just south of Chesapeake Beach.

Pic-Time Gallery of Images here!

By the time we returned home we experienced a temperature change of 30 degrees! Our trip from the shore to the mountains of Virginia differed from 49 to 80 degrees.

That’s it for this week folks! Thank you as always for reading.

- Patrick Murphy II

We were treated with a brief taste of spring two weeks back. My A/C unit got it’s first stress test of the year while summer sweat rolled down my exposed forearms. My wife Morgan begins to plan her annual garden schedule, and our two cats partake in their favorite annual tradition of frolicking in the Daffodils. March has been a roller coaster, with violent temperature swings and winds sending our weather station from one extreme to the other. The blooms came on fast during our early heatwave, and came to a screeching halt when doused with a layer of wet spring snow.

Life as a new parent will make the time pass very quickly, but luckily I live in a place where nature often comes right to me in many cases. While Morgan and I forge a new routine from day to day, I usually find a few hours to feed my camera lens in between bottle feeding. This week my cat, Watson, assisted in my research. From the porch its just another cat, but from my camera he is a predator stalking his home range, while birds keep a keen eye on him from the branches above.

Beyond my backyard, Whitetail deer have donned their spring coats while critters dart between budding shrubs for forage. A busy pair of raccoons stay busy all night, while the same turf is taken over by squirrels and rabbits during the day. Coyotes buzz the paths carved by deer in search of recent scents and a quick meal. Foxes have begun their busy routines gathering sustenance for their new broods waiting in fox holes below. Red Tail Hawks circle above with a similar goal in mind before the leafy canopy fills in for the summer season. With adversaries in the air and on the land - It’s a bad time to be a local chicken

In the coming weeks I turn my focus toward habitat maintenance. As I mentioned we have a few weeks left before the sprouts become leaves that will fill in the gaps of all branches on the landscape. Cover for local fauna is essential for their survival with the birthing season almost upon us. In my particular case, I have a date with some seriously tenacious Autumn Olive. While it is a near impenetrable cover source for almost all species on the landscape, it needs a haircut more often than any plant I have ever encountered. Made famous among land managers for its ability to grow in even the most depleted and rocky soil, it is equally infamous for its difficulty to shrink back. A combination of its ability to grow and its endless seed bank, I have read reports that it can take 5 years of hard work to get rid of completely. Once thick enough, the canopy of Autumn Olive is nearly impenetrable to the sun’s rays, which leaves the floor beneath barren of anything else living.

Walking the trails for my fifth year, I can safely say we have lost 3 or more feet on each side of the trail to this menace. I will be making it my personal mission to beat back the tentacles of this Autumn Olive Hydra before the summer heat rolls in for good. With enough sun, the flora can flourish and out compete the Olive. As simple as it sounds, it will take much blood, sweat, and tears to make that a reality. Perhaps some diesel fuel and hydraulic oil will lighten the load.

On the other side of that labor awaits my favorite time of year, when gobbles rain from the trees at first light. Green will envelop the landscape amidst thick fog and the woods will come alive, no thanks to Punxsutawney Phil.

Thank you again as always for reading folks!

Patrick Murphy II