When I put the finishing touches on an ice fishing article I was writing last week for a national magazine it was well past midnight. Everyone had crept off to bed hours earlier and the house was unusually quiet, save for the winter wind eerily moaning against the windows, randomly tapping snow granules on the panes. When I switched off my desk lamp and stepped from the computer room, only the shimmering lights of our Christmas tree and the flickering flame of a holiday wreath-fragranced candle illuminated the living room.

The sights, sounds and smells engulfed me and were so tranquil I ignored the TV remote, settled into my recliner, levered myself back and contemplated the glowing, twinkling facets of the tree lights. No hypnotist could have mesmerized me quicker or better than the vividly colored bulbs and their reflection along the glowing silver tinsel, red beads and thin gold garland. My own private holiday light show put me in a very reflective and contemplative mood.

Aroma therapy

As I inhaled a deep relaxing breath, the fragrance of our well-decorated spruce and the fir aroma of the candle carried my mind away. What outdoorsman hasn’t halted his hike, stopped casting along a trout stream, or taken a short break during a hunt, to close his eyes and inhale deeply of one of Mother Nature’s most pleasing perfumes. Be it cedar, juniper, spruce or pine, few smells bring back outdoor memories and the feeling of Maine as easily.

As I tipped my head back in the chair and breathed deeply I was in a thicket of alders, small firs and poplar during mid-October. I could hear the phutt-phutt sound of a concerned partridge ahead of me, and readied for the flush and a close-quarters shot. When a grouse thundered skyward to my left and a bit behind me, preparedness was a thing of the past and I moved like a moose on roller skates. I missed clearly with the top barrel, but the report spooked the bird in front, and I was able to twist myself into a pretzel and miss that grouse too, but clear cut some of the brush canopy in the process. As I was fishing for shells and trying to locate an open spot, two more partridge made their escape. I can still smell the spruce and gun powder two months later.

Multicolored lights remind one of the many hues of autumn leaves, the potato and grain harvest and the smell that only comes with fall. There’s no sound or feel in the world like walking a woods road on a blanket of fallen leaves, unless it’s the slow, stop-and-go crunch of a deer approaching your stand. Why they don’t hear our suddenly resounding heart beat I’ll never understand.

Silver and gold

Strands of silver tinsel glisten and glimmer in the tree lights and sway with even the hint of a breeze. The flash of the silver reminds me of the aerobatic leap of a shining salmon or the glare of reflected sunlight off a tarpon’s silver dollar scales as it swings to strike a fly. Fingers of moonlight streaming across a calm lake at midnight or the sun drawing water at midday also resemble these reflective strings of silver adorning our tree. The flash of light off a lure undulating through the water or the sheen of a band on a goose’s leg are two more silver memories the gleaming tinsel inspired.

The gold garland brings forth daydreams of acrobatic bass with their bronze backs blazing in the sun, or a tenacious togue flashing in a tug of war just under the water’s surface. The sheen of a whitetail’s coat, a moose’s antlers or the glass of golden libation and outdoor tales shared with companions by the yellow flames of a fire are all there in the glowing string of garland. Golden fields of cut grain or cornstalks peppered with goose decoys come to mind as well. The gold and silver of these memories is more precious than any gold coins or silver bars could ever be.

Colored lights

Twinkling lights reflected along the garland, tinsel and on each glistening ornament, and even off the ribbon adorning the presents beneath my tree. Ever changing cycles of color that flashed back to pleasant reminders of my past year in the outdoors and made me realize that all of my gifts weren’t under the flickering fir.

Pulsing blue bulbs bring back the thoughts of an indigo Atlantic salmon river and the size 6 Blue Charm fly that produced an arm-straightening strike at Jim’s Rock. The azure shade of a small brook in Bridgewater called Whitney, overcast slate skies and sky blue feathers of a Silver Doctor wet fly on a June morning come to mind. More than 20 trout gave in to the vivid blue pattern, and were released worn but wiser.

I flash back to the steel blue waters off the Kona Coast of Hawaii, one of the best spots in the world to troll for giant white or blue marlin. From the fighting chair, gazing at the great expanse of ocean, it’s often difficult to tell where the water ends and the sky begins. Once there, a sport will know the true meaning of Blue Hawaii.

Green flashing lights take me to a fall duck blind camouflage with half a dozen shades of green reeds and cattails. An open bag of green Remington shells, a single shot that downed two ducks, one being a mature male mallard with an iridescent emerald head that caused a hunting buddy to turn a bit green with envy.

I see the various greens of my duck hunting canoe’s camo pattern mirrored in the stream as I float along and a perfectly tied green machine salmon fly in the lower jaw of a Miramichi River grilse. The green on a pheasant’s head and the worm- shaped olive vermiculations of a brook trout offer wonderful visions as well.

Orange lights set off thoughts of deer hunting duds and favorite fly patterns on the Renous or Matapedia River, such as the Orange Blossom, General Practitioner, and Orange Parson. I also envision the bright orange legs of a mallard duck and the tangerine flanks and fins of a trout in full fall spawning colors.

Translucent amber bulbs reflect the sky just before sunrise, and flash like the bright bronze feathers of a ringneck pheasant’s breast. The rust-colored feathers on a snow goose’s face, from rooting in iron rich soil, is another picture triggered by amber lights. Other pleasing mental pictures of orangish shades include my faded tan bird hunting vest, spotted Brittany spaniel’s acting birdy and wet Chesapeakes with a mouthful of duck.

Clear lights sparkle with the intensity of dawn on a morning dew, a sight too few people enjoy. Only the reflection of the sun from a buck’s antlers or a somersaulting Coho salmon gleam so pure and bright. Or perhaps it’s the sparkle in a young boy’s eyes when the torn paper and ribbon reveal his first gun, or the gleam in a father’s eye when the son proves his skill with it.

The red lights? I see shotgun shells, spots on trout, a tom turkey’s head and streamer flies with red bucktail. Most of all these lights represent the sporting blood coursing through the body of every true outdoorsman, and the mixture of accomplishment, pride and a bit of sorrow that accompany successful outings. Sometimes the red is a rush of excitement or blush of embarrassment when we are outsmarted.

The lights and decorations on my Christmas tree provided me with a rainbow of colorful memories the other evening. My pot of gold at the end of this rainbow will be the chance to enjoy more and diverse outdoor experiences in the New Year, so the colored lights can gain new meanings and memories. These are the real Christmas presents. The packages under the tree just provide me with the tools and toys to enjoy the woods and waters. Find a quiet time to enjoy your own personal sportsman’s light display this week, you’ll really enjoy the show.

Merry Christmas, friends and neighbors!