April 18, 2008
Two things mark spring for us here in Grand Marais. The first is the last ski of the season. Fortunately, we're not there yet. The temperature is in the 50's today, so spring is well on the way. But we were able to get in a nice ski early this morning on the trail near our home on Devil Track. The trick is to get out early before the snow gets too mushy, and we were rewarded with crusty, fast snow. We pack the trail with a snowmobile all winter and much of the trail is shaded woods, so there is still a good 18 inches on the ground. We're going to get a few more opportunites before we put the skis away for the season.
The second spring marker is ice out on Devil Track. The ice is snowfree after yesterday's thaw, so if we continue to get some below freezing nights we'll be able to get out on the ice on mountain bikes for a while. It's always a trial to see if we can get out there on the last possible day. I've never gone through the ice on my bike, but I've gone through a number of times testing to see if it's rideable. We'll keep you posted on that one.
February 29, 2008
The snow is falling fast this morning on the Lake Superior shore. A strong northwest wind is driving the snow almost horizontal, and I can barely see the lighthouse out in the harbor. This is just supposed to be a squall, fast moving, leaving no more than an inch of snow in its wake.
This has been a more nearly normal winter than we've had in years. Plenty of snow for winter activities, and the sort of cold we would expect in a typical season. That was good news for the 35th American Birkebeiner this past weekend in Hayward, Wis. The race was run as an untimed event last year due to lack of snow.
Jane and I have been travelling for a good part of the winter, so we haven't been skiing or training like we would normally for this race. The Birkie is considered to be one of the more difficult Worldloppet courses in the world, mostly due to the never-ending hills. We were a bit apprehensive about this race due to our lack of preparation, but this would be my 19th and Jane's 7th, so we knew the course and what to expect.
As we have for the past 15 years, we were privileged to join the Sanville family with Dan and Kathy doing the Birkie, and boys Chris and Andrew skiing the Korteloppet. The course had good snow, the forcast looked good, so as usual I spent a good part of Friday waxing skis and preparing.
We all agreed, we'll be talking about this race for years to come. We were up at 5:15 to make some breakfast in our room, our usual prerace meal of oatmeal and bananas. Buses arrived on time at our motel at 6:15 to transport us to the start. The temperature was -7 early on, but the forcast was for a high of 30 degrees. I decided to take a chance and trust the forecast, so I was dressed very lightly with a thin base layer and a single medium weight top. Very cold at the start, but I hoped I would be comfortable and dry throughout the race. Conditions were as good as I have ever seen them for the Birkie.
An overcast hung over the start area as we got into our wave, with light flurries falling. We were starting fairly early in wave 3, so we watched as waves of skiers took off down the course. We stayed at the back of the wave at the start, and took our time going out. I was determined to take my time and warm-up, then ski a steady race.
Around the 10km mark as we started the big climb up Seeley Hill, the highest point on the course, the sun came out. The course was pristine and although it is heavily wooded in this section, the sun was dazzling as it filtered through the trees. Jane and I skied together for most of the race, and the temperature rose 30 degrees in just 3 hours. I was able to successfully navigate some of the more trecherous downhills without incident, and after 32 miles it was great fun to ski up the main street in Hayward to the cheering of the crowd.
I finished this Birkie with a mixture of emotions; great pleasure in skiing a challenging course successfully with my wife and good friends, but also recognizing a bit wistfully perhaps, that I may never see another race as perfect as this one was. Congratulations to all you Birkie skiers!
February 18, 2008
After nearly a year of planning and anticipation, we left for New Zealand on December 31. We had been talking about it for a long time, and now we were on our way. The travails of travel began almost immediately at our airport check-in in Duluth. The agent asked if we had a visa for Australia, since we would be spending one night there prior to our flight to Auckland. That was just the beginning of a chain of events that occurred at each airport on our way. Duluth to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to LA, LA to Tahiti, Tahiti to Sydney, and finally Sydney to Auckland. Fortunately, the folks at Air Tahiti Nui were able to secure the visa for us during our stopover.
We were pleased to be able to enjoy a day in Sydney, a lively city with a beautiful and vibrant harbor. A 3 hour flight to Auckland the next day and we were ready to meet our friends Jim and Jetty for our week of sailing in the Bay of Islands. We had 2 days while we connected with them, and we were anxious to make the most of them. Jane and I elected to spend a day canyoneering, something we were unfamiliar with, but we were assured that with a reasonable level of fitness we'd have a great time.We were picked-up at 7am in downtown Auckland and with 9 other adventurers we travelled by van about 1 1/2 hours south and east of Auckland to a spectacular river valley. On arrival at our staging area, every one was outfitted with an insulated shirt, full wet suit, booties and socks, helmet, and a climbing harness. Then we hit the trail, carrying various bags loaded with rope, climbing devices, safety equipment, and our lunch. It was a long steep climb, through subtropical forest that was lush with greenry. The view from the top of the steep valley was spectacular, and we could see the river dropping in stages with pools, falls, and longs drops. We had some instruction on how to secure our harnesses and handle the rope, and then we commenced the first rappel. We spent the next few hours dropping down sheer walls and sometimes actually descending in the falls. We were introduced to the "flying fox surprise" when we were intentionally given an insufficient amount of rope for a descent, so halfway down we ran out of rope and plunged into the pool below. The "flying fox of death" was a zipline descent where we were dropped into a pool at high speed. Great fun.We lunched on a narrow ledge half way up the vally with the river flowing at our feet and tumbling over a drop to a deep pool below. Our guides were great fun, from France and Chile, and they were great climbers. We returned to our hotel that night at 7pm after a full day of rapelling and water.We met up the next day with Jim and Jetty our travel companions and hopped a bus to the Bay of Islands, our sailing destination. We had time to do a bit of exploring in the local town before taxiing to our Moorings Base the next morning. Our 40 foot cat was awaiting us, and we couldn't wait to get out on the water. The crew began offloading a weeks worth of provisions while I went through the captains orientation to the boat and the local cruising area. (To be continued).Fall, 2007
October 10, 2007
Sometimes life changes so quickly that it takes a while to figure out what has happened. I'm in the middle of one of those changes.
The obvious one is clear, and I am surrounded by a generation of people who are making the same transition - from adult contemporaries of our parents to caregivers and guides. My father died on September 22, 2007 at 5:10pm. He was 85, and he was being treated for cancer. Most of us at some point are called upon to guide our parents in their final journey. I had no idea how much it would change me.
I am an absentee chlld in that I have lived 9 hours away from my mom and dad, and therefore the first people to begin the transition were my siblings who lived closest to them. There was a good deal of communication among us as we worked through the treatment protocols for dad's disease with all of its ups and downs. But at some point we reach a fork in the road, where we must decide, or maybe acknowledge, that we're not treating the disease anymore, that we're treating the pain, and that we are in the end stage of a life. My father knew he was dying and he had 2 final wishes; he wanted to die at home, and he wanted to have his family around him. No small order when you consider he had 12 children. So we made the decision to get everyone home while he could still acknowledge our presence. They came from Louisiana, Florida, Norway, Colorado, Minnesota, Hawaii, Michigan and Wisconsin. For various reasons, it was only the second time in 25 years that we were all together in one place at one time. He knew we were there, and I can only imagine how he felt.
Less than 2 weeks later I watched an artery on my dad's arm slowly, slowly stop throbbing with the beat of his heart, and with his children around him he passed away. We decided in advance that death would be our affair, so we spent our time with him as we could, washed him and prepared him for this last goodbye. We carried his body to the waiting hearse later that night, and we rushed to make all of the preparations for the funeral.
Dad would have been pleased by the sendoff, and when the church organ played "Stars and Stripes Forever" as the casket was wheeled out of the church I knew we did him proud.
So what's so difficult about that other than the obvious? People die every day. When the coroner came later that night to complete the paperwork, he sat down with my nurse sister who had mostly overseen my dad's last months. He wanted to determine the cause of death. Pretty straightforward. Cancer. Although that's what it says on the death certificate, my sister didn't see it that way. As my dad's pain increased, he received stronger and stronger pain medication. We reached a point in short order where the medication was less and less effective, and we were searching for other options. His own physician refused to prescribe liquid morphine which we felt was essential. During the last weeks we contacted hospice services, and they agreed to take over medical management of my dad, and prescribed liquid morphine immediately. On that last day, as dad slowly faded away, it was quite clear to me that he was dying from an overdose of morphine. Once we started down that path, I knew there could be only one outcome. So I take that to bed with me some nights. I know it was the right thing to do. My dad would have approved.
My mom is still active and doing fairly well, but more decisions lie ahead. And of course the real issue, what happens to me? I've got some more thinking to do.
Summer, 2007
August 27, 2007
Another swim is the impetus for this entry. Yesterday. Devil Track Lake is cooling off fairly quickly now, and that initial plunge has a bit of a shock to it, but for longer swims the cooler water is perfect. I know I have only a few weeks left of good swimming, so I thought I'd better get one in before dark.
The evening was perfectly overcast, so it was a bit darker than normal. We live on a point which extends to our west, so when I swim south from our dock, I have to swim a few hundred yards to see to the west. A line of trees blocks the view until I get out a bit. There were no boats on the lake and the wind had died away so the swimming was easy. I could see the line of trees to my right, and as I swam the sun began to set between the line of clouds and the trees on the horizon, and it became more brilliantly orange every time I looked to breathe. I picked up the pace a bit just to be sure that I could get a clear view of the sunset unobstructed by the trees. Once I cleared the point, the orange sun, surrounded by dark clouds and flashing intensely orange began to sink below the trees. I stopped, and for just a few moments, out in the middle of the lake, I was alone with the end of the day. Difficult not to wax philosophical with a sunset like that.
I finished my swim, but the spectacular end of the day got me to thinking about end of life in general, and the journeys we so look forward to. I have been reminded that I have to account for our whereabouts this last winter, and what kind of trip we took, and that will be in the next installment. This one is about a different journey, one we're just beginning.
Last Sunday Jane received an e-mail in the morning from a guest who had stayed with us in July. Kay and Mark Snopek spent a thoroughly enjoyable week in the Bounday Waters, and stayed with us before and after their trip. The attachment they've formed for the north shore was evident, and being in their early '50's, they started thinking about ways to spend more time up here. Mark and Kay live in Iowa, so it's a bit of a trip for them.
Kay's note said that Mark was riding his bike in the evening and that he was killed by a hit and run driver. She asked if Jane would be willing to paddle into Banadad Lake with her to leave Mark's ashes. A journey ended, and another begun for Kay. We'll be thinking about her and Mark for quite some time.
We spent some time in Arizona this winter, to help with Jane's mom who had shoulder surgery, and her step dad who has had a heart transplant for almost 25 years. Lot's of things to deal with to make that all work. Her aunt in her 80's is living alone, and we've had to help her start making plans for her future too. I'm heading home at the end of October to help care for my dad, who is 85 and has cancer. In addition, my sister-in-law, in her early 40's has also recently been diagnosed with cancer. She's going through all of the tests now, and surgery is in the offing shortly.
So that sun going down put me in mind of a number of journey's, embarked on by each of us, with the end not always clearly in sight. Sometimes the journey is a full and long one, sometimes cut short without warning. I think our journey is going to intersect with those of family and friends over the next few years, as we help ease the journey's end for some, and be there for others who have the same task.
That sunset was short, but it was incredibly beautiful and memorable. I feel priviledged to have witnessed it.
July 20,2007
Finally. July 20. I swam in Devil Track Lake yesterday, really swam, for the first time this summer. The nights have been cold, we've been fortunate to have rain, and Lake Superior has kept things just that much cooler so far this summer. So today I had it on my mind that I would get a swim in if I could get away.
I come from a family of waterpeople; my 83 year old mom is still swimming in the Sheboygan quarry and in Lake Michigan when the water warms a bit. All of my brothers and sisters are avid swimmers, and many family activities have been and still are centered around swimming. My fondest memories are all attached to water, as if they're freeze dried - just add water.
Something over 10 years ago Jane and I took a month long trip on the Baja Peninsula, down the gulf side and back up the Pacific side, sleeping out in the desert and on the beaches. My two most vivid memories of that trip are of a hike we took in the desert that involved swimming through canyons and caves to reach our destination, and the morning we spent on a Pacific beach by ourselves. We spent the night in a rented van above the beach, and in the morning we awoke to the crash of the surf. It was too tempting by far, so we jumped in, often overpowered by the receding current and breaking waves. We were pretty tentative at first, but we spent hours paddling out into the tall breaking waves and body surfing into shore, literally thrown on the beach like a piece of flotsam.
So I swam. Buddy trotted out to the end of the dock with me, and once I dove in and adjusted my goggles, he knew what was up. Three quarters of an hour later he was still curled up on the dock waiting for me. Unless you have this water thing in your blood, it will be difficult for you to understand the attraction.
Virtually every spring I fall through the ice on Devil Track because I want to get out there, see what the ice is doing, test it, guess the day ice out will occur. Anticipate the day that I'll be able to swim. Not the quick cold plunges we do early in the season, but the prolonged immersion of a long swim. I'm too old to be wearing a Speedo, but I can't swim comfortably without it due to long habit. Up here, no one is going to see me anyway.
A south breeze is pushing small waves against our shore, and the sun is warming me as I begin stroking for the trees across the way. The surface of the lake is alive with sunlight and the moving water, and there is an anticipation when my head goes under and muscles that have to be loosened up complain of lack of use. The rocky bottom disappears quickly, and after my body gets into the rhythm, I begin to slowly enter into that state of suspension that is swimming for me. Held by the water in that space between the land and the sky. I know the lake will take care of me, buoy me, I can depend on it - we're almost two thirds water ourselves after all. Always there is the feeling of water flowing over my skin, and when I can fully reach out with my arm and hand to pull that next column of water toward my feet a connection is made.
All life is some pain, sometimes more sometimes less. From those little slights we all endure from each other, to bearing the weight of cancer, bereavement, war, all of that begins to fall away in the water. Sometimes I feel like I'm unburdening on shore, just before I enter the water. It all get's left behind. And in the end, when the swim is completed, and my dog is waiting for me at the dock, that's enough. I don't have the energy to resent, hate, attack, or any of the other base feelings we are susceptible to. We so easily lose that connection to the land (and water) that we are all born with. We sometimes seem to care so little about it. But in our hearts we know that there has to be a land apart, some relatively unspoiled forest, beach, lake, mountain, river, where we can renew our connections to our origins.
Matthew Arnold's Dover Beach has always been a favorite, maybe because that connection to the natural world comes through so clearly. I have always considered it an ominous and foreboding piece but maybe for good or ill, we need to remember how to read the message that is there on the land and in the water. Guess you'll have to find the poem if you want to know more.
July 13, 2007
We're taking advantage of our new found freedom, and enjoying the summer as we've never been able to before. Jane celebrated her 50th birthday on the 25th of June. She rented a solo canoe, grabbed the dog, and headed out into the Boundary Waters for a 3 day trip. The weather was perfect, and she spent the day doing something she really enjoyed.
She recently returned from a 4 day trip with a good friend and her daughter. By coincidence, they were out paddling on the 30th anniversary of Jane's dad's death, 7/7/1977. As it happens, Jane was out paddling with a group of kids 30 years ago as a co-counselor with this same woman when her dad died.
Jane and I just completed our first annual Minnesota Loon Survey for the DNR. Since we have some time now we wanted to help out if we could, and there were 3 lakes in our area that needed to be surveyed, Dick, Missouri, and Vat. We received all of the paperwork from the DNR regarding protocols and some very general directions on how to locate the lakes. We were looking forward to spending some time hiking or paddling in, especially since the monitioring time had to occur between 5am and 12 noon.Last Thursday morning we arose at 5:00, packed our compass, binoculars, some water, bug dope and loaded the canoe on the car. The first lake is practically in our back yard, so we had a short drive to Two Island Lake, launched our canoe and headed for the western outlet of Two Island. There truly is something special about being out on the water at that hour of the morning. A slight breeze from the west was just aborning, the sun was beginning to provide some warmth, and the water riffled gently with the wind. We landed our boat at a fishing trail and hiked over to Dick Lake.
Some brief scanning brought our first loon pair into view, and for the remaining half hour or so we watched them go about doing what loons do in the privacy of their own lake. Small lakes like this usually have only one pair of loons on them, and as expected we saw no more. We paddled back to the car and headed to our next lake off the Sawbill Trail.
On the way to the Clara Lake area we stopped to watch a lone moose cow feed in the marshy shallows along the road. She didn't seem to mind us and we enjoyed watching her forage in the shallow water, spilling gallons every time she emerged with another mouthful of vegetation. We reached the fork in the Forest Road that was to provide access to Missouri Lake. We left the car, and after 3 unsuccessful bushwacks into the heavy undergrowth we decided to reevaluate our directions. We agreed we were looking at a typographical error, and made a guess as to what the correction might be. Another compass bearing into the undergrowth, and after 10 minutes of hard going we caught a glimpse of water.
We emerged on the south shore of Missouri Lake standing on a beautiful bog. It was an amazing sensation to be floating on "land" so to speak, and each time one of us moved the entire area undulated. There were pitcher plants everywhere, so we were able to take some great photos.
We had an idea that Vat Lake would be easy to find, and after 3 unsuccessful attempts we decided to leave it for the next day. Fortunately, I was able to locate the lake on a topographic map on the internet, and subsequently could view the lake in a satellite photo. As a testament to how primitive things can be here, it was clear that all of the local maps were wrong. The lake was positioned on local maps south of the snowmobile trail we were using for access, when it is actually north. The following day a bushwack up a creek, over a beaver dam, and across some soft marsh areas led us to the elusive Vat Lake. No loons in residence that day, but we'll be back next year.
Spring, 2007
May 31, 2007
Spring is well advanced, albeit a couple of weeks behind the rest of the state. Trees are still leafing out, and thankfully we've had enough rain to green things up. The recent fire will be a distant memory soon, except for those who suffered property losses or the boreal forest many cherished so deeply.
For the first time in 10 years we are not responsible for the food service side of our business. New operators are in place and running a new restaurant, The Wild Onion. We're actually having trouble adjusting to the new schedule and the opportunity to have evenings at home or time off. We are anticipating the pleasures of summer in the northland, something we haven't seen in a long time. Riding a bike, sailing, paddling, maybe even getting the wind surfer out this summer - anticipation. The irony of living here and not having had the time to do the things we love has not been lost on us. As usual we look forward to seeing our regular guests, and maybe we will truly be able to give them the time and attention they deserve. We find so many of our guests lead truly interesting lives, but they somehow always find time for the north shore.
A customer recently asked me what the most serious vulnerabilities were to our business. I had to think for a bit, but in the larger scheme of things, it is the piece of property this place sits on, looking out onto that harbor and that endless lake that seems to ever be the draw. We will all come and go, and the business climate will have its fluctuations, but the constancy of the wind and rocks and water, all that is here will somehow always draw people like a magnet. If we do our part, preserve and protect as responsible stewards, there will always be a reason to return to the shore and the big lake.
Summer it seems is only weeks away, and the daylight will begin its process of diminishment. Maybe we particularly value the time here because it is so short. I am reminded of a profound truism that seems to apply here; "Every man dies, but not every man has lived." Perhaps we will take a little more time to do some hiking this summer.
Winter, 06-07
December 15, 2006
We received a Christmas greeting today from a former student employee of ours from Bulgaria. He worked in Ireland this past summer because he couldn't get his visa renewed to return to the US. He was an excellent employee and we vowed to keep in touch. We hired him sight unseen based on the recommendation of another Bulgarian student. It's a story worth relating.
Two summers ago the weather was unusually cold on the north shore, and people in general were not traveling up here, so Duluth especially was suffering from a dearth of visitors. We were having a busy summer, but there were some problems with student's leaving early, and by the time August arrived it was apparent that we were going to have to hire more help. One of our part time Bulgarian employees indicated tht he had 3 friends who were working in Duluth and were underemployed. They were living at the YWCA, working at one of the big hotels in town, and averaging about 16 hours per week. They were getting desperate because they had invested a good deal of money to get to the US, and as more students arrived their hours were cut accordingly. I called him and we did an informal interview over the phone, and Andrew and one of his friends wanted to come to work for us. He didn't have much money, so he wasn't sure how long it would take him to get to Grand Marais. At the last minute 2 of our students quit to return home so I called Andrew and told him we needed him immediately. We agreed we would meet at the Sky Harbor Airport down in Superior Bay in Duluth at 6:30 on Sunday morning.
I would have 2 passengers and all of their gear. Sunday morning dawned perfectly clear, and I as I headed for the airport at 5:00am I checked the weather and found perfect conditions for a flight to Duluth. It was a quiet morning and I felt a bit guilty firing up the engine of the Cessna 172. It was getting brighter every minute as I taxied out onto the runway and down to the downwind end to do my runup. No traffic anywhere, and I lifted off into the clear blue sky as the sun was clearing the horizon on Lake Superior.
It is difficult to describe how perfect Lake Superior and the north shore can look early in the morning on a clear sunny day and from 5000 feet. I anticipated a quick flight down to Duluth, a 10 minute pick-up of my passengers and a return flight, all taking no more than a couple of hours.
I began a slow descent towards the Duluth harbor, and in spite of the perfectly clear weather I began getting a feeling in the pit of my stomach. I could see what appeared to be a lowlying cloud bank completely obscuring the island and parts of Superior Bay. The airport is located on a long, very narrow strip of land separating Lake Superior from Superior Bay behind it. The entire island was enveloped in fog rising from the ground to about 250 feet. I had received my float plane certification here, so I knew the area well and had landed on this strip and the surrounding water quite a few times. Still, I figured this was going to be trouble.
The open water of Superior Bay was at this, the west end clear so I knew I could line up on the landing strip without too much trouble. Turning east I slowly descended into the fog looking for the runway. I put down full flaps just in case, but I simply wanted to see the asphalt below me before I attempted a landing. Sure enough, at 150 feet above the ground I could see the runway below and to the left. I went to zero flaps and started an ascent out of the fog in an attempt to make a long sweeping turn and return on the reciprocal course. I notified any traffic in the area that I was maneuvering over the field, turned, lowered two notches of flaps, and once again descended, traveling in the opposite direction and looking for the field.
I had over compensated just a bit and saw the field below and to my port side this time. Again, flaps to zero and I started my climb. As I broke into that bright clear sun I saw a sailboat with a tall mast sitting on a mooring in a position that appeared to me to be directly off the end of the runway and out in the bay about a quarter of a mile. Just maybe this would get me on the ground safely.
I flew out about a half mile so that I would have plenty of time to plan my third and final pass and approach and descent, and I lined up on the mast of that boat. I watched the mast pass under me as I entered the fog bank and with full flaps began cutting power aggressively hoping I'd be able to land. After a few very tense moments I saw the runway numbers directly under me while I worked the plane into ground effect and felt the wheels kiss the tarmac. The fog was amazingly thick. I couldn't see any of the outbuildings or even the end of the runway, but I taxied to the turnaround area and headed back to the terminal. Slowly the main hanger emerged, the chain link fence with its locked gate and two young men with their bags looking for someone they never met to fly them out of this fog.
The introductions were brief and I asked the guys if they were going to be comfortable taking off in this soup. I assured them that 250 feet above us it was a clear beautiful morning and that we would have an uneventful flight to Grand Marais once we cleared this bank. They grabbed their bags and headed for the plane without any further discussion. After pre-flighting the plane we taxied out to the end of the runway and completed our run-up. One final call for any traffic in the area and we were racing down the runway in the fog. We lifted off and almost immediately I saw a red hull and the gleaming mast of the boat as we climbed over her into the sun. Duluth lay before us bathed in early morning light and we turned slowly out over Lake Superior and to the northeast for our flight to Grand Marais.
There were some very pleased passengers on that plane, not to mention the pilot, but any anxiety they may have felt was more than made up for by the chance to fly a small plane and to take some pictures that they assured me their friends would never believe. So before we began working together, we shared the bond of witnessing this beautiful and amazing place from a perspective few people ever see.
Summer, 2006
July 20, 2006
The last of the crushed granite was laid and compacted at Harbor Park today. After many years of grant writing, fund raising, and planning, the park is near reality. It will serve as a testament to the spirit of people in this town, this county, and a much wider community who love the north shore and Lake Superior. The former gas station site has been completely transformed into a park, a garden really, and place to just sit and enjoy the lake and it's environs.
Thousands of volunteer hours have gone into this project from its inception. A handful of people saw the potential for the property when it was put up for sale, and the community turned out in force to attend a progressive dinner at various restaurants in town to raise the money to purchase the property. That money, coupled with a DNR grant was enough to buy the prime harborfront site and turn it over to the city. Then came years of environmental clean-up and community meetings to determine the best use of the site and come up with a plan. More grant writing, city council meetings and fund raising to hire an architectual firm to assist with planning and design.
Today there is an almost completed park because so many people cared enough to make it happen. Congratulations and thanks to each and every one of you.
June 24, 2006
Just a few days ago marked the summer solstice - amazing that it has passed already and the days will begin to get shorter here in the northland. Harbor Inn is now officially for sale, and Jane and I are preparing for our next transition. We're not sure what that will be yet, but it will undoubtedly involve the north shore. This has become our home, and we're loathe to leave this country.
The lake gets into your soul...Water's my will and my way,
And the spirit runs,
intermittently,
In and out of the small waves.
-Theodore Roethke
Spring, 2006
May 16, 2006
Today I was headed for politics or religion with my commentary, both of which I have been warned to avoid. The stress of opening the restaurant and motel is dissipating a bit after the first weekend, and our student help is on the way. Along with some great local kids we have students from Europe on the way. Two young women called from New York tonight and the long chain of friends, family and contacts that activates to get them from New York to Grand Marais is truly impressive. A young man from the Ukraine will arrive on Monday, first time in the US and anxious to work hard.
The topic for today, for the week, is people. I spoke with JoEllen Hurr when she called to confirm their annual stay with us, and she let me know that they would be in the area for a meeting. Her husband Maland stopped in just to say hi. Sorry I missed you Maland, but it's that kind of people thing - just good people whom we've met as guests, and have developed into good friends.
Last week was Bob and Denise Horman week at Harbor Inn. We have known the Hormans since our first year in business, and they're the kind of people who have a real attachment to the north shore. We would see them numerous times over the season as they, like many very busy other people, would need to get away somewhere to relax. As jobs changed for Bob, and Denise took on more in her work, they didn't get up as often as they would like, but we could always count on Denise for a homemade card and good wishes.
This past winter Bob lost all of his hair - and you could hear the plaintiveness in Denise's e-mails as she asked her circle of friends to pray for Bob as he struggled with a brain tumor and cancer.
They called a few weeks ago to say they were going to be up and we weren't open yet so they stayed elsewhere. We got together for lunch, and we spent a few hours truly enjoying each others company - something Jane and I seldom have the opportunity to do with these friends we meet in our business. The prognosis looks good for Bob, he has more months of therapy in front of him, but I caught just a glimplse of this beautiful place we live in through his sparkling eyes and Denise's enthusiasm for being here. I know they see the lake and woods, and most importantly people too, through cancer eyes. They've chosen to make that a blessing. As the commercial says Bob and Denise, "we'll keep the light on for you."
Spring, 2006
May 5, 2006,
We awoke to a dusting of snow in the northwoods today - still gently drifting down as the sun rose, lightly covering the trees and ground. Yesterday the Superior shore was enveloped in fog, and as it lifted the sun shown on the water while the light house and lake remained half hidden.
By the shores of Gitche Gumee,By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sometimes it can still feel like that here.
Yesterday we saw a grey wolf trot across the Gunflint Trail, seemingly careless of us and our car, just going about his business. Last night was the first in three that we have been able to sleep comfortably.
We have had a bear visiting us at night after finding our stash of bird seed in a 5 gallon bucket. The first night, around 10:30, he made enough noise knocking down a deck post to get to a bird feeder that we knew we had a big visitor calling. The following night around the same time our dog got excited when the bear came right up to the sliding glass door on the deck. We chased him off, but he didn't seem too concerned and we'd guessed he'd be back. The shot gun was loaded when he showed up on the third night, I chased him into the bushes, but he went no further. A shot over his head got him running, and hopefully he's decided that we may not be the most hospitable hosts.
April 24, 2006,
Yesterday was one of those early spring days that are few and far between this time of year. We chose to take a Sunday off to do some paddling, both a reward for us and for our very forbearing dog. We drove up the Gunflint Trail to Clearwater Lake and paddled out to the Clearwater Trail. From that point across from the spectacular palisades on the lake we hiked up to the ridge trail and spent the rest of the day hiking. We enjoyed a lunch in the sun at a beautiful overlook, and saw moose on the way in, a moose kill on the trail, and a young bull just next to the Gunflint Trail on the way out.
We never saw another vehicle or person the entire day. No bugs, beautiful quiet, and a very happy dog. The recipe for a perfect spring day. This is one of the real advantages of living so close to a place we enjoy so much.
Winter, 2006
March 1, 2006
We just returned from the 33rd American Birkebeiner. Jane skied her 7th race and I completed my 18th. We stayed in Hayward for 4 days getting ready for the race, waxing, meeting friends, and generally just celebrating nordic skiing. It was the 800th aniversary of the Norwegian Birkebeiner namesake race, and that made this one a bit special.
The real attraction of these races is the people we meet, from the World Loppet breakfast on Friday morning to friends we bump into whom we have skied this race and others with for many years. People from all over the world come to the Friday morning breakfast, folks from other countries who have come to the US to ski this race as part of a World Loppet Masters certification. We met a German contingent of 9 skiers who had skied the Canadian Keskinada the week before. Italians were in abundance, and since they swept the first 3 places of both the men's and women's races it was fun to have the opportunity to talk with some of them.
A special feature of this year's race was our joining the entire Sanville family for the race. We have skied with them for many years, and watched their 2 boys grow up. This was the first time that all 4 skied Birkies. The 2 boys, Chris and Andrew, 16 and 13 skied the Korteloppet, and Dan and Kathy both skied the full Birkebeiner. It was exciting to see a 13 year old get on the bus to the start on his own, ski a 24 km race, and then get on another bus to meet the rest of the family at the cabin. Chris has developed into an excellent skier having had a great season of high school skiing, and he went on to ski an excellent Korteloppet.
This Birkebeiner has sufficiently motivated us to go to the Czech Republic and Austria next year for 2 more races to complete our World Loppet Masters Certifications, and we're starting to give some serious consideration to going to Vancouver in 2010 to watch the Olympics. Nice to have something to look forward to.
February 10, 2006 - Winter Wolves
Most people who live here in the Arrowhead live here because they enjoy the outdoors and the relatively easy access we have to water, woods, and clear sky. Sometimes it's easy to forget how truly isolated we are here, but I had an abrupt reminder this last weekend.
We ski virtually every day, and sometimes that ski consists of the dog and either Jane or me heading out across the road on our own groomed trail. Generally a bit more than an hour of quiet skiing in close woods. One area, about midway along on the trail leads to a nice climb to the top of a knoll that has been logged. There are a few old growth red pines on top, left I suspect for seeding purposes. The dog generally preceeds me up the hill and waits up on top. This time as I climbed up on my skis, I could see him charging around excitedly at the top. I began to notice even before I crested the ridge that there were other trails, well packed down, and spidering all over the hill. I had a chance to get a good look at a paw print, and it was evident that wolves had been in the area.
I had skiied the trail 2 days before, and I am always attentive to new tracks in the area, so I knew what I was seeing was recent - at the most 2 nights old. This area is generally pristine, with a few tracks, deer, moose, hares and so on marking the passing of creatures that live or pass through the area. There were tracks everywhere, some individual, some major trails where many animals or the same animals had passed many times. Buddy was just going from track to track almost overwhelmed by the scent trails.
I followed tracks as best I could and it quickly became evident that this was the scene of a fresh deer kill. Clumps of hair were scattered along the tracks in various places, bone sheathing or fragments lay in others, and the entire scene was littered with scat and sprayed urine. I skied down the other side of the knoll and Buddy was already munching in a packed down circular area about 20 feet off of the trail that appeared to be sprayed with blood. He was eating clumps of dried blood and some few small pieces of bone that were lying about. It was getting dark fast so I determined to move on, but we'd be back tomorrow to try to study this place a bit more.
The next day Jane and I headed out on skis to see if we could get a better look at what may have occured. At the top of the knoll we found a place where it appeared that a deer carcas or part of one had laid in the snow. We could still make out the outline of the ribcage and it appeared that it had melted somewhat into the snow. We could see drag marks where parts of the carcas had been pulled off and dragged to other locations to be fed on. Finally, we found the partial remains of a deer, just the hide and 3 lower leg bones with hooves. Every scrap of meat had been stripped off.
Another day of searching and following tracks on snowshoes led us to a small ravine that penetrated slightly into the woods. Here we counted 13 beds dug and melted into the snow in a cluster. I was both relieved and surprised. Relieved because it appeared that so many animals had been in the area based on the number and concentration of tracks, but also surprised because that seems to be a very large pack.
So, here's my take on what we have been observing: a large pack of wolves ran down a deer and killed it on the top of the knoll. The deer was shared out by the wolves, many of them making multiple trips to the carcas to feed. My guess is the entrails were taken to the base of the hill and fed on there by a number of animals. Finally after sating themselves with meat, the pack bedded down in the ravine for the night or a part of it. We occasionally like to go out for a night ski on the trails, especially when there is a full moon. We'll spend a little more time thinking about that. But it's nice to know that life continues in all of it's complexity for the animals that inhabit the north woods.
February 26, 2006
Jane and I returned last week from our annual Noquemanon Race in Marquette, MI. We both skied the 25 km race, Jane winning first in her age group. About 1,200 skiers participate in the entire event, and folks are always friendly; the race ends at the dome in downtown Marquette, and the course itself is beautiful. A very dramatic aspect of the race this year was the snow conditions. Marquette is of course snow belt country with large volumes of "lake effect" snow falling every winter. This year however, there was barely enough snow in town to hold the race. Everyone we talked to said they had never seen such sparse snow conditions in January.
Fortunately here in Grand Marais the snow has been excellent. The cross country skiing is superb, and the snowmobiling is exceptional. We feel so fortunate to be having a reasonably normal winter (with the warmest January on record) in terms of snow conditions. Many people further south are finding Cook County to be their winter wonderland this year. We decided not to travel too far this winter to find good skiing, and that has proven to be a good decision. We have some of the best conditions available anywhere right in our own backyard.
Speaking of our own backyard, we are especially fortunate to be enjoying some truly superb classical skiing right out our door. We have some old logging roads and fisherman trails in the area where we live, and over the past few years we've been brushing them a bit and I've been grooming them with a snowmobile. So we have been able to ski and snowshoe a beautiful wooded area almost every day. Animal tracks and activities of all kinds are routine features along these trails, so it's not unusual for us to see Moose tracks, wolf scat, deer tracks, otter trails, hare tracks, and other remnants of wildlife activity. It keeps the winter interesting for us and our dog. Buddy has been knawing on the same moose bone at the same place on the trail all winter long.
Fall, 2005
September 28, 2005
The leaves are at their peak colors here on the north shore, and the first really hard frost is predicted for the next couple of nights. The temperatures are in the 50's during the day, and the possibility of snow flurries has arisen. Harbor Inn will be closing in the next few weeks and this time of the year is always one of goodbyes. We bid the summer farewell, our foreign students are returning to their countries, our local staff to their families and studies, and we say goodbye to many of our customers who spent time with us and the north shore.
Especially at this time, with Hurricanes Katrina and Rita so fresh in our memories it behooves us all to be thankful for the land and water we have here and love so much. Before the northland goes to sleep in its covering of snow for the winter I am reminded how fortunate we are that life goes on - that we humans endure and find a way to flourish in a not always hospitable environment. We just enjoyed our annual visit from Bruce and Nathalie Casey, a celebration of Bruce's birthday. I am inspired by them because both have such significant physical challenges, and they enjoy life with an uncontained pleasure that they share wherever they go. Happy Birthday Bruce, and best wishes. Thank you for visiting this special place and for enriching our lives. Thank you to all of you, and enjoy the winter.
Summer, 2005
July 4, 2005
The first real holiday weekend of the summer is here with families taking a break to enjoy the north shore and each other. The weather is cooperating and gas prices have eased just a bit. It seems to me to be a truly polarized time for our country just now, and for citizens and politicians alike it is sometimes easy to lose sight of what the July 4th holiday is all about.
I have never fully comprehended what compels men and women to believe so passionately in their national heritage that they would willingly give their lives to preserve it. These emotions are not unique to us or to democracies in general and they play a crucial role in international events today. The best description I have ever read of the deep and powerful emotions that can be associated with love of country are the words that Sullivan Ballou wrote to his wife Sarah early on in the Civil War, and were made famous by the Ken Burns documentary of the same name. It is worth spending some time learning about Sullivan's history and there are many sources available on the internet. He was a major in the Union army and 32 years old when he wrote this. He would die within a few weeks defending the country he believed in so deeply.
Happy 4th of July.
LETTER TO HIS WIFE (July 14, 1861)
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
SullivanSource: Brown University Alumni Quarterly (Nov. 1990): 38-42.
June 24, 2005
The Summer Solstice is past, and what for us is always a very short spring has already moved into summer. There is always something a little sad about this particular time, because the days have warmed and the nights are cool, I've been swimming in Devil Track Lake, but each day is a little shorter than its predecessor. We've begun the march toward fall and increasing darkness. The restaurant and motel are busy, and it is such a pleasure to see so many of our returning friends. We greet each other as old friends do, but of course the true friendship is with this water and land. It put into mind the words of W.B. Yeats, from "The Lake Isle of Innisfree":
I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavement grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Spring, 2005
June 19, 2005 Father's Day
Summer is almost here, and the summer solstice is in just a few days. For those of us who live this far north, it means that in just a short time the days will begin to get shorter already. Incredible how short spring and summer are up here.
After all of the usual last minute confusion and bustle, the restaurant and motel are open for the season. We have staff from Bulgaria, Slovakia, Lithuania, Poland, Russia and more. What an opportunity to meet and work with all of these kids from around the world. There are always challenges with working with such a diverse group of people, but we have them here to learn from and hopefully to give them a good experience as well.
I'll talk to my dad today, being fortunate enough to have both parents alive and in good health. I think of my father often these days, mostly because I know that we don't have much time left. And when I think of my dad, I always think of the man who was part of the generation before us who sacrificed so much to fight the great war. My father was in submarines in the Pacific, starting off as a 19 year old and coming back a man. I remember as a child returning in the car from visits to my grandmother, and listening to my dad's stories about war patrols. My dad won some of the swimming competitions in Honolulu during the war when they were on leave, so later in the war he was a rescue swimmer. The sub would surface, and my dad would go into the water with a rope tied around him to rescue downed pilots flying B29's and bombing Tokyo. I didn't understand then the horror of that work and what it must have taken to serve in a submarine during WWII. At the time it was entertainment to keep the kids quiet.
So mostly on Father's Day, I say thanks dad, for bringing me into the world and getting me this far, but I know, and I think he knows, that I'm thanking him for so much more.
Winter News
April 1, 2005 We Complete the Races of Our Lives
Spring is in full swing here in Grand Marais, and most of our snow is gone here at Harbor Inn. Jane and I returned from Europe this past weeks after visiting relatives and skiing the Mora Vasaloppet and the Norwegian Birkebeiner. If you're not interested in nordic skiing, you'll want to bypass this next piece.
Jane and I are pursuing our Worldloppet Masters Certification, whereby a skier must complete 10 marathon length races, all of them in foreign countries except for one. We have completed races in Switzerland, Germany, Canada, Finland, Italy, and most recently, Sweden and Norway.
After skiing the American Birkebeiner on February 27, we left for Sweden the following Monday to ski the longest, largest, and one of the oldest races in the world, the Vasaloppet. We flew into Stockholm, Sweden and were picked up at our hotel by Jane's relatives. After a warm greeting we had a delightful dinner at their home. On to Mora where the race finishes. We had almost a week to test the course, prepare our skis, and equally important frame this challenge psychologically. The distance, 90 km or 56 miles is daunting. There is really no way to know if you can ski that far until you do. Also, 15,000 skiers participated in the event, all starting at the same time. One of the appeals of nordic ski racing is that citizen skier like us are skiing on the same course at the same time as the best skiers in the world. It's truly inspiring.
We saw some of the best conditions for the race in years. We arose at 3:00am to get dressed, had breakfast at our hotel, and hurried to the shop where our skis were prepared overnight. We picked them up at 4:00am and headed for the bus that would take us to the start. Organizing 15,000 skiers to line up in waves for a simultaneous start has to be an amazing challenge, but it all seemed to come off without a hitch.
The first 7 km of the race are climbing into the surrounding hills, so we took almost 2 hours to ski the first 10 km. The temperature was near 0 degrees at the start, but things warmed up into the 20's during the race for near perfect conditions. Jane's cousin Torbjorn from Kristinehamn joined us to ski the race and he brought cell phones with him. He told Jane he would call her when he reached the half way point at around 45 km. She heard the phone ring when she reached the half way point, and she asked Torbjorn where he was. He said he was at the food station, Jane asked him which side, and he replied on the left. From her place on the right side of the course, Jane turned left and saw Torbjorn standing across from her! I finished the race in approximately 8 hours, crossed the finish line, removed my skis, and saw Torbjorn finish just behind me. Jane finished an hour later, and we had accomplished our first important challenge of the trip. A short visit with relatives in Kristinehamn with Torbjorn, and we were off to challenge number 2, the Norwegian Birkebeiner.
Saturday, March 19, 2005 Lillehammer, Norway
We worried for months prior to the race whether or not there would be snow, but the conditions proved to be the best in 10 years. The Birkebeiner Rennett is skied from Rena to Lillehammer over the tops of the mountains. We awoke at 4:00am to get breakfast and be ready to go. Our hotel served an excellent carbo-load meal with heavy emphasis on bread. Anyone not skiing a race would have been amazed to see the piles of bread in front of every plate. We made 2 extra peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches to take with us as needed. We walked the short block to the bus and train station where we caught one of the many buses leaving for Rena. The elite start was scheduled for 8:00, but Jane and I wouldn't be leaving until around 9:30
We joined 12,000 other skiers in getting our gear together, eating more, and weighing our packs. Each skier is required to carry a 7 kilogram pack containing food and extra clothing for the mountain conditions. That pack is then weighed before the start. The Swix ski wax factory is near Lillehammer, and their wax technicians were on hand to wax skis at no charge. I had ours done and the wax was perfect. After watching the elite skiers start, we worked our way into the starting area and awaited the gun.
We knew ahead of time about the first 18km climb up into the mountains from Rena. Jane and I paced ourselves and skied together, knowing we had a lot of uphill ahead. The Norwegians of course are amazing skiers, and especially in a race like this where only classical style skiing is allowed, they really excel. The weather was beautiful if a bit cold at the start, right near zero, but after just a few km of climbing you're producing a lot of heat and water vapor.
As expected, there was a welcome downhill somewhere near 18km, and it was exhilerating to be skiing in the mountains and heading downhill so quickly. Then came the surprise... essentially another 25 km of climbing to the top to get over the mountains to Lillehammer. It was quite sobering at one point to come around a bend in the perfectly groomed trail and see what appeared to be a line of ants winding it's way over the top. Skiers of course, all climbing to Sjugen where the course begins the exciting downhill run into the stadium at Lillehammer.
By the time we reached the top of the climb and were well above the treeline, the climbing and the cold really started to take a toll. I became extremely cold, and if it hadn't been for the extra shell in my pack, I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to continue. Jane stopped a short time later to put on additional clothes as well.
The course was lined with people, all cheering on the skiers and members of their clubs or friends and neighbors. It is hard to imagine the feeling of skiing into Sjugen, know that you are about to have the downhill ski of your life and that the finish awaits in the stadium below. It was exhilerating, frightening, and very rewarding to enter the stadium and cross the finish line of what was probably the most physically challenging thing I have ever done. Jane and I finished together, hopped on a bus, and had soup and bread with thousands of other skiers in the Olympic Training Center.
February 14, 2005
Five inches of new snow on the ground this morning, and it's still snowing. A very nice Valentine's Day treat. We have had temperatures in the 40's for some of the past 2 weeks. It had gotten to the point where I finally put klister on my skis because the hard wax was so miserable on the icy trails. As usual, I should have done it sooner because the improvement was amazing and made for some truly great skiing.
February 12 has always been an important day for me, because I have generally considered Abraham Lincoln to be America's greatest president. I generally commemorate the day by reading one of his speeches. Arguably, Lincoln and Thomas Jefferson have written the most memorable words ever in the history of America.
I believe Lincoln's Second Inagural Address to be his best speech, but I had to memorize the Gettysburg Address in high school, and I remember it to this day. So, if you're interested, read some of the finest sentiments, in virtually perfect language ever put to paper:
November 19, 1863, Gettysburg, PennsylvaniaFour score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is althgether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate--we can not consecrate--we can not hallow--this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us--that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion--that we here highly resolved that these dead shall not have died in vain--that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom--and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
February 5, 2005
We're coming out of a short warming trend, but we still have lot's of snow. This past weekend we skied one of the best races in the Midwest, the Noquemanon Ski Marathon in Marquette, Michigan. This was the 7th year of the race, and this year everything came together with perfection. Snow conditions were perfect, although unusually, Marquette has quite a bit less snow than we do here in Grand Marais. Jim skied the 51 km race, and Jane competed the 25 km. We both improved our times substantially from last year, but all is in preparation for the Nordic Holy Grail for us, the 2 races we have been planning to ski for years; the Mora Vasaloppet and the Norwegian Birkebiener.
So during the month of March, Jane and I will be in Sweden, joining her cousin and other relatives in Sweden to ski the 90 km Vasaloppet. Two weeks later we will travel to Norway, visit Jim's sisters family outside of Oslo, and then head to Lillehammer to ski the Birkebeiner. If we complete both races, we will qualify for our World Masters Medals, having skied 10 marathon length races around the world. We're looking forward to the trip.
December 30, 2004
Jane and I just returned from the Christmas holiday in Sheboygan, WI. We stopped for an overnight in Rhinelander, WI where snow conditions were reported to be good and there are many groomed cross country ski trails. We were not disappointed. The skiing outside of Rhinelander was excellent with some of the best groomed trails we've seen. We stopped at a number of trails in the American Legion State Forest, and we'll definitely be back.
Unfortunately it has been raining most of the day today, and it is raining now as I write this at 9:00pm. Our snow conditions here in Grand Marais have been excellent, so all we can do now is hope that the rain hasn't done a lot of damage, and that more snow will be in the offing. We'll keep you posted.
Happy New Year!
December 20, 2004 - Winter Solstice
We have real winter in the northland now, after this last storm which dropped up to a foot of new snow in the woods. Lake effect snow has provided us with some of the best conditions we have seen in years this early in the season. Most places in the immediate area have 20-30 inches of snow on the ground. Lake Superior proved to be the place to be to watch this storm, as the wind out of the south blew directly into the harbor shooting spindrift over the streetlights and onto Wisconsin Avenue. The following high pressure system has left us with intense cold for a few days.
I recently visited the MN DNR website, where an employee provided a story of a lonely Christmas eve interwoven with one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost, ?Stopping By Woods On a Snowy Evening?. One of the benefits of a decent education is that sometimes things will come to mind that describe perfectly that which I am unable to do myself. This is one of those times.
I had been working hard all day, I was tired, and it was late. But the dog needed to get out for some romp time, and the storm had essentially subsided. Light snow drifting down, no wind to speak of, temperatures in the high teens. Our home on Devil Track Lake abounds the Pat Bayle State Forest, an area that has been clear cut regularly, but otherwise is generally undisturbed. We maintain a ski trail system through the area, and it's a great place to take the dog. It's a short walk out our driveway. Almost the longest night of the year?
Whose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
I lace up my snow shoes, and start into the woods. The trees are heavy with snow, and the silence is complete. The snowshoeing is hard work, with a couple of feet of new snow to tromp through. The dog is determined to stay out front, but he has to leap and bound to travel, and occasionally he just disappears. I start out with my headlamp on, but even though there is no moon, I can see quite well without it.
My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
I plod deeper into the woods; the trail narrows, and popples and birches give way to red and white pines, spruces. I'm in a tunnel, defined only by the ability of my eyes to penetrate the night. My companion is completely silent, and intermittently we both stop to listen. I like to think that he senses this is a sacred moment, this time we have to wonder at the gifts of nature.
The only other sound's the sweepOf easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep.
I decide to snowshoe both sections of the trail, because I don?t want this feeling of oneness, of completeness to end. Even the deer, hare, moose, and the occasional wolf track are missing in the newness of the snow. Perspectives kaleidoscope, and the immediacy of the woods and snow are our universe. Of course we eventually return to the track I have newly created and the road home, but the feeling lingers.
And miles to go before I sleep,And miles to go before I sleep.
Happy Solstice.
December 14, 2004
It's winter time in Cook County. The storm this past weekend left us with over a foot of new snow, so folks are thinking skiing and snowmobiling. The cross country ski trails have plenty of snow, and most are already tracked. Pin Cushion Mountain is in great shape with almost all of the trails completely groomed. We're anxious to get to Deer Yard and the Sugar Bush Trail System. Conditions up the Gun Flint Trail are also excellent, so there are many hundreds of kilometers of Nordic Trails that are in excellent condition.
November 14, 2004
We're enjoying a brief warming spell here, with temperatures in the 40's. For us it means an opportunity to enjoy some of the summer activities that we miss during the season. Yesterday was a full day of hiking up the Cascade river. The many cascades were filled with water, and all were lined with ice. The view down into the river bottom from the top of the bluffs up at County Road 45 was spectacular. The hike back to Lake Superior on the east side of the river was more gradually downhill, but just as scenic with the late day sun filtering through the white pines.
One of the real benefits of living in the north country is that we can take advantage of changes in the weather on short notice. Last Saturday, November 13 was one of those days. We wanted to stay out of the woods in general due to the hunting season, so We grabbed our canoe and drove up to Clearwater Lake to get in a combination of some good paddling and great hiking. All of the smaller lakes and bays are frozen over, but Clearwater was open.
We drove to the boat landing at the end of Clearwater Road and launched our canoe. Our 2 year old dog Buddy is an experienced paddler already, so he hopped in and we headed up the lake with a strong southerly breeze behind us. We were looking for a campsite and trail access about 1/3 of the way up the lake. We were busy admiring the palisades on the lake and missed the site. Paddling back into the wind to find it reminded us of the paddle we would have back to the landing.
We hiked up to the ridge above Clearwater and caught our first sight of Rove Lake. The Lake was covered with a thin layer of ice and Jane and I talked about the great skating we could have in the near future if the big lakes froze in calm weather.
Buddy was a dog on a mission. He returned to us at various intervals with a moose antler, 2 moose vertabrae, and he also managed to come up with a moose skull. Wolf country for sure. The access trail from the campsite connected to the Border Route Trail, sections of which we have done previously. The overlooks along the trail above Watap Lake are amazing. We figured we were about 800 feet above the lake, and there are overlooks where you can stand on the edge of the outcrop and look straight down to the shore below. We shared a quick lunch on an overlook out of the wind, and headed back toward Clearwater. The wind had come down some, and we had a good upwind paddle back to the boat launch arriving just at sundown. Buddy sacked out for the evening after we got home, so we did a good days hiking.
Harbor Inn Restaurant & Motel
PO Box 669
Grand Marais, Minnesota 55604 Information: 218-387-1191
Reservations: 800-595-4566
E-Mail: jane@bytheharbor.com