Round-Snipe-Ham Lakes Loop

The realization that we are officially day-tripping weekend warriors has come and gone.  Our days of month-long forays into the bush departed with our jobs and limited vacation.  We embraced that reality by splitting our normal trips into shorter, long-weekend travels.  We've made due.  The truth is our life is lived in the woods.  Everyday our routine revolves around the wilderness life we always dreamt of.

Now it is Penelope's life.  Through our daily hikes into the forest, our leisurely afternoons swimming and hanging out around the fire on the beach, nights falling asleep to the low soulful howl of timber wolves, mornings awaking to finches at the bird feeder, and canoe tripping; Penelope is already living a unique experience growing up in the north woods.

A couple of nights ago we decided that it was time for her to sleep her first night in a tent.  We made camp.  Granted the tent was pitched on our property no more than shouting distance from her cradle it was a new experience nonetheless.  She went to sleep under a clear crisp diamond studded starry night and woke up to trembling aspen glittering in the soft morning breeze.  It was a great start to our weekend adventure.

Penelope's first camp: our backyard!

Happy baby in the morning!

Heading up the Gunflint Trail with the canoe atop the truck and gear in the bed is a great freeing feeling.  Just knowing that solitude and new sights in only a couple paddles and a portage away reinvigorates me.  Penelope contently watched the forest and lakes cruise by her window.  At the landing she quietly laid down on the blanket in front of her mother as we launched her on her first wilderness canoe trip.  A loon greeted us within a paddles length of the starboard bow and a bald eagle surveyed Round Lake as we crossed.  Penelope just stared up at shining sky.

Penelope, clearly enthusiastic, crossing into the wilderness for the first time.

Our first portage of a 140 rods (one rod is sixteen and a half feet long, 320 rods equals one mile) followed a small stream, crossed a couple of springs flowing out of a bedrock contact, around a small moose pond and to Missing Link Lake.  Penelope rode in the front pack like it was a stroll in the park at home.

After paddling the small scenic lake we carried another 180 rod portage over rock ledges and through black spruce bogs carpeted with sphagnum moss into the gorgeous Snipe Lake.  Keeling and prying our way around sheer rock faces we soon found ourselves over the short, cobbled portage and launching into narrow Cross Lake.  Powering over beaver dams we realized that we had found the rhythm that we had hoped for!  A rhythm when time is determined by j-strokes, wind speed, waves and the weight on our backs.  All the while Penelope shared in our adventure.

The "porpoises" of the North's sphagnum-rimmed muskegs; river otter playfully followed our canoe.

At Cross Lake we found pitcher plants.  These colorful carnivorous plants are found in bogs where the methane rich waters and acidic soils make conditions difficult for much else to survive.  These amazing plants attract unsuspecting insects with their color.  Their leaves that are cupped and when the insects land on them their slimy leaves trap them.  Slipping into the main body of the plant the prey is then dissolved by bacteria.

Hundreds of pitcher plants lined this lake.  All awaiting insects to be lured to their ill fate.

Now paddling north we shared the route with three river otter and a huge snapping turtle.  A tail wind aided the travels.  Before we knew it we were crossing Ham Lake.  The day almost complete we took advantage of a stiff breeze and easy landing to watch a Bald Eagle soar the thermals above us.

Prehistoric relics of the Jurassic; this snapping turtle was content enough on his warm rock to let us get to within a paddle's length away!

 We ended the paddle with a couple of simple carries over the iron orange weathered slate of the Rove Formation.  The portages snaked through old growth white and red pines that were spared by the Ham Lake fire that started nearby.  The final portages around mild rapids on Cross River led to a leasurily paddle to the landing which completed the adventure.  Penelope's first canoe trip was a success!

Blueberry Barrens

Warm.  Prior to today's dousing of rain just a quarter inch of rain has fell in the last couple of weeks.  I've been watering the garden every morning.  A thin scent of smoke periodically drifts through the breeze from fires in Ontario.  Black-eyed Susans bloom along the driveway.

Beyond the Gunflint Fault, after the North Shore Volcanics has given way to the Duluth Complex, the diabase sills and Rove Slates, is a wild "interior" country.  It's a place were white polished and striated rock meets clear cold glacial water.  Apart from portages and a couple of rough hiking trails it's a place where the bush is too thick to traverse large distances by foot.  Traveling by water is the only means for wilderness travelers to make serious mileage.   Large, rolling rocky hills invite sweeping views.  Pure slabs of rock remind you of Utah and the Colorado Plateau.

A huge wildfire swept through the area a fews years ago.  Now this country can also be accuretly described as the "blueberry barrens".  All competition has been burned and blueberries now dominate the shrub layer of a forest.  At times you feel like you are walking on a carpet of berries.  The fruit is delicous and healthy.  In fact, some studies have found that phytochemicals in blueberries help reduce inflammation, lower chlolestoral and possibly reduce symptons of heart disease.   We would harvest them no matter what they may do for our health.  In the end we freeze most of our crop and for use in scones, pancakes, smoothies and sundaes.

This weekend we made our annual pilgramige to the Ham Lake Fire burn in the Seagull Lake area to pick blueberries.  Blueberries are hardy perrenials found around the world.  In fact, among berries, its consumption is second only to strawberries.

 Lowbush or "wild" blueberries are native to North America.  The plants cling to the granites of Canadian Shield along the upper Gunflint Trail.

Penelope relaxing, Amy harvesting, and Luna roaming the Ham Lake Fire area

Taking in the rugged terrain

The Harvest

One of the reasons I'm so drawn to this country is the geology.  Here large euhedral phenocrysts of potassium feldspar catch the afternoon light and my eye during the hike back to the truck.

Ending the day relaxing after a refreshing swim in Seagull Lake

Chores Aren't Always Boring

Ever wondered why they use so many damn packing peanuts?  

My mind was going there this evening as I was getting the trash packed into our canister for pick up in the morning when I heard the jingle of metal fencing.  My first instinct was that the bear had come back for the compost or Amy was out looking at the garden.  Then I remembered that Amy was inside and saw that there was no black critter digging around the compost.  It continued.  As I walked up the hill I saw a spotted fawn floundering on the upslope side of our garden fence.  He struggled for a bit.  By the time my mind wrapped itself around the situation and I started to make my way up there to scare it off, he freed himself and strangely made his way towards me.  His body was shaking as he fearlessly approached me to within twenty or so feet.  At that point, Amy opened the door.  At first she didn't realize what the deer was and even asked "What's that?"; confused as to why any deer would dare to venture so close to a human.  Luna knew what it was and barked.  The fawn scurried off through the orchard back into forest.

My first thought was "great, now I have a desperate orphaned fawn to worry about eating my freshly-blushed apples and crash through our fence line into our garden."  I did damage control.  I walked up to the section of fence that the deer had blindingly attempted to crash in order to assess the damage.  I wasn't there a minute when I heard more commotion in the woods up the hill.  Was it the fawn again?  Maybe his mother?  Whatever it was it was cruising through the bush at an alarming rate.  It drew closer.  By the time the sound was just beyond our clearing I realized that this was no small deer.  My throat dried and goose bumps rippled my skin. The crashing ended but I could still follow moving shrubs.  Suddenly no farther than twenty feet from me, a huge black wolf pounced out of the woods into the clearing!  It was the same black wolf that stood at the base of the driveway a couple of winters ago and howled.  This time, however, I was close enough to see his yellow eyes, follow the grey fur that lined the perimeter of his massive pointed ears, and gaze at his aged white scruff of a beard under neck and between his front quarter of his otherwise black fur coat.  Every hair on my body sprang to attention.   It didn't take him long to recognize that the human in front of him was no prey.  Without effort he glided back into the woods and watched me.  I couldn't believe my eyes!  This was by far the closest that I had ever been to a wolf.  I had my phone on me and wanted to give Amy a chance to see this amazing creature so I called her.  Unfortunately it didn't take him long to bolt once he heard the door open.  All the while I could hear more crashing a couple hundred feet away around Spruce Knob.      

Unfortunate fate for the fawn; this wolf was hot on it's trail!  Given that wolf's size and speed and the fact that he probably has a couple of buddies covering the flank, I most likely won't have to worry about the little guy wrecking my apple crop... 

Darkness and Sleep is Brief

Hot.  Highs in the middle eighties (90's over the hill).  Recent abundant rain has brought us out of a drought and yet spared us of the catastrophic flooding that occured closer to Duluth. 

Blueberries are ripe for picking on the Gunflint Trail.  This is early as most years the berries aren't ready until the last week of July.  Strawberries, however, were late this year.  Most years we can go to an excellent "pick your own" strawberry farm in southern Ontario for Amy's birthday in the end of June.  This year they weren't ready until the end of the first week of July.

A pair of wolves have taken up residence of the neighborhood with their pups.  I haven't seen them yet but their signs are all around and we hear them most nights.  Some nights they sound like dogs playing.  Other times they howl at the moon rising over Lake Superior.  Either way, it's actually a comforting thought to know that we aren't the only parents raising young in these woods!

While our garden has been spared the worst of the recent cut worm invasion, slugs have found their way into our potato patch.  Despite the heavy rains of June and these slugs our garden continues to thrive.  On top of that our young apple orchard is surpassing my expectations.  The sweet sixteen apples are slightly larger than a golf ball in size.  We also transplanted perenials from my mother's garden and planted a new bed in front of the cabin.  The holly hawks are from my grandparent's farm in western Minnesota.

A couple weeks ago I was fortunate to catch a boat ride out of Grand Portage to Isle Royale to help a friend work on his cabin on the island.  His family is one of the last of the original commercial fishing family's twhose summer cabins remain on the island.  The trip was short but needed as the temperatures out there were almost twenty degrees cooler than the mainland.  A loon with a chick on her back greeted as we entered the fjord-like waters of the archipelego's southern islands.

So while I water and weed the garden, mound the potatos, and work on building a wood shed, Penelope and the local wolf pups watch the midsummer moons wax and wane for the first time.  Golden finch and black capped chickadee feed on sunflower seeds from our window side feeder.  The sharp shinned hawk continues to patrol the poplar tops for rabbit and mice.  The local black bear luggs through the woods feeding on berries and not garbage.  This time of year the days are busy while darkness and sleep is brief.  I busily scurry around learning what it takes to build our homestead and raise Penelope...

All We Need

At first I thought that it was a child screaming.  Then I remembered that I was two miles from anyone.  Suddenly a fleeting shadow, soaring towards the tallest old growth white pine, drifted over the ridge top forest .  The screaching became more frantic.   Finally my eyes caught a scene that struck me.  A perfect image of a Bald Eagle; bleach white head, ink black body of feathers on wings as wide as I am tall, a yellow hooked beak.  In it's dagger talons was a fish.   The frantic screaching halted.  Before I knew it another formally unseen adult Eagle appeared and the three birds feasted.  The feast took barely a minute to complete.  Suddenly both of the adults departed and soared over the to the distant lake leaving the egglet quiet; never to divulge it's location until the next meal appears soaring over the horizon. 

I've seen a lot of Bald Eagles.  Afterall, Minnesota boasts the largest breeding population outside of Alaska.  I've seen an eagle dived in front of my canoe and pluck a trout out of the water.  Never, however, have I witnessed an eagle tend it's nest with food.  For some reason this scene struck me.  I hung out in the shade for a while longer to see if the adults would return.  I watched the younger tinker around in it's nest.  It was perfectly content to sit there and gaze off at the surrounding lakes of the border country.

The adults didn't return in the time that I was able to remain waiting.  The experiance made me think about my new role as the caretaker and provider.  It's funny; humans are real good at attempting to disconnect ourselves from the animate roles that ultimately and very simply play.  We try real hard  to prompt up our role in the order with our SUVS, dish networks, computer, running water and beauracracy.  The older I get the more convinced that we are only fooling ourselves.  Humans are animals.  When it comes down to it all we need are the basics of life. 

4.3 inches of rain

With mud boots next to the door, a shovel on the other side of the wall, and drying rain gear hanging in the bathroom I'm beginning to feel seasoned in weathering flash floods. Three flash flood events have inundated the area in two years. This storm, however, was the largest in terms of the amount of rain.

Record rains have fallen for the past 24 hours.  In the end, 4.3 inches of rain settled in our rain gauge.  More than eight inches fell in the Duluth area.  The St. Louis River, one of the largest rivers in Northern Minnesota, is now at a record flood level.  The interstate was shut down with three feet of water drowning it's lanes.  Highway 61 was closed along the shore.  Fiber optics and communication lines were severed when the raging waters toppled a bridge over the Knife River.  Phones and internet were down all day.

Around Cook County the already-saturated soils accepted little before it began to flow in sheets over the land.  Small tributaries swelled within minutes and cut into any banks that were in their way.  Unconsolidated ground swelled, became a viscous plastic fluid and gave way to the forces of gravity.  Immense masses of earth wasted down the slopes of the North Shore.  Root beer brown colored water derived from the clay-rich run off sheens the surface of the lake along entire shore.

Relative to our neighbors down the shore, our property was spared the worst of damage.  The toe slope of the recently installed septic tank was eroded.  Beyond that everything held up.  So for now we will count our blessings and think about flood insurance...

Warm and humid.  Highs in the low eighties with lows in the mid fifties.  Gentle afternoon rain showers sporadically brush the Shore after storming down the hills of the Gunflint.  In the evening and morning hours fog creeps up the hill from the lake as the dew point and temperature embrace each other.  Woodland lily, Wild Rose, Lilac, Columbine, hawk weed and Lupine are in bloom.  

Woodland Lily

A young fisher has been hanging around the neighborhood.  Hopefully he's busy hunting the thriving mouse population.  What rodents he doesn't capture the circling sharp shinned hawk in the sky above will.  I've spotted a couple of Moose grazing in the ponds of the upper Brule valley.

I've been busy stacking poplar and piling up the tops to burn.  Slowly we've been accumulated materials to begin building the wood shed.  This evening; after planting the tomatoes, brussel sprouts and cucumbers, the garden will be completely planted.  The rain that fell a couple of weeks ago washed out most of the parsnips, rutabagas, spinach, kale and parts of the peas and beans, but we got everything sorted out and replanted.  Our evening meals are supplemented by the first harvest of lettuce from the garden.   

One of our favorite picnic spots

We've also been spending quite a bit of time hiking around our neighborhood.  It's been a great experience watching Penelope soaking in the world around her as we show her some of our favorite places and explore new ones.

Hiking the Superior Hiking Trail

Overlooking Lake Superior from the aptly-named Wildflower Hill

Descending Woods Creek

Luna moth

This Luna moth was attracted to our window.  With wingspans of up to 4.5 inches they are among the largest moths in North America.  

The Last Light of Day

A quarter moon has risen over the eastern sky on the last day of May.  This moon has brought us so much!  I may practice but cannot truly summon the words to describe what I feel under this moonlight.

In the meanwhile I stroll and whisper softly to our sleepy baby as the last glimmering speck of light fades in the west outside the nursery window.  A rabbit grazes the grass at the edge of the driveway.  A white tail doe nestles in the spruce glen just below the birch smoke that floats down the hill in the gentle lake breezes.  Grouse hunker deep into the slash pile that now is home.  There's no doubt that black bears are roaming the forest looking for an unkept trash can or bird feeder.  Somewhere along the Brule River moose are bedding into a plump bed of sphagnum moss.  Whippoorwills chant.  Bats feast on the freshly-hatched insects.  Owls stealthily assault unsuspecting rodents.  Wolves are surely hunting their way up and down the drainages of the North Shore under the first moon light in a week or so.

The overcast conditions of the recent week have now faded into a weak high pressure system from the north.  It will most likely freeze tonight.

So the fire burns.  The acoustic music plays.  Penelope gives a few whimpers and fades away into another moment of rest.  Maybe the quaking poplar leaves passing by along the trail from the day's hike to the meadows accentuate her dreams?  Either way the last light of day gives way to darkness.  Time to rest...