The Deep Peace of the Wild
 " As to when I shall visit civilization, it will not be soon I think. I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy its beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and the star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities." Labels: Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Writing
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Lost in the Wild (Review)
The "It won't ever happen to me" attitude is a prevelant concern with modern 'Outdoorsmen.' Too many people go into the woods with a false sense of security, dependant on gizmos and overconfident regarding their own skills. A majority of the time these people come out fine, and the dependency and the overconfidence grows. You can't help but ask yourself what would happen to these people if they were dumped in the middle of the woods, deprived of both. Lost in the Wild: Danger and Survival in the North Woods by Cary J Griffith addresses both scenarios. A moderately skilled hiker takes a series of wrong turns and is not only lost but seperated from his gear as an early autumn snowstorm and freezing temperatures pummel the area. An experienced Boundary waters guide bushwacks in search of a portage with no gear and inadequate clothing, bumps his head, becomes disoriented and wanders for hours before regaining his senses. Each story is revealed a chapter at a time in alternating chapters. Many online reviews that I have read criticized the book format for this, but personally I enjoyed the alternating breaks from one story to resume the other, as at times each was like watching a slow motion train crash. You say that you can't watch and put your hands over your face and end up peeking through your fingers. Because you know that there but for the grace of God go you. The book largely is just telling the story of what happened to each person, as well as providing the perspective of the respective families and S&R teams involved in each incident. What each individual did wrong to get into their predicaments is revealed and what they could have done to avoid them is alluded to. But don't read this book thinking that you are going to improve on your woodsmanship skills. No, this book reads as the ' black box' of two failed wilderness excursions and reminds us that even the best laid plans can go sideways in a hurry when you're out in the woods. For those of us who like to travel in the woods on foot, instead of saying that emergencies like these could never happen to us, we should be asking ourselves, given our equipment and skills, how could it happen to us anyway and what would we do then? The misfortune of these two people serves as a reminder to the woodsman to continuously prioritize the three unspoken primary objectives of any wilderness experience: Stay Found, Stay Dry and Stay Warm. Lost in the Wild may not teach you how to do that, but it will get you in the mood to want to. Labels: Book_Reviews, BWCAW, Camping, Canoeing, Minnesota, Nature, Outside, The_Woods
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You Got That Right
I am a Barnes & Noble freeloader. I have not purchased a book in quite some time; between my wife and I one of our ideas of a date is to go to a Borders or a Barnes & Noble, grab some reading material, buy a coffee and kill some time. Technically I am not a freeloader as I do purchase a beverage and periodically purchase magazines such as the Boundary Waters Journal (Horrible web site, great magazine). I also buy my notebooks there. This hit and run approach to reading means that I get books in short concentrated doses. My latest is " Paradise Below Zero" by Calvin Rutstrum. Although he is not quite as engaging as Sigurd Olson his writing is nevertheless food for the souls of people like me and a wonderful discovery. I hope to get a review of this book written eventually, and to continue on to some of his other titles. Anyway in my reading last night I encountered a quote that really struck a chord in me, that Rutstrum attributed to Henry David Thoreau: "No one but a fool ever sold more of his time than he had to." Right on, man. Labels: Book_Reviews, Nature, Outside
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Won't take you far
Here is kind of a postscript for the trip, three bulleted lists I made in my notebook while watching the autumn sunset light up the tamaracks on my last evening in the BWCAW. WHAT WENT RIGHT:- Beautiful, rain-free fall days
- Beautiful fall colors:
-The birches still had about 15% of their leaves, the scrub oaks were hanging on, and the tamaracks look like God plucked each one, dipped it in gold and set it back down again. - Exercised good judgment:
- I knew when to swallow my pride and turn around.
- Re-learned something about myself I had forgotten:
-I am quite strong... But without conditioning, strength won't take you far.
WHAT WENT WRONG:- Pack overloaded:
-I brought too much unnecessary crap. - Body overloaded:
-I need to lose at least 25# (More like 50) before I try this again. - Body out of shape:
-The primary means by which to lose the above-mentioned weight should be via exercise
- Equipment failures:
-Boots fell apart
-Stove was not running 100% efficiently (Didn't test it out beforehand) - Wrong/inappropriate equipment:
-Heavy base camping tent, no water pump - Underestimated the trail:
-The trail had the element of surprise - it had been waiting for me for 300,000 years*
*(Not sure what I meant by that!)
WILDLIFE ENCOUNTERS:(Updated on Sunday in the Ely coffee shop)- On Echo Trail:
-A family of Bald Eagles - On the trail in:
-I kicked up a rabbit
-I passed within the vicinity of a skunk. - In the campgrounds:
-Panhandling whiskey jacks and red squirrels
-2 Ducks of unknown species (Didn't look like mallards)
-An otter swam up and briefly spied on me through the weeds
-What appeared to be a beaver towing a log across the lake (What else would do something like that?) - On the trail out:
-I kicked up a grouse
-I met a visibly shaken teenage boy who spent a sleepless night in a nearby campsite after a bear entered the campground, stomped around and snorted around the young man's hanging food pack.
Labels: Angleworm_2007, BWCAW, Camping, Fall, Lakes, Minnesota, Moleskine, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Trip_Planning, Trip_Reports, Writing
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Angleworm 2007 - Day 3
 Up With the SunSaturday was another cold night, thought much more manageable than the previous. I woke up in the middle of the night and stepped outside the tent for some fresh air; the night had been crisp and clean. The clouds had parted and once again I was bathed under the eerie light of the milky way. I did not have my glasses with me plus my bag was calling me back, so I did not spend as much time stargazing as I had the previous night. I noticed during my brief stay that my tent sleeping habits were different than those of my home. My sleep here was shallower but more fitful, as opposed to home where I become like a corpse for several hours at a time. So this could be considered getting in touch with my primitive side, I thought to myself. That's a good thing. Like the previous night, I got a large block of sleep in after my trip outside and I woke up shortly before sunrise. Unlike the day before however, I arose as soon as I became conscious and began packing up my gear. It was my intent to be ready to move out by 8:30, which gave me a generous amount of time to eat breakfast and lolly gag. There was a beautiful mist moving across the surface of Angleworm lake, Which I watched and enjoyed as I finished packing my gear and preparing breakfast. There would be no oatmeal today; I had used up the remainder of the fuel yesterday afternoon boiling water. I miscalculation on my part; the worst I suffered for it was to have a cold breakfast rather than a hot on Sunday morning, although I could have made a fire if I had been adamant about it. As it were I tortured the whiskey jacks and the resident red squirrel one last time by eating salami and cheese on Ritz crackers. Something about that food drove them nuts. The colors? Recognition of the meal components? You'd need a bird & small rodent psychologist to know for certain.  Angleworm Lake Creature SightingAs I munched on my Ritz crackers and ignored the nonstop harassment from the foul-mouthed little red squirrel who was picketing my campsite, I continued to enjoy the majesty of all that mist moving slowly over the lake. It was during this time that I was surprised to see a group of apparently disembodied leaves, moving in a linear and deliberate fashion across the lake. As they moved into a clearer area, I could see a clear wake pattern and could tell that there was some sort of creature in the water, towing a log to which these leaves were attached by a small branch. I had the presence of mind to use the zoom on my camera as a sighting instrument and snapped this photo. I think that the educated world would agree that the creature is in fact Castor canadensis. But the truth of the matter is that the creature was never actually identified and it's identity remains an unsolved mystery to this day.  Exit - Stage LeftI made good on my plan to break camp by 8:30. The situation with my boots could only be described as "Fragile." I mentally prepared myself for the possibility of having to hop back to the truck on one foot. In my travels I was overtaken by a faster-moving, very serious looking teenager. I heard him coming so I stopped and took a rest on a large boulder so that he could pass me - he stopped to say hello. As it turned out, he had stayed at the southernmost campsite on the Eastern shore the previous night and had had his sleep interrupted by a creature intruding on his campsite. The teen did not actually see anything, however, from the direction of where he had hung his food pack he heard some stomping and snorting. The intruder was scared off by shouting and noise making. The startled teenager and I agreed that his campsite intruder was most likely an Ursus americanus. But just as with my lake creature, this one was never actually identified and it's identity remains an unsolved mystery. As the youth took off down the path I admired the lightness of his step and considered how I would have reacted. I had hung my pack well both nights, unsure if the practice was still needed this late in the season. As it turns out, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.  Back to Civilization
I made it out to the trail head on two feet, as it turns out. My boots were trashed, but they held together. My truck was one of seven in the parking lot. If you are going to try to hike the 'Worm I would suggest trying a mid-week trip to get away from the crowd. As I made my way back to Ely the Echo trail no longer held the same magic as it had on Friday. The eagles were gone and some yahoo in a blaze orange hat tailgated me most of the way into town. In Ely I stopped for a warmup at the Front Porch Cafe, followed by a visit to Piragi's to window shop. I left Ely right around noon and even though I am not much of a football fan anymore, I did enjoy listening to the vikings squeak past the bears. I rolled into my driveway shortly after three, all in one piece. Mission accomplished. Even now as I write this a week and a half later I can still close my eyes and project myself back onto that trail. Even though I can no longer feel the weight of the pack I can still remember the feel of the air going in and out of my lungs and the roar of the blood in my temples as I would get to the top of an ascent. The smell of pine needles is like a taste of Heaven, and the wind through the trees keeps calling me back. Labels: BWCAW, Camping, Fall, Lakes, Minnesota, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Trip_Reports
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Angleworm 2007 - Day 2
Frosty AwakeningsIt was a cold night, friends. It dipped below freezing; I know this because of the ice I found in my nalgene bottles. It had been a rough night, with me experimenting throughout the night with different layerings. My head suffered the most; the only covering I brought was a North Face ear gear. I was seriously jonesing for the headsock I had forgotten in the cab of the truck. I woke with the sun but I did not stir right away. I lay in my tent, dreamily considering the day ahead of me. It was going to be the day that I hike all the way up the west side of Angleworm, do an end-around on home lake, pass by Whiskey Jack lake and blow in to camp on the coveted northernmost campsite on the eastern shore of Angleworm.I traced my finger over the map lazily and dozed, listening to the warmongering red squirrels as they quarreled over pine cones. Without warning the peace was shattered by a shotgun blast. Off with a bangMy first thought was that maybe someone was slaughtering the campers at the southernmost campsite. I was fully awake and on red alert now. After determining that no holes had been blown in my tent, I quickly dressed and cautiously crawled out of my tent. Nobody there, no sound. The woods had already settled back down. Not certain how far off the shot had come from or even what direction the shooters were moving in, I decided to multitask and begin making both my breakfast and as much noise as possible so that I would not be mistaken for Grousezilla. As I heated the water for my oatmeal I discovered a curious crack on the toe area of my right boot. "Oh no," I thought. "Gonna have to be careful around water for the rest of the trip now." I didn't know the half of it. Not too long later the great hunter and his companion came down the trail. They said that they were sorry if they had scared me and then chatted with me for a few minutes. The guy was a local, who said that the temp when he left his house that morning had been 28 degrees. He was carrying some sort of pistol that you can swith barrels on, his choice du jour was a .410. Not a bad choice for grouse & rabbit. Leaves you enough animal to eat. I gave that fellow a good head start before I set out.  Back on TrackThat pack still felt darned heavy. I trudged along slowly, but really I was too spellbound by the beauty of the Angleworm to care. The first couple of photos I shot were a little hazy, due to condensation on the lens. But there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the air smelled like pine needles and fallen leaves, and I couldn't have cared less about heavy packs, cracked boots, or foggy pictures. I was just darned happy to be there. Even with the tougher ascents like the one near the site of the old fire tower, my spirits stayed high. I took a lot of pictures and kept my eyes and ears open. It is insufficient to say that I enjoyed these woods; I was drinking them in. I considered the 23rd psalm and knew then that if I had been the author it would not have been green pastures that the Lord would make me lay down in but rather rocky outcroppings, overlooking glacial lakes, surrounded by boreal forests. "Too wordy!" I thought to myself as I moved along. I had to make frequent stops but it worked out for the best as it allowed me to check the map frequently and monitor my progress. Anybody who tells you that the 'Worm can or should be done as just a day hike is definitely not someone who stops to look at the view.
Lunchtime DecisionI approached the northernmost campsite on the western shore of Angleworm just before noon. It was occupied and I did not want to disturb the guys camped there. I found a spot on the lake shore about several yards south of the campsite and unloaded my pack for a breather. I had been on the trail for just under two hours and had not covered a very impressive distance. I drank the last of my city water from the second Nalgene bottle and evaluated my situation. The campsite that I wanted was directly across the lake from me and currently unoccupied. By my best guess it would take me almost six hours to get there, if I continued at the same rate of travel and encountered similar terrain.  I set up the stove and boiled some lakewater, as I was going to need more water regardless of what I decided to do. I munched on my apple and stared long and hard at my boot. The crack had expanded to a full-blown tear and was not looking good. It looked to me like a very real scenario that I would hump all afternoon through the woods just to make it to my target camp right at sundown, most likely to find it claimed by that point, only to have to go find either an alternate campsite or else to just set up somewhere off the trail in the dark. And that was if I was LUCKY and my boot didn't completely disintegrate somewhere along the way.  I really did anguish over this, even though with the benefit of hindsight it was such an obvious no-brainer. I considered the consequences that come from making stupid choices in the wilderness and with a heavy heart decided to scrub the mission. I took this photo a few minutes after having made the decision, which explains the long face. It was better this way, I thought, as even if everything went according to plan I would have zero goof-off time in camp and I would be cooking my dinner in the dark. I loaded up my pack and turned back the way I had came.  From whence I cameThe hike back was light-hearted; once I had turned back I really made my peace with the whole deal.  While resting at the top of a climb, a pair of hikers overtook me. We chatted briefly and as it turned out they wanted the campsite that I had spent the previous night in. I told them that was cool, I would go for the southernmost (Which had been occupied the day before).  I hiked the rest of the way a little nervous, that my new target campsite would be occupied. I resigned myself that if that were the case I would simply keep going right on to the trailhead. As it turned out the southernmost site was available and was quite nice, although not quite as scenic as the previous day's.  Although available, there were many natives around; the usual suspects: Conniving red squirrels and panhandling whiskey jacks. In the southernmost reaches of Angleworm lake there is a muddy, weedy bay, and it was patrolled by a pair of ducks who kept just far enough away to keep me from identifying them. They looked too small to be mallards, but then again I am accustomed to big fat city ducks, which is a vulgar way of saying 'waterfowl with sedentary lifestyles.'  While eating my dinner I was startled to have an otter swim up and poke his suspicious face out of the weeds at me. He was long gone before I even had a chance to reach for my camera. I spent time sketching, reading my bible, and taking this panoramic shot: As evening closed in the sky grew cloudy; no chance for stargazing. I lay down in my tent as it grew dark, exhausted. I lay in my tent and listened to request night on End of the Road Radio on a small transistor radio (Told you I packed in a lot of crap) as I drifted off to sleep. Labels: BWCAW, Camping, Fall, Lakes, Minnesota, Nature, Outside, Photoshop, The_Woods, Trip_Planning, Trip_Reports
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Angleworm 2007 - Day 1
PreambleAt least once a year, usually in the fall I take a nature trip into the woods. It is my chance to clear my head, reset the scale, shock the system, pick your analogy here. Basically I get to unplug from my real life for a period of time, plug myself into some wilderness and find out just exactly who it is I am again. All this to say that I don't get out much, I guess. This year I set my sights on a solo hiking trip into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. There are several trails available in the BWCAW, but I chose the Angleworm lake trail because it is a 14-mile loop, the distance seemed about right for an easy three day hike and based on other trip reports I had read (You can find them if you Google for them) the Angleworm truly looked like a beautiful hike. I live a sedentary life, which is a fancy way of saying that I am a fat guy who works in an office. I knew that I would have to prepare for this trip, so I did so primarily by training on an elliptical machine in our basement that has for the most part served as a coat rack over the years. I also did a lot of stretching and a fair amount of bicycling. In addition to physical preparation I did do a fair amount of preparation in terms of planning my gear and studying my map. In all fairness, everything that I did to prepare for the trip could probably fill a different post; I just didn't want to give the impression that I threw my pack in the truck and drove up north on an impulse. Day 1 Getting ThereI'm not what you call an early riser, but with the trip at hand I was off like a shot when the alarm went off. After some last minute fumbling and a hurried good-bye to my groggy wife, I was out the door just before 5AM. The drive was unremarkable for the first couple of hours, save for the volume of southbound early bird commuters, making their way in to the cities. I grinned and breathed a quiet prayer of thanks that I wasn't one of them. The sun greeted me just south of Cloquet and lit up the Birches that tower on the hill just west of Interstate 35. The colors were so brilliant that I was momentarily startled and feared that I may still be laying in my bed, dreaming. By 8:30 I was passing through my fellow blogger Eric's neck of the woods and by 9:30 I was refueling in downtown Ely.  As I made my way to Echo Trail I was very pleased that everything seemed to be going so well. I thought of the day's hike and imagined what sort of wildlife I might encounter. Daydreaming, I was shocked back into reality when I rounded a corner and a large bird leaped up off the road and into a nearby tree. I stopped, dumbfounded because I had interrupted the breakfast of a family of Bald Eagles. I managed to snap off a couple of shots at these shy fellows (They seemed aware of what I was doing and would move before I could get a shot off) before they were spooked off for good by some thick-faced rube who came barreling down the trail from the other direction, driving a pickup truck and wearing blaze orange. In spite of the abrupt ending I took the encounter as a good omen and moved on. If the Eagles on the way in were a good omen, the volume of cars in the parking lot at the trail head were a bad one. The parking lot looked like.... Well, a parking lot. I was the fourth vehicle, and one person was still in the parking lot, wearing blaze orange and brandishing a shotgun. I chatted with the fellow briefly and it turned out that he would not be camping on the Angleworm but was going to hook up with some adjoining trail. Unless he meant a portage to one of the nearby lakes I wasn't really sure what he meant. I was just happy that he wasn't going to be shooting up the woods I would be sleeping in. After he headed down the trail I changed into my hiking clothing and donned my pack. I gave him a good 15 minute head start before I started down the trail.  The Hike InMy initial thoughts as I walked down the first hundred yards of the trail were, "Wow! I'm finally here!" , "Wow! This is really beautiful!" and "Wow! What is all this crap I am carrying?" It did not take very long at all before I was faced with the contrast between conditioning on an elliptical and hoofing it up a hill with a pack on your back. It also became suddenly so wonderfully clear to me why exactly it makes perfect sense to shell out $200+ for a tent that weighs less than 5 pounds. I took it easy on the way in stopped as needed for breathers. During one of these rest intervals I spotted a cottontail who had frozen, anticipating that I would pass. Unnerved, he made a break for it. If I had the gun with me he would have been dinner. During another stop I was leaning against a boulder when I caught the ever-so-pleasing fragrance of skunk. From behind a tree stump across the trail I could hear the pitter-patter of small feet in the leaves. It may have just been a red squirrel (The area seemed to be the capital of their hostile little empire) but I wasn't going to wait around to find out. I continued. I had my home made rod tube with me. It was a liability in low-clearance areas, especially around dead falls, just as I suspected it might be. All the way in I kept thinking about those other cars. My original day one plan called for me to march all the way to the northernmost campsite on Angleworm lake. The only catch was that if the campground was taken, I would have had to continue another mile or so to Whiskey Jack lake. By the time I reached the fork for the lake loop I decided to play it safe and make my way up the west side of the lake, where the campsites are more numerous. I finally decided on the second most southern campsite on the west side of Angleworm lake.  Camp Setting up camp was a breeze. Having the pack off of my back gave me the temporary sensation that I could fly like Peter Pan. The site really was nice, set on a rock ledge about 50 feet up from the lake. I sat down on the ground with my back against a boulder and ate my lunch of salami, sharp cheddar cheese and Ritz crackers. And an apple for dessert. I was assailed by a bold pair of whiskey jacks who tried everything they could think of to get food from me. They were so tame that I'm pretty sure that they would have eaten out of my hand if I had offered. After lunch I busied myself with taking pictures. I spent part of the afternoon fishing, throwing Clouser Minnows from shore in an attempt to entice any walleyes or Northerns who may have been interested, but in all honesty I was far more content to just sit there and take in the site and sounds of the forest and the lake. I never had a strike and I gave up after I ' bat-hooked' an overhanging branch. In the end I took more pictures.  Dinner was Middle-Eastern. I fried up some falafel in a little olive oil and ate it with pita bread. I enjoyed some Turkish Coffee as an after dinner treat. I grinned to myself as I considered what kind of moron packs a copper kettle miles into the brush just for making coffee when he has a perfectly serviceable plastic press at home. These mysteries and others I pondered as the sun set behind me and I watched the shadows slowly lengthen over the lake. When the stars came out they were absolutely brilliant. I had chosen my trip to be as close to the new moon as possible so that I would have the best look at the stars and chance to catch the Aurora Borealis. The Aurora let me down but the stars did not. I do not know for how long I gazed at them. I spend my life as a slave to the hands of the clock and for this one night I was most assuredly -- Off the clock. After I hung my food pack I climbed into my tent, changed for bed and crawled into my bag. Labels: BWCAW, Camping, Coffee, Fall, Fishing, Fly_Fishing, Lakes, Minnesota, Nature, Outside, Photoshop, The_Woods, Trip_Planning, Trip_Reports, Walleyes
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Fall Blowout on the 'Worm
This past weekend I solo-hiked the Angleworm Lake trail. Unfortunately due to a 'wardrobe malfunction' with my boots, I had to turn back just before getting half way around. They barely held together long enough to make it out. The boots are (were) Columbia Bugabootoos and had served me reliably for several years. But the 'Worm ate them up like they were white bread dipped in gravy. Needless to say I learned an important lesson about using the proper tool for the job. I won't make the same mistake twice. My trip report is still pending. Click on any of the photos above to get to my Flickr page with the rest of the photos. Labels: BWCAW, Camping, Fall, Lakes, Minnesota, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Trip_Planning, Trip_Reports
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Pumpkin Patch
Photos from last week's field trip to the pumpkin patch. I don't have a lot to say about it, so I will get out of the way and let the pictures tell the story. One thing though, back in my day school buses did not have security cameras or 'body fluid cleanup kits.' Labels: Fall, Family, fatherhood, Life, Outside
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Simple Pleasure #3: Summer
Rain makes the grass grow.Man grills steaks in his driveway.Rain brings out mosquitoes.Spiders build webs on outdoor light fixtures.Indirectly, I am (Or my blood at least is) Spider Food.
It's not fair, man. The spiders get everything.Later, I walk down to the mailbox, but my key doesn't work.
Moisture in the lock has froze it up or something.
I can't get to my bills.Hakuna Matata, baby. It means no worries.
Labels: Movies, Nature, Outside, Simple_Pleasures, Summer
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Meanwhile...
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In the cold distance
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."
On Saturday 08/11/2007 I went on a road trip to Northern MN to flyfish for trout.
This is what I saw.
| Friday night to Saturday morning it stormed. I drove north through the aftermath with lightning crackling through the clouds above me as I drove. The river was going to be muddy and I knew it. But there was nothing else to be done. My fishing day was my fishing day, and I had to take it come rain or shine.
I had several potential entry points circled on my map, and as I prowled the back country roads I happened across a whitetail family set up near the road. They gave me all the time in the world but by the time I had the presence of mind to dig out the camera and snap a photo, they were all but gone.
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 | After exploring several of the tributaries to the Nemadji River, I finally settled on an entrance point on the river proper, where Highway 23 passes over it. There was a nice parking area that was empty, except for a fellow who was scouting for grouse hunting spots.
I wasn't much in the mood for company. It is hard enough to find a free day to depressurize once a quarter. Added to that I recently lost a cousin from complications involving a gall bladder removal. She was 43, died three days after my 39th birthday. She still is 43, and always going to be 43 from here on. I had been been easing into the mindset where I realistically know I could go at anytime, but now the 'easing' phase is officially over. |  | The river was muddy as I suspected. I spent a long time along the banks, watching for activity. It looked pretty dead. Given the lack of surface activity I started out nymphing, using a black wooly bugger with a strike indicator. After only a few casts I had two separate hits on my strike indicator. I quickly switched over to a #12 wolf adams and promptly hooked this little baby through the nose. | 
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I worked the river for a few hours and that chubby little shiner was the only luck I had. I practiced my casting. I listened to the world around me, paying no mind to the occasional bridge noise in the distance. There was no sense to be made from my cousin's death. I hadn't seen her since my mother's funeral, had scarcely even spoken to her then as there were just too many people to talk to. I had no idea that she was even having the surgery. I was not a factor in her life, nor she in mine really. And that is what the sadness is about, the guilt. The feeling that yes, we played together as kids and that somehow that childhood friendship should have carried over into adulthood. Up to now I had been able to live with the idea that there was time to make that connection, that it was ok to put it off for now. Except that now there isn't any more time. I finally crawled up a muddy bank and set back to my truck for some lunch. There was no real trail to speak of so I bushwhacked through the forest, keeping the the river in earshot. I have humped through some tough brush in my day, and this was some of it. It was definitely not a friendly environment for a chubby guy lugging a flyrod. After I ate I broke out the camera and explored for some good shots. Several attempts netted me some local insect life. Insects live hard and die fast. They don't have complex emotions like guilt and angst. They just get on about their business and make way for the next generation. The local plant life echoed that sentiment, as the air hung thick and sweet with the smell of pollen and nectar. Every plant and tree was in the midst of a giant bender, drunk to the gills on the rainwater from the previous night. The cicadas trilled from the treetops, like an alarm to let us know that September is coming. And when it does the nights will turn cold, and no insect plant or tree will wonder why nobody told them that it was coming. I didn't have much heart to try the river again in the afternoon. I packed up the truck and made my way a few more miles up 23 to a scenic overlook. I have passed it a few times and never taken a picture there. Since I had the tripod with me I did a panoramic. After that I turned to the south and made my way back to my family like a homesick puppy.
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 Labels: Family, Fishing, Fly_Fishing, Life, Nature, Outside, Photoshop, Rivers, Summer, The_Woods, Trout
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Simple Pleasure #2: Stargazing
Walking barefoot on my lawn late at night, feeling the warm summer breeze on my legs and face as I discern the planets from the stars. The cool green blades poking up between my toes and giving way to my heels like a plush green carpet. Ursa major and Cassiopeia wink down like old friends. The city lights are too bright where I live to make out the other constellations, but their component stars fade in and out like snippets of conversations overheard at a giant, cosmic party. I used to be able to 'hear' more. Time spent in farm fields, forests and boats during my youth netted me a greater understanding of the sheer vastness of the night sky. Back then the stars used to shout at me. Now they only seem to converse with each other in their own foreign language, without pause to see if I am keeping up. I still endeavor, knowing that if I lose the magic of the stars that I will lose a large portion of my childhood that is still precious to me. It's ironic that the more we learn about how big our universe is, the less of it we can see. Labels: Outside, Simple_Pleasures, Yard
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Our American selves
I doodled this on 04/07/07
and wrote the following:
"Planning my outdoor excursions feels not unlike a bank robber, meditating on his next heist. I am putting together the gear and the expertise and anticipating the right moment to pull off my next caper. Truth be told, aside from a canoe I really have all the gear that I need. My planned purchases are primarily creature comforts. To make life more convenient in some cases, and more fun in others.
On this spring day the nip of winter is still in the air, to serve as a reminder that into our lives a little snow must fall. But the trees are biding their time like petulant teenagers, waiting for their drivers licenses. Their buds are like a billion little pimples, all of which will erupt in one giant pubescent explosion in about two more weeks. That's when every living thing under the sun (& under the waves) will become obsessed with reproduction, not unlike our American selves.
When it comes to birds, fish, wolves and deer, I confess to being a romantic. I want to see the guy get the girl."
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It was inspired by the artwork found in my copy of Reflections from the North Country. |
Labels: Moleskine, Nature, Outside, Snow, Writing
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Never get out of the boat
"Never get out of the boat. Absolutely right. Unless you were goin' all the way.
Kurtz got off the boat. He split from the whole program. " - Willard, Apocalypse NowAnother story about roaming the woods as a kid (Briefer version originally entered as a comment in the previous post) Near a place where we fished there was an abandoned resort, hosting a large cache of wild asparagus. In the heat of the day (When walleye fishing can get slow) my brother in law would beach our boat in the old harbor and we would go ashore. I was allowed to wander around while he harvested. The entire place was blanketed under huge maples - even in broad daylight the place had a shady and sinister feel to it. As we entered the harbor I felt as though I could feel eyes upon me. The moment that I swung my leg over the side of the boat and set foot on that ground I had the uneasy feeling that comes with knowingly trespassing, the sensation that any second some pissed off landowner's hell hound was going to come charging out from the trees and maul me before I could retreat. I remember rummaging through the junk that was strewn around, and peering in through the dirty windows of the cabins. The place had not been used for some time, maybe 20 years. I imagined the people who had stayed there, wondered where the former owners were now and why the resort had closed. Had there been a tragedy, or a terrible crime? My 10-year old mind had a flair for the dramatic and did not process concepts such as economic viability or bankruptcy. Death and or dismemberment seemed quite likely to me. In my mind's eye I could see the bleached bones of fishermen and 10 year old boys beneath the floorboards of those cabins. It was the height of dog days and there was no relief from the heat, even in the shade. It only served to encourage the mosquitos, who bit fiercely, even in the middle of the day. I don't know if it was all the bloodletting or just the creepy feeling I got from trespassing in that place, but I was relieved when we retreated to the boat and departed for the evening bite. We made three incursions that summer. Each time afterward our dinner consisted of fresh Walleye, baked potatoes and asparagus from that haunted place. At night I would go out into the dark woods near our cabin to relieve myself under the stars. Like Juvenal Urbino in the book Love in the Time of Cholera, I enjoyed the immediate pleasure of smelling a secret garden in my urine that had been purified by lukewarm asparagus. To this day the smell associated with asparagus will take me back to those woods where I felt my hair biting into my sunburned neck as I stood with my face pointed to heaven, gazing at the milky way and wondering where we all end up when we dump our junk and shutter up our cabins for good. Labels: Fishing, Lakes, Nature, Outside, Summer, The_Woods, Walleyes
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Autumn Lunchtime Walk
My longing to escape the ruckus of mankind has brought me closer to it today as I visited a park near my workplace over the lunch hour. It is a semi-wooded setting with a pond, teeming with ducks and squirrels. It is surrounded on three sides by residential homes and bordered by a major freeway exchange. So this place where I would go to ponder on the beauty of God's creation is blanketed by the neverending deluge of a million roaring tires. Egads! The earth itself throbs when the big trucks jackbreak. Even the air, which should be filled with the earthy smell of decomposing leaves, carries the faint aroma of a nearby fast food resteraunt. Yet here still beauty survives. Corralled by asphault walking trails and concrete retaining walls, nature waits patiently for mankind to kill itself off, so that it may start anew. Labels: Nature, Outside, The_Woods
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How Semi-Sweet it was
A notebook jotting from last saturday, written while sitting on a fallen tree somewhere in the middle of the St. Croix state Forest: Tolkien was not mad when he wrote about trees conversing with one another. Anyone who has spent time in the forest (and has cared to observe) knows that this is an authentic and completely natural occurence.
In the summer they give themselves raucous standing ovations with their emerald gloves, as they sway like drunkards in the warm, narcotic breeze.
In autumn they drop their leaves, each one like a neighborhood watch flyer, creating a communal burglar alarm for the use of all forest residents.
In winter they speak very little, mostly just groans as they rub against each other for warmth.
But in spring they will crack open their buds and don their gloves once more, with all the enthusiasm of a tent-revival crowd about to be born yet again.
I have no idea why, but chocolate always tastes better in the woods.
Labels: Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Writing
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Get out of town
155 years ago today Henry David Thoreau wrote in his journal: "The poet must keep himself unstained and aloof. Let him perambulate the bounds of Imagination's provinces, the realm of faery, and not the insignificant boundaries of towns. The excursions of the imagination are so boundless, the limits of the town so petty." Years ago in some journal I myself observed that some of the best places in the world that you can go to you can only reach via gravel roads. I would add that greater still are those places yet beyond, that can only be reached on foot. So it is with journeys of the imagination. The truly remarkable destinations can only be reached by undertaking the journey on your own two feet, "Hoofing it" as I have conditioned my son to refer to it. Mental prostheses such as TV, Movies and Video Games cheapen the value of the excursion and convert the remarkable to mundane as the landscape is paved over for these vehicles of the imagination. The landmarks become familar and are blown past thoughtlessly. There is a lake that I drive past every morning on my way to work. I would not notice it all except that I sit at a red light across the street from it every morning. That same view of the lake every single day has become like the face of a friend to me, one that reflects the mood of the day's weather. Some days the lake gives me nothing but a blank stare, with overcast grey eyes. Other days a Davinci-like smirk, as though the sunfish are swimming in the shallows and their dorsal fins are tickling her cheekbones. Today is sunny and brisk, the changing of the leaves showing up just in the tops of the trees, like the inevitable grey that appears in the hair. All of this was reflected in the face of the lake, which stares at me every morning from across the street like a lunatic, unable to recollect that we passed each other by in this same fashion yesterday and the day before that. I quietly post this from behind my monitor at lunchtime and do not discuss it with my colleagues. They would not understand. As the landscape of the imagination is paved over and only universally-recognized landmarks are allowed to remain, the odd little nooks and crannies are shunned by the herd. An imaginary relationship with a lake is nothing to brag about around the water cooler, unless you would prefer to be left alone. And even though I blend into the crowd, I still harbor my imagination and my private thoughts like contraband. Because after all, even a secret relationship with a lake is better than no relationship at all. Such is the case with all forbidden loves of the mind; they come streaming through the mire of every day life in technicolor, mottling the forest floor of your thoughts like a rays of sunlight. So delicate that even the slightest cloud in the sky can iterdict them and leave you in the gloom, waiting impatiently for that next sunbeam to break through so that you may bolt down the trail in pursuit. Labels: Lakes, Nature, Outside
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River Hypnosis
The dharma bum posted a nice fly-fishing piece on his blog today. Just reading it left me with river hypnosis, that mild vertigo-like feeling that you get after you've stared at running water for too long. I first experienced it on the rum river in the 90's, skipping spinnerbaits under overhanging trees for smallies from a jonboat. More recently experienced these past two summers an streams in southern MN doing a lot of what the dharma bum described (Especially the part where he 'Indiana-Jonesed' an overhanging branch on a back cast). His ending point, where he was at the end of his excursion, at the end of his fly fishing for the summer - that we cannot take it with us - Is a universal experience that I think all lovers of the outdoors can personally relate with. In the end, we are just visitors and eventually we have to go home. But the feeling is not unique to fishing - Everyone goes through the same thing at some level whenever they awaken from a particularly nice dream or a meaningful song comes to an end. Fisherman (& their partners) come and go with the seasons, but the land and the stream remain, and the fish that was released or spooked today will be back at his rock tomorrow and life will go on. I choose to be encouraged by that thought rather than disappointed by it. Allthough that was not always the case. In my younger years I foolishly considered any time spent on the water (or out in nature in general) to be my own personal experiences, with a beginning to be anticipated and an end to be dreaded. I never realized that my time was just a brief interval in a much larger experience, one that started eons before I was born and will end long after I am dead. In the end, an "experience" may be the only way that we can rationally describe our finite interactions with things timeless and vast. It's no easy task to shift one's perspective of thinking of an experience as being anything more a minute unit of measurement, describing something that is still going on even now, minutes, days or years later. It's no easy task but it does make for interesting writing. Music and dreams - Along with any other inspiration to the human spirit - flow like streams in our minds, just as surely as nature goes on around us with or without our participation. The rocks, the silt, the weeds and the fish are all still there, even when our lives take us elsewhere. That's what staring at moving water for hours at a time has taught me. Bring on ice hole hypnosis! Labels: Fishing, Fly_Fishing, Nature, Outside, Rivers
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I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
"What'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest..."
-Bob Dylan
I went fishing this past Saturday and this is what I saw.
Click on photos to enlarge (Open in new windows)My kind of sign.
Storm Clouds looming to the North...
...but balmy skies to the south.
The catch of the day.
I got this rainbow trout with a black Wooly Bugger.
Maybe keeping him wasn't the most sporting thing to do, but he sure tasted good cooked fresh, stuffed with herbs and blanched in butter & lemon juice.
The Big River.
Roadside photo, taken between Winona and Wabasha.
The sun, setting over a Farm.
Taken from a moving vehicle somewhere between
Red Wing and Miesville
A cool cloud formation.
Also taken from a moving vehicle somewhere between
Red Wing and Miesville.
The sun, setting over a corn field.
I pulled over to get this shot. Taken North of Miesville
(Home of the Miesville Mudhens).
The sun's last gasp.
Taken from a moving vehicle North of Cottage Grove.
Labels: Fishing, Fly_Fishing, Nature, Outside, Rivers, Summer
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One Minute of Silence
Pictures and a post about my saturday fishing trip are still forthcoming. In the meantime, please enjoy my version of a show about nothing: Labels: Nature, Outside, Summer, Video
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The world around us
We took a walk last week and this is what we saw. Click on photos to enlarge (Open in new windows) Our Neighborhood -
On the swing -
Mass Planting -
Making a living -
An entrepreneur sets up shop -
Our Planter in front of our house -
Closeup of a daisy -
The new hydrandgea is thriving -
Out back - a closeup of a petunia -
Marigolds, Petunia, Salvia -
Closeup of Marigolds -
Closeup of a purple Salvia -
Labels: Family, Flowers, Life, Outside, Summer
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The BWCA gets Wikified
The Dharma Bum has started a wiki site for the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. The wiki site "...is meant to serve as a resource for anyone who wants to learn more about the area, about camping and canoeing there, etc." Go check it out: http://www.bwcawiki.orgLabels: BWCAW, Canoeing, Friends, Lakes, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Writing
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Snow Day!
Well, I made it to a park and took a walk today. I was supposed to be at home taking down the Christmas decorations. I figured what the heck and took my camera into the woods instead. I found myself at Locke Park in Fridley, a place that I had not visited in a long time.
Click on images to enlarge them
(They will open in a new window) Me -
This photo taken under instruction from my wife, for what purpose I have no idea. But here I am, grinning like an idiot. I was fortunate enough to be able to use a picnic table under the pavillion as my tripod. I would set the timer and then go scamper to that tree that I was posing in front of.
Trail & Creek Pictures -
 The Last Remaining Eligable Bachelor of his kind-
Talk about overstaying your welcome!
 Bridge over Creek -
I think as a kid I must have crossed this bridge on my bike a thousand times. But I never saw it in the winter before. Probably the most important thing that I was able to today was to see an everyday object for new, as if for the first time. A beautiful blanket of snow helps.
Labels: Ducks, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Winter
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Wish I were there
A great photo as seen on the Sawbill Newsletter: 
The Sawbill Trail seen from the inside of a moving vehicle
According to the weather forecasts we are supposed to get about 3-5 inches of snow tomorrow. Since it won't be all that cold I am optimistic that it will be that cool kind of snow that sticks to tree branches and looks something like the picture above. Now to just plan my getaway... Labels: BWCAW, Nature, Outside, Snow, The_Woods, Winter
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A fog in my throat
This morning there was a fog bank straddling the metro area. The cold air caused the fog to form frost on all the tree branches. It doesn't take much window dressing to make this world look like a magical place. I kicked myself all the way to work because I didn't have my camera with me. By noon the magic will be gone. Labels: Nature, Outside, Winter
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Freewrite: Here and now
Disclaimer: This was written in one "take" over lunch. The smell of dead leaves beneath my feet, the bite of the wind against my face as winter, still far off, begins to grow it's teeth. High spirits glide between the trees and my mind throbs in the silence of the forest, voices music and the sound of machinery still echoing in my skull. In their absence I am aware that my ears are ringing. The wind thrashes the treetops high above, but on the forest floor it is like a conversation overheard in an adjacent room or a crowd as heard from outside a stadium. 100 feet between peace and torment. Somewhere nearby the same wind rips across the open waters of a lake and churns the bottom of a shallow bay, covering and uncovering the rocks in an endless cycle. Elsewhere it flattens the tall grass of a clearcut meadow and scatters the voles and rabbits into hiding. In the middle of a tamarak swamp deer take refuge, and the wind is hardly more than a suggestion that something is going on outside the walls of the compound. All of these things I picture in my mind's eye as I stand on the path in the forest. There are more places than I can imagine, each alive and vibrant in this moment. We break down where we are going and where we have been with units of measurement to indicate our movement. A mile down a path, a hundred feet up a tree, 12 feet deep in a lake, etc. But isn't each step of a journey from "Here" to "There" a new "Here?" With each footstep and branch the "Here" changes and is a little different than the previous or the next. Or would you entertain the thought that the entire planet is one giant "Here?" The Superior National Forest contains Three million acres of land, water, rock, and trees. That's more "Here's" than you could hope to visit in your lifetime. And it's just a speck on the map compared to the rest of the planet. Also consider this: Each "Here" has a history and a future. While it is important to study these, I wonder if we spend enough time studying the "Now." As I listen to the wind I wonder what is happenening below the leaves in a thicket a half mile up the trail at this very moment. I wonder what is happening six inches under the muck in the eastern edge of a duck slough near what used to be my family's farm in western Minnesota. I wonder if anyone is freezing to death on the side of Mt. Everest right now. I wonder how many scorpions per square mile live in the Sahara desert. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder. I wonder about this world that God has given us, and how we march through it in such straight lines without ever taking the time to enjoy all three dimensions. I wonder about the time that each of us are given, and how we waste so much of our lives worrying over the future and dredging up our pasts. I wonder if any of us ever really learn to use history as a learning tool to prevent mistakes in the future, leaving us free to focus on the here and now. Labels: Fall, Fishing, Nature, Outside, The_Woods, Writing
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Early Winter Deer Kill
The November 2005 Sawbill Newsletter describes the aftermath of a deer that fell to a wolf on Alton lake this weekend. A very cool piece of nature reporting. The writer took some early-ice risks that I would not have taken in order to get some choice photos of the kill:
"....the ice was so black and clear as to be nearly invisible, giving me the illusion that I was skiing on open water. My heart was in my throat a few times as I could feel the ice sag beneath me and watched cracks shoot out from under my feet."Maybe not as bone-headed as the nitwit I saw on Animal Planet this weekend, trying to get close-ups of a Spitting Cobra, but the consequences of a slip-up could have been just as deadly. Nature doesn't care who you are. It'll eat you up just the same, as surely as a wolf will eat a deer. Labels: Deer, Fall, Nature, Outside
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More PBS Freeloading
Have I mentioned that I am not a contributor to PBS? Yet it seems most of the television shows that I bother mentioning in this blog come from there. Hmmm. Anyway there was a great documentary about Dorothy Molter last night. Don't know who she was? Don't feel bad because I didn't either until I watched the documentary. For those of us who love the outdoors and the wild, this woman really lived "The life." In this day and age where we are fascinated with stories of success, attend efficiency seminars and read books on how to do more in less time, we really have shifted our perspective on the signifigance of contentment in our lives. The prevailing wisdom these days is that contentment is the end and success is the means. But to Dorothy Molter, success was the end and contentment was the means. She was happy with where she was and what she had. She demonstrated that you don't need to be successful in order to be content, you need to be content in order to be successful. You don't see very many people who can walk that talk, and that makes Dorothy Molter a hero in my eyes. The documentary is called "DOROTHY MOLTER Living in the Boundary Waters" and according to the PBS web site it's not scheduled to run again anytime soon (At least in the Twin Cities market). You can shell out $33 to buy the video online or you can just stop by the Dorothy Molter museum the next time that you pass through Ely. Labels: BWCAW, Nature, Outside
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Deer = Rats?
Strib Article: Deer and people clash in MinnesotaSuburban dwellers of the Twin Cities metro area have similar complaints about Canadian Geese. Who is encroaching upon who's living space seems to be the question. Unless a day comes where people are corralled into the cities, stories like this will continue to get play. America has a Love/Hate relationship with itself - So gleeful about the housing boom, so sad that some mean people want to kill the deer that wander into these new neighborhoods. Labels: Deer, Fall, Nature, Outside, The_News
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27-year-old walleye found in Lake of the Woods
Read the story at the strib site. That fish dates back to the Carter administration and the first Star Wars Movie! It never occurred to me to wonder how long these fish might live if they are not harvested or predated upon. Or Gill netted. 1:00 PM - I removed the photo of Mace Windu and the reference to 'Going out like some sucka." Not everyone might get the Samuel Jackson reference plus I don't want any trouble for linking to a SW.com photo. Labels: Fishing, Lakes, Nature, Outside, The_News, Walleyes
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Treestand Confession
Chris weighs in: Date: Wed, 9 Nov 2005 07:39 Subject: what I got "OK, so I'm sitting in my stand opening morning and I hear some crashing in the brush behind me, and I know this is a deer. I stand and ready myself. Good news - I saw the deer before she saw me and she will cross my shooting lane. I calmly raise my rifle, aiming down the part in the trees. Then there was another crash Through the brush - I thought to myself, "This must be a buck." Indeed it was, not huge but the largest one I've seen hunting, complete with a well-developed 6 point rack. Well my composure faded as quickly as the doe did into the brush. I followed the buck with my weapon across the shooting lane without taking a shot. If I see the above-mentioned animal again I have a plan - One that doesn't include me choking due to a sudden case of buck fever."Labels: Deer, Fall, Friends, Hunting, Nature, Outside
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Antler Envy
Miskowic & Cashman each got a buck this year: Miskowic's deer Cashman's Deer These were taken from Miskowic's camera phone. Not only does Cashman always get a bigger deer than Miskowic, he even gets bigger pictures of deer than Miskowic. No word yet on how Chris did. Labels: Deer, Fall, Friends, Hunting, Nature, Outside
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Where Heaven & Earth Meet
Click to enlarge (Opens in a new window) Words mean little in the north country. When hunting grouse, an unnecessary word can cost you a shot. It was Sunday, almost noon, almost the end of our weekend excursion. We advanced up a little road with caution, careful to make as little noise as possible. For a brief moment in time we had been able to tune out the outside world. We had replaced the mundane daily tasks of our lives with the excitement of keeping a canoe upright and the serenity of gazing at a distant shoreline. We had challenged our senses to identify shapes in the underbrush and to feel a tap on the line. We had experienced the adrenal rush of flushed birds and the tranquil peace of laying on our backs and gazing at the night sky. We had slept on the frosty ground, drank hot black coffee from tin cups, cooked meat over an open fire, used our compasses in real life situations and howled at the moon. None of these things necessarily in that order, of course. But now it was Sunday, and each man was starting to feel the outside world tugging him back. Each of us had lives that awaited our return: Household chores, Monday morning blues and joyful reunions with wives and children. Q: So what of this fatal moment in a trip, when our inner mountain men must relinquish their hold on us? A: We faced the moment as neither a mountain man nor a civilized man but rather as some sort of hybrid. Such were my thoughts as I made my way up that twisting, claustrophobic little road with my two best friends flanking me. We encountered a set of gateposts and stopped to consult our maps. We advanced into unposted private land. Ahead was a clearing and some blue. The road emptied out onto a undeveloped lot that according to our map was the only access point to a small lake. Respectfully we lowered our guns and made our way to the shoreline. We did this not as hunters but rather as pilgrims, for in front of us was a vision, of Heaven meeting the earth. A sheltered little bay reflected the sky and the fall colors. The campsite behind me had probably been there for a thousand years, with different men calling it home. And they would have been crazy not to. The blustery wind that had harassed us on Fourmile lake was reduced to a shocked gasp, as though we had stumbled across one of the wood's secrets. The wind weaved through the pines and the stubborn Birches like a busybody at a party, shushing us to secrecy. I closed my eyes and felt the clean air on my face and inhaled the scent of the woods. They smelled sweeter here than anyplace else I had been all weekend. As I entranced myself with the tranquilizing colors of the lake I felt my worries and troubes slide off to one side like butter in a hot skillet. Unencumbered, I reveled in the moment. My inner mountain man had been turned loose for a little longer. We had stumbled across a site that was the quintessential wilderness to us, a place where earth and sky meet water, where a man and a campfire make a welcome part of an elemental foursome. I turned away with a certain degree of melancholy, because allthough I had felt the exhiliration of discovering this beautiful and unique listening point I also felt a certain amount of guilt, knowing that I had trespassed in order to make that discovery. Our only judge and jury that day were the trees, and they were not returning a verdict to us. Left to interpret my own case I would like to think that the end justified the means, as long as I don't repeat the crime. But I let myself off with a warning. Even though I know that this place exists I do not feel as though I can go back, and that is perhaps the most bitter punishment of all. As we made our way back to the truck we maintained our silence. We weren't hunting now and could have spoken at any moment. But each step away from that stunning vista was another step closer to our exile from paradise - back to civilization and our 'normal' lives. In an hour we would be eating our last lunch as we broke camp. In two we would be creeping along the edge of Superior, returning to our normal lives like a slumbering child returns from his dreams. Labels: Fall, Friends, Hunting, Lakes, Life, Nature, Outside, The_Woods
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Banjo Moon
I am still working on my "official" report of what happened on my recent fall trip with the guys. I have lots of pictures to sort through, resize and post. I attempted a couple of panorama shots, one which worked great (The campsite) and one which I am not happy with (The lake). I also got one tremendous shot of the moon which still makes me grin every time that I look at it. It's my wallpaper right now. Fourmile Lake -
Click to enlarge (Opens in a new window)
This is the lake that we stayed at.
This photo set was taken in the morning on Sunday, October 16, 2005. It's knit together from 6 different photos that I took from a tripod. I had a really rough time of tring to match up the middle shots to the end shots, which is why the sun looks like it does. I hope that you like it, because I have already put as much work as I am willing to put into it.
Fourmile Lake - Our Campsite -
Click to enlarge (Opens in a new window)
I got really lucky with the campsite. This photo set was taken on Friday, October, 14, 2005 while Mike and Chris were setting up the camp. It consists of 5 different photos (again, taken from the tripod) that went together practically like a set of Lego's™. Money Shot!
Click to enlarge (Opens in a new window)
OK, So I am not a professional photographer, so when I take a picture like this, it is a big deal to me. I am posting it with no watermarks in case you want to download it, or whatever. There are probably only four people who read this blog anyway so I'm not worried. If you do decide to use this photo for something online, please be sure to give me credit! More photos and some writing to come soon!
Labels: Camping, Fall, Friends, Hunting, Lakes, Nature, Outside, The_Moon, The_Woods
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Two more days
The guy's annual fall trip is set. We met this past Sunday and poured over a map of Superior National Forest and picked our spot. Meals were planned, to-do lists were created. The plan is to be at our campground by early afternoon. We are bringing a canoe and some rods to try to coax some walleye out of the lake. The shotguns are coming with too, for self-defense against any ruffed grouse that we may stumble across. Guitars will be packed for doing the cowboy thing around the fire at night. I am looking forward to seeing the stars without the interference of city lights. I am praying for some good northern lights. I cannot wait to breathe some air that hasn't been breathed before. We meet at my house early Friday morning and leave from there. Somehow I don't think waking up will be a problem like it is on a regular work day. Labels: Camping, Fall, Fishing, Friends, Hunting, Nature, Outside, The_Woods
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With Both Hands
Preamble (10:00 AM):Today will be my first attempt to angle for trout by fly. I have had most of the gear for years and I have never used it. I want to go fishing and there is no boat in my near future, thus today I will combine the traditional joys of fishing with the new challenge of fly casting, framed by a setting of solitude, hiking and QUIET. Well, not exactly quiet - There will be all those sounds that have been there in the background that I have conditioned myself to ignore and/or tune out: The sound of moving water, birds, bugs buzzing around my head, wind blowing through trees, even the sound of my own heartbeat. In the hustle, bustle, hurry and rush of life we lose those things. Well today I am going to grab on to them with both hands and take them back. That is what this day is all about.
Destination:I am going to focus my efforts on exploring a branch of a large river system in Winona county. There is a lot of bank there for the walking, and hopefully I will be able to avoid the crowds.
Summary (11:00 PM)Incidents & EncountersThe drive down south was not uneventful; as I made my way through the cities a rather large thunderstorm system fell upon me. Torrential rain and high winds did their best to stop me and did in fact slow me down considerably. Once out of the city and traffic, my journey was smooth. as paved roads gave way to gravel, my spirits began to rise as the reality that my time (for this afternoon at least) was my own. Lost in my thoughts I was barely able to slow down in time when a doe crossed the road in broad daylight. I rolled slowly past where she had come out of and sure enough I saw a confused fawn hiding in the trees. If I hadn't slowed down he might have tried to follow his mother and gotten creamed.
On the water - At lastWith my late departure and storm delays, I did not reach my entry point until almost 2 PM. I had chosen a little county road where the bridge had been taken out, leaving a nice little dead-end. As I pulled in my heart sank as I saw three fellows sitting on the tailgate of their truck, eating sandwiches and chatting quietly. After determining that they were on their way out and not in, I geared up and headed down to the bank. With no prior experience or mentorship with another trout fisherman, I really had no idea what I was doing. But I committed to doing it, whatever "it" turned out to be. I slowly made my way downstream, trying not to make a ruckus. The weeds were thick and almost as tall as me. in chestwaders I advanced with little fear of itchweed or ticks, leaving and rejoining the overgrown trail whenever it suited me. About 75 yards in I found a good-sized pool, about the size of a baseball diamond. I was standing at home plate, and directly down stream on the opposite bank was second base, a small creek inlet. Third base was an outlet from the pool, a riffle where the river continued on it's way. First base, slightly downstream on the opposing bank, was a large tree with exposed roots hanging into the water. Directly in the center of the stream bed, lying at a right angle to the first base line, was a fallen tree, marking the entrance of the pool like a large exclamation point. I stood there at home plate and took this all in. That's when I began to notice the risings. Small ones along the third base line, but the largest and most frequent over at first base by that big tree. At last, the game was afoot. I eased my way into the stream and cautiously made my way up the first base line. I stopped on my side of the fallen tree and as I did I noticed a handful of little trout scatter for the safety of the opposing bank. Fair enough. I waitied. I stood there quietly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Blend in with the woodwork, be part of the stream. Maybe not a welcomed part of it, but at least an accepted one. In time, the surfacings at first base resumed. So I am still in the game, I thought to myself. With my manueverings, first base was in easy reach. My casting was terrible, a real mess. I started with a 14 Adams and over the course of 45 minutes or so I started to get the hang of things. Eventually I was able to get get the fly to land where I wanted it, without the tippet and the line crashing down on top of it and creating a terrible ruckus. Well, generally speaking, I guess. Finally I was able to serve one up right down the middle - The fly drifted lazily past first base and out toward second. Out of nowhere there was a small surge and my fly was gone. My reaction was too imediate and too powerful. I set the hook like I was after a dogfish and I jerked the fly right out of the fish's mouth. I repeated the cast precisely, and this time I did not miss. Unfortunately the fish was only on for about 5 seconds before the tippet snapped. My only other Adams was a 12 and I quickly tied it on. A few minutes later and another solid hit. I was more careful and this time the fish stayed on for 10 seconds before the tippet snapped. As I stared at the stream in disbelief a brown trout jumped straight up into the air, arced about 3 feet above the water and gracefully swooped back into the water, nose first. I may not have been meant to catch that fish, but I was meant to see him and I could live with that. He never jumped again so I assume that he was able to disgorge my barbless hook. Out of Adams of any size, I tried a couple of imposters with no luck. Remember, I basically had no idea what I was doing. I switched to a black Wooly bugger and afer a couple of casts my luck changed. The bugger was out of site when the strike occurred, but I could see the strike just fine by watching the end of my line. I set the hook carefully, mindful not to horse it too much. After a brief struggle I landed my first trout, a nine inch rainbow. He was hooked up into the eye socket, luckily with no apparent damage to the eye. The barbless hook came out easily. As I let him go he took a quick barrel roll to the bottom of the stream, landing belly up. I was able to get a hold of him again and I gently cradled him, facing upstream so that the water flowed through his gills. After what seemed like a long time a puff of air came out of first his right gill and then his left. Then he seemed to perk up. His head started to move side to side and his tail started moving. At last he swam away slowly, off toward the dugouts. The game was over for him today. Not long after I caught another rainbow, this one smaller. he went straight back into the rotation with no troubles. Not too long after that I wrapped my bugger around a high tree branch and that was the end of it. I tied on another and moved up to the pitchers mound to try my luck with second and third base, but they weren't buying what I was selling. Considering myself well ahead in the game, I wrapped it up and made my way back to the truck for some lunch on the tailgate. Homeward BoundAfterwards I tried other spots but I was unable to repeat my performance in the baseball diamond. When the shadows started getting long I packed up and headed back up to the city. I was content with the knowledge that for a few hours at least my worries had been pushed to the back of my mind. I had gone into the world and experienced the sensations that I had forgotten about - Sights and smells, not just sounds. Maybe most importantly I had heard the sound of my own heart beating once again. Labels: Fishing, Fly_Fishing, Nature, Outside, Rivers, Summer, Trout
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Fresh from the garden
These photos were taken out on the patio earlier tonight:      Labels: Flowers, House, Nature, Outside, Yard
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Angry Skies, Switzerland in flames
It stormed here tonight:   After dinner I tried to lull the child into a false sense of security with a Barney video while I cut his hair. He saw right through it and what followed was nothing short of a wholesale scalping. I think that he has finally reached the age where he has found the notion of me trying to trick him insulting. That or the intrusion upon the sanctity of a Barney video. Like bombing Switzerland or something. He's in bed now. All's well that ends well:  Not bad considering he was a moving target. Labels: DIY_Hairstyling, fatherhood, Nature, Outside, Summer, Yard
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In the key of "Dee"
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All the difference
A fresh blanket of snow today. Just a smidge; an inch, no more. still, enough to foul up traffic. It hasn't really melted yet so today the world is a silver lining to a sky full of clouds. I think that the most picturesque snowscapes that I have seen have all been up around the north shore. I remember a grouse hunting trip with my friends on an old logging road a few miles west of Isabella, at the tail end of a lake effect snowstorm. About 6 inches of the stuff had come down. It started wet and as it slowly turned cold the snow began clinging to the trees, powerlines and virtually everything that it touched. It looked as if God had cast the likeness of the world in silver and given my friends and me free run of it. We began walking down a promising trail that quickly forked. According to our maps it rejoined, so we parted ways. My friends and the dog continued to the south and I went alone to the southeast. The sky was clearing as we did this, and as I walked alone I looked up at the trees that towered above me. It was if I had wandered into the world's largest cathedrel, for in every direction that I looked I saw a more breathtaking stained glass window than the last, filled with the blue of the sky, the dark green of Norway pines and the golden glow of sunshine, framed behind the snow-covered branches. This was no man-made temple yet I worshipped there all the same, silently thanking God for the scene around me. Beauty of this kind is no accident. As I slowly walked along the sun began to gradually warm the branches above me, starting a secondary snowfall in the woods as the trees began to groggily shake off the sediment. Chickadees and red squirrels were on the move now, quickly getting back to the daily business of winter foraging. As the two roads slowly rejoined the dog came to greet me. A few more steps around the bend and I was reunited with my comrades. As we plodded back to the truck I wondered to myself what their experience had been like. I had no doubt that they had seen the same sunlight, blue sky, evergreens and snow-covered branches, but I wondered if they had really seen these things as I had. As we pulled away to find another trail I thanked God again, this time for a safe hunt and for good friends with whom to share the beauty of the woods. We'd shared an experience, even if we had walked down seperate paths. I will always treasure the memory of taking the road less travelled that frosty late autumn morning. Labels: Fall, Friends, Hunting, Nature, Outside, Snow, Winter
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Owl be back
I am having more outdoor urges today. Partly because it is sunny and warm, partly because the wife read my desperate plea for help from last friday and suggested that we could "maybe" go somewhere this spring. Wherever it is I hope that they have trees. Of course stories like this also get me itchy to go into the woods. Owls large enough to carry away children and small livestock. Sign me up! I don't know what it is about owls that captures my imagination. As a toddler the story goes that whenever we drove past a red owl store I would get excited and point up at the sign. My Red Owl obsession was apparently acute enough that my grandmother took notice and made a Red Owl pillow for me. At the farm where my grandparents lived there was a wooded pasture inhabited by a great horned owl. I canot recall if I ever actually saw the bird myself, but what I do recall is that I had some very wild ideas about the appearance of any creature with the words "Great," "Horned" and "Owl" in their name. I envisioned some sort of ultrabird, a super-owl. Perhaps a man-sized owl with horns like a bull. In the mythology of my childhood the great horned owl that lived in my grandparents' pasture was like a flying minataur. Except instead of being mean he was wise, of course. Not just because he was an owl, either. this creature had decided to live on my grandparent's farm and to me that seemed like a pretty wise move on the owl's part. These days I take in information and it just sits in my head like the wool fluff that you find in a pillow. I look back to those days and I reallize that the way a child can take that wool fluff and spin it into a golden tapestry, designed to suit their entertainment needs. It's a lost art, insofar as we all have it and by growing up we lose it. Day-to-day living, task-oriented activities, and duty-Duty-DUTY suck the creativity out of us, until we can scarcely remember what it was like to think like a kid. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but very soon I will return to the woods and look for my old friend the great horned owl. Labels: Birds, Family, Nature, Outside, Owls, The_News, The_Woods
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Away for too long
I have to say that I miss it outside. Oh sure, you could say that I go outside all the time, if you count each time I scamper from the car to the door of an office or a shopping mall. But that would be like counting mold in your refrigerator as a houseplant. I miss the sky overhead, from horizon to horizon, the wind on my face and the sound of a lake lapping in the summer or booming in the winter. I miss the jiggle of a peat bog under my feet, the smell of dead leaves and the aroma of pine needles. I miss walking through the woods and witnessing the living tapestry of fugi, lichen and moss. I miss the companionship of chickadees, singing in my ear and hopping from branch to branch as I make my way along the trail. I miss the raucous chattering of red squirrels, the hooting of owls and the chortling of loons. I miss the playful antics of chipmunks and the elusive tactics of the whitetail deer. I've loved the forests and lakes since I was old enough to walk or swim in them. Even when I was young and the woods were a place full of witches, wolves and monsters I loved them, because they were also a place full of Fairies, leprechauns and dancing gingerbread men. As a youngster lakes filled me with a sense of trepidation as I imagined scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I swam in. In my adolescence lakes filled me with a sense of thrill at the notion of scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I dangled my hook in. I remember the sense of loss I felt each time a weekend or vacation concluded, and how that feeling turned to longing as I waited for the next adventure to begin. Somehow the longer that you stay away from something the more that sense of longing diminishes, until one day you discover that you haven't really been outside in months. Labels: Nature, Outside
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