It's a stretch

It's as if my body felt the warm spring sun from under our winter down comforter. I awoke to the chirping of the Chickadees at my front feeder and didn't spare a moment during my breakfast of coffee and eggs. It was simply too perfect of a well-deserved spring dayto stay indoors!

Outside in my baseball cap, hooded sweatshirt, pac boots and snowshoes I planned the day.  The main objective was to cut a few rounds of firewood to supplement our dwindling supply. We were burning an unprecedented amount of wood and needed to once again dwelve into our reserve stock of poplar.  

The problem was that the reserve pile was still under four feet of snow!  So I started digging.  After some time I was able to locate the tarp that draped the supply and began shoveling my way to a point where I was able to start lifting the tarp and exposing the wood. Slowly but surely I dug, chipped and lifted the tarp to a point where I was standing on the logs. Somewhere along the way my efforts shifted the weight of the stacked logs.

The feeling of success quickly diminished when I realized that my right foot was firmly lodged between a couple of logs that had shifted!  I was stuck.  My only hope for freedom was to untie my boot and try to wiggle my foot free. However, Every attempt to get my hands within reach of my boot laces failed by less than an inch.  Simply put- I was not limber enough to get my hand down to where my boot was and untie the knot. Worst of all I was home alone, without a phone in my pocket and the neighbors were no where to be heard!  The only thing in reach was a thermos of hot coffee. Not bad- but out of reach was a chainsaw, shovel, splitting maul and jacket. All of which I could surely benefit from in such a predicament as this. 

I soon realized that I had few options. The simplest variable to change in order to help my circumstance was the fact that my body couldn't make the stretch to reach the boot laces.  In te back of my mind was the fact that I didn't even know if I did get my foot out of the boots that I would be able to get out. It was my only option. 

So I started stretching.  I did every back stretch that I could think of.  I would stretch for a few minutes, try to reach, fail, rest, sip some coffee and stretch. At least it wasn't thirty below!

Finally, after an hour or so my fingertips could reach the loop of my knot!  I stretched a few more sets and was able to get my had into the hole and started to fenagle the knot undone!  It worked!  My foot slipped right out of the hole. Hopping on one booted foot I gave the logs a few bangs with the splitting maul and extracted my misguided boot.  

Clearly a little shaken from the experience I hobbled my way back inside, stoked the stove, brewed another pot of coffee and put my phone in my pocket!

The only visible light is low.  Large snowflakes gently fall.  Balsam fir boughs droop under the weight of a early spring snow fall. The greying waning light darkens the background into black. 

Four feet of snow cover the forest. More than a foot has already melted. Snow has consistantly fallen for four months. The temperature has bitterly remained below freezing. The first freeze thaw did not occur until a week ago.  As a result the snowpack accumulated as one homogenous layer of deep powder. There are times when one would fall through the entire depth of snow from the top to the bare ground while wearing snowshoes!

Now, because of the first freeze thaw cycle, this incredible base of snow has encased itself. It's now a four foot tall platform rising above the forest floor that one can swiftly snowshoe or ski. 

The deer have congregated along the shore where the steep warm spring sun has exposed the steep southern facing patches I grass.  They nimbly maneuver the steep rocky outcrops nibbling whatever remotely edible swatches of vegetation that have flung on tithe talus through the winter. 

There's a full moon rising under a warm march night. 

I wish I was a painter; attempting to find a tone and hue

For each and every fading flash of light. 

Winter Descent

Breaking trail in March is a good thing. For one it means that you are headed Into terrain where only critter have been in months.  Most of all, however, it means that you will trample a fresh trail. In the case of today's trail it meant five feet of uncomprosmised adventure down one of the north shore's steepest yet under-explored canyons.   

We live in the north. Our backyard gives away to nothing- just endless wilderness. This has been a real winter. Our daughter looks out this window, spots the snowblower and goes"geeeeer"; imitatating the only means of carving our way into town. 

The winters here are long.  We spend much of our time biding our time: streaming acoustic ensembles that make Jerry Douglas and Steve Earle cry, cooking food that folks pay fifty bucks a plate for.   Have you ever tried grilling a piece of chicken theigh at thirty below?  It takes a while bit It's all worth it.  We're just waiting to cash in on the next glorious wilderness mile that awaits us down our trail.  Why- because that next mile will most likely glide on by tomorrow.  Accessibility, just like possession, is everything. 

If you look close you can see the advancing lake ice working it's way west against the western winds.  

Despite its northern geography, Lake Superior rarely completely freezes over.   Yet the prolonged arctic weather that has characterized this winter has fostered the unrelenting advance of lake ice.  Prominent westerly winds leave the north shore of Minnesota the last to freeze. Stiff winds and a deep basin result in a longer period of time (and/or colder temperatures) it takes for the north shore of Minnesota to freeze.  Nonetheless this winter weather has prevailed to accomplish such a feat!

With a dying population of wolves on Isle Royale, the hope was that the lake ice could provide an opportunity for "mainland" wolves to cross the ice andix up the genetics of the current dewindling pack.  Unfortunately that road goes both ways. One of the last remaining fertile females was found dead on theainland after an apparently overwhelming crossing back.  

Digging into the "reserve" wood pile.  

By most indications this has been the coldest winter in 35 years.  My depleted wood supply coraborates that fact.  A few weeks ago (with temperatures thirty below) I packed a snowshoe trail up to my reserve stash of dried firewood.  Digging it out of four plus feet of snow took another hour or so but I finally got into into and was able to cut another few weeks worth of wood. I intend for this extra bit to supplement our supply in the upcoming spring.  

It has been a particularly bitter winter for the deer.  With five feet of snow in the woods and more nights twenty below zero or less for almost four months the herd has certainly been thinned.  At night they will bravely eat out of the bird feeder at our window. They are basically relegated to walking roads and snowmobile trails.  The snow banks along the driveway were taller than the deer above. 

A southern breeze blows.  Trail miles have been hard to come by. It has been a few days since the last snow and frigid temperatures have locked up the packed trails into an uneven and slippery surface.   Still the high spring-like sun is beginning to melt the southern facing roads!  

Lake effect snow quietly falls on the first day of February.  Thus far it has been a relatively harsh winter. Temperatures have barely breached zero on the last couple of months.  There is roughly four feet of snow in the woods. 

Still in the mornings we are greeted with the song of the black capped chickadee. The sky holds enough light to get out sledding or skiing after work.  There is no doubt a couple of months remaining before spring yet my mindset has clearly seemed to have turned a page.  For now we are embracing the cold and snow. 

Elongated sunlight persists through spruce forest as I glide down hill. Woodsmoke wafts fluidly amongst the conifers. Dismounting my skis I quietly end my journey in the same place I began: my front door.  Cheeks bright from the subzero end descent I gather the night's firewood supply of poplar and birch and duck into the warm, snug cabin. 

                            Flight 

Lesson Learned

One of my favorite times of the year is  midwinter when I can get home from work just in time to make a lap around our ski trail before it gets dark.  The middle of January is pushing it but a good headlamp with fresh batteries is all that is needed to make the final descent into the homestead at dusk. 

The first half of the trail is modest climb. On this particular day I was feeling strong and a bit overconfident. I had just returned from a backcountry ski trip and had been laying down a respectable number of trail miles all winter.  Either way you look at it I was plowing down this trail and clearly more focused on the trail one mile ahead than what was below my skis. 

I scurried up the initial ascent at an unprecedented pace. I kicked hard knowing that my next move was the first and one of the few technical sections. Carrying built inertia I leap into the steep hill with skis spread in order to dig the edges into the packed trail and provide the traction to defy gravity.  My overzealous herringbone was abruptly interrupted when my left ski caught a tree.  My legs stopped.  I was instantly starring straight down. My torso continued it's inevitable faceplant when a muted gray object in the trail caught my eye.  Woven with deer fur my mind quickly recognized it. My face was heading straight for wolf scat!  A shot of adrenalin miraculously relayed the unpleasant outcome to my hands just in time for me to catch myself. My face was mear inches from the steaming pile of poop.  I was close enough to smell the putred half digested deer kill. 

Shaking the snow off I pulled myself back together and laughed at the lesson I just learned:  overconfidence only leaves one faced with shit for outcomes!

My pace slowed and I finished the trail under a gorgeous bright full moon. 

January sun along the trail. 

Long, low angles of disappearing light. Prolonged cold air settles the trail to a glacier creep.  A stiff breeze rattles the naked hardwoods and leaves them clanging out the only sound I hear during this frozen foray through the backcountry.