Orion is spanglier than the rhinestone cowboy tonight as he jumps up into the eastern sky and the crescent moon lends a little illumination to what would be a lovely snowshoe stroll.
But I am not strolling.
I am being pulled along lickety-split behind Mantis the recreational skijoring dog. Neither one of us has a headlamp, and she sometimes switches tracks which I find only by feel and luck beneath my skis.
Jeff is hooked to Nacho the Iditarod dog who does not like to turn or stop. They are somewhere in the darkness far ahead of us.
I’ve taken some spectacular spills (thank goodness for yoga!). Skijoring in the dark is not sane. Your mother and I do not recommend it.
After an evening with friends, made lively by a tumble of dogs and kids in a small house, one of them says, “Want to go for a ski sometime this week?”
So I clip an hour off the end of a workday, and we slide around the Trezona Trail.
Our pace varies with our conversation, and at times we come to a full stop so that we can face each other. The warmth of the sun is helping balsam and pines release snow loads from branches. We hear the occasional shoosh, plop of a clump of snow tumbling to the ground. Sometimes we catch sight of a spray of snow crystals as the branch springs up, bouncing gently with relief.
We stop on the trail where it overlooks a cluster of icehouses. Two men without hats lean against a pickup truck parked on the ice, perhaps discussing the day’s catch.
In summer, we will walk this trail, enjoying each other’s company, and the people in the icehouses will be bobbing about in boats.
Today I’m enjoying the glide advantage the snow gives us.
We nod and pull long faces. “Yeah, it does.” We walk away feeling tough and stoic.
We don’t confess that when the ice comes on we hope for cold that will give some thickness to the ice, then we hope for snow and more snow, then more cold.
We’re not hard and long-suffering.
We’re a bunch of kids.
We pull on long johns, mukluks, mittens. Then we go outside and PLAY.We jump on skis or snowmobiles or snowshoes and look for adventure. We cozy up inside a heated icehouse or sit down on an overturned bucket and hope that a big fish will check out the little fish we have on the end of our fishing line.We hook dogs up to a sled and let them run. We use our kids as excuses to go careening down a hill on an inner tube or a plastic sled. We play hockey or just plain skate. We build snow caves, pitch canvas tents, or maybe just roll up in bedding under a lean to and watch the stars’ slow spin.
Spring comes and we think, “How come I didn’t get that closet cleaned out this winter?”
I am dogsitting Nacho, a former Iditarod dog, this weekend, so when I found a friend willing to try skijoring we set out from Fall Lake. The friend hadn’t skijored before. I thought of Nacho as a steady puller so she hooked up to him while I harnessed myself to my dog, Mantis.
There were several trucks already in the lot with dog boxes, meaning there were at least two teams already out on the trail. Another truck with a team pulled in just as we were filling out our BWCAW permit. This was a big ice-fishing weekend.
I think all of the sled dog activity reminded Nacho of his former life, and he was ready to pull. Sue scooted along behind him at a fast clip, trying to slow him down by holding a snowplow position, but the track was well worn and solid, not giving her much purchase. Once Mantis realized she wasn’t going to get the lead, she trotted along behind, happy to be out for an adventure.
The day was sunny and warm (a few degrees above freezing). Despite the other vehicles in the lot, we saw no one else as we slid along the white expanse of Fall Lake, crossing below Mile Island, then skirted the far shore. The red-brown of bare pine needles on a steep, south-facing slope was a surprise.
Our plan was to decide whether to take the 4 Mile Portage or to back-track to the Newton portage when we got to the 4 Mile, but the dogs made the decision. Up and over the berm at the tip of the trail we went. It was, at times, a heart-stopping ride on the long, narrow portage.
We shot out into Hoist Bay of Basswood Lake in less than an hour. Since we all had energy and plenty of daylight, we traipsed up to the northeast a few miles more before we turned back. The wind was in our faces then, and Mantis was bored. I had less dog power on the way back, but the exercise was good for me, too.
The 4 Mile was still a wild ride, especially when a red squirrel cut across the trail right in front of us and Mantis dove into the brush after it. Luckily, I accidentally wrapped the rope around a sturdy alder and it acted as a brake.
We need to get out this weekend to check out the new snow.
I am sliding along behind my dog, Psycho Mantis. She’s trotting through 3 inches of powder and my weight’s drag on the skijoring rope is slowing her down while I work each mitten through the straps on my ski poles. Finally, I yank my hat down more firmly over my ears and pull my neck warmer up over my chin. “Thanks, Mantis. Now we can go.” I alternate between classic strides and double poling behind her. This is our first venture out onto Burntside Lake this season. Snowmobilers, snowshoers, and skiers have been braving the ice for several weeks now, giving me confidence that we won’t break through today.
Tracks lace the ice along the shoreline and I have to pay attention as Mantis chooses first a snowshoe track, then a snowmobile track, then back to snowshoe track as her trail. Sometimes she ignores them all and blazes her own way through the powder again. When she drops her nose to a set of deer prints that jump up into a jumble of boulders, I slide forward quickly to call her attention to a new direction. There is no quick release on my skijoring set up and I don’t want to do an uphill slalom on this shoreline.
The wind is sharp. I pull my hand out of my mitten to warm my cheeks a couple of times. Still, this is a good place to be. There are only a few hours left to this short winter day. Sunlight leaps off of the snow out in the channel and casts red light under the red pines at the end of an island. Small bays are blue with shadow but when we scoot out into a larger bay we find light glinting off of windblown ice. Without Mantis’ power, skiing this distance would have been a good work out for me and turning around an easy decision. Now I must gauge whether to turn back on other commitments.
Mantis circles me while I hesitate and I have to untangle us before I turn around. “Come on, girl. We have a lot of winter still ahead of us. We’ll be back.”
I was wide awake at 4 am today, thanks to Demon. He was very persistent with his howling until the rest of the kennel joined him in welcoming the cold northwest winds. The yearlings were the last to silence and I could hear them all returning to their houses for more rest. I smiled at the thought of quietly traveling across frozen lakes with them, heading out into the country.
Later today I’ll run a team of 7 first and then the remaining 8 next. We’ll only go about 6 miles, stopping once for a water break. It’s hard to believe that come late winter a 60 mile day is not out of the question. So for now we all wait for snow and ice, not necessarily in that order. Last year I only had one team of 8 veteran dogs to train up and this year I have 8 yearlings in the mix so it has challenged me to prepare them for life as a sled dog. Beginning next week I will add ground beef to their diet for the rest of the winter months and they are anxiously awaiting that.
Since we won’t be celebrating Thanksgiving until tomorrow I’ll be outside today with our dogs. So instead of sitting on a comfy couch watching football, I’ll be sitting on an ATV watching our sled dogs do what they love. Today it will be Demon and his friends chance to celebrate and I wouldn’t want it any other way. After all, who could ask for a better wake-up call in the Northwoods at 4 am on Thanksgiving? Not this thankful musher.
On Thursday, September 10, thirteen people from the Canoe Expedition class at Vermilion Community College put out of Fall Lake. Because of Boundary Waters regulations, we had to split into two groups, one of six people and one of seven. We paddled about eight or nine miles in the first day, through Newton Lake and Pipestone Bay. As it was my first canoe trip, I decided to give into my exhaustion instead of journaling.
The BWCAW is amazing.
Days Two through Five were as follows:
Day Two: After the first night sleeping on the ground in one of VCC’s marvelously easy-to-set-up tents, I’m reaffirming my belief that I could live like this forever. What better way to appreciate this great gift we have in our backyard than to live in it, to travel in it, to revel in it?
Yesterday, our nine miles took us about three hours, apparently an average speed for a canoe. Today, we plan to push fifteen miles to end up on the Canadian border, a daunting thought for someone with as little paddling experience as myself. To top off the intimidation, I’m navigator today. We’re currently eating cold granola for breakfast, and as always, trail food tastes amazing. Well, time to paddle.
Here we are, safe and sound and about a hundred yards from measuring in meters. We pushed hard today, through wild rice, fields of lily pads, rapids and rocks on the Horse River, and plenty of portages. We started out in Pipestone and went up into Jackfish Bay. From there, we went through Sandpit, Murphy, Tin Can Mike, and Horse Lakes to the Horse River. Our longest portage was 135 rods, and boy did it wipe the floor with me.
Our group
A few clouds are rolling in as we prepare beans and rice, another trail delicacy, for dinner. This is the third expedition I’ve gone on with a class at VCC and each one has taught me something. Sometimes it’s more of a re-teaching, but I always learn some way to better myself. After our long portage today, I kind of lost my cool and took it out on Matt, my canoe partner and good friend. I hate getting that upset on class trips. Last year I didn’t mind, but that’s something I’ve improved on from past trips and am still improving on.
This trip is going smashingly so far; I’m already learning about myself, and I’m anticipating more of the same.
This is what we woke up to every morning.
Day Three: Our day is coming to a close early; we did the mile portage around the Lower Basswood Falls today. I’m really proud of myself for carrying the canoe on my shoulders through all of these portages. I’m proud of everyone else on the trip too; we’re single-tripping the portages. Andy, a new student at VCC, is carrying two packs at once, two packs that are each as big as he is. And Shawn, another new student, did the mile without stopping. We paddled for three miles on the Basswood River before the long portage and a mile or so on Basswood Lake after.
I’ve learned a lot about paddling in just three days. I’ve learned more about patience and compromise, about putting up with any discomfort I feel for the sake of the group. We switched up the groups today and went to our separate campsites. I’m enjoying becoming more comfortable in a canoe, getting to know the new Outdoor Leadership students, and just learning how to deal with people better. What I’m enjoying most, though, is seeing all the best parts of God’s country.
The trip is halfway done, and I’ll be sad to go; so far the trip’s been fantabulastical.
Sleep was a common theme on the trip.
Day Four: It’s 10:30 in the AM and we’ve been in camp for about two and a half hours after paddling around US Point on Basswood Lake and down into Hoist and Back Bays respectively. I had a revelation. See, last night, we bedded down early in order to wake up at 1:00 AM and get on the water by 2:00. I’ve never experienced anything like paddling a canoe in the dead silence of the night. To cap it off, it was perfectly clear. The moon was just a sliver, offering its minimal light for our navigation, but in no way blocking out any stars. Seeing those stars is, by far, my favorite thing about being in the Boundary Waters, and last night I got to see them double, once in the sky and once in the reflection off the water.
The revelation I had has to do with my career path. Before coming up to school in Ely all I wanted out of my Outdoor Leadership degree was the skills necessary to drop out of society and live in the woods. I felt God last night, though, and I want to share that with others. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt Him in such splendor, in such an appropriate way. I think if everyone could experience that, there would be no problem keeping these natural areas pristine. It changed me, gave me a sense of purpose and calling, and although I still don’t know that I want a career, I do know that I could do Outdoor Education.
As the brilliance of the night wrapped up, God revealed Himself in another way: fog. Instead of seeing the sunrise I was hoping for, we got an enveloping fog that blocked out islands, boats, pretty much anything that wasn’t a few hundred yards away. As the night turned to morning and the morning turned to haze, the group got slap happier with each paddle stroke. It was a goofy morning for all of us; I’m sure the thirteen miles we did that night didn’t hurt either.
Last night is going to have to go down, along with getting to know the group better, as my favorite part of the canoe trip. I’m really digging on these people; I’ll be sad to have to part ways with them tomorrow. We’ve got twelve more miles to paddle, but before that, we have a day of hanging out at camp, swimming and skipping stones. But first, we sleep.
This is the fog the morning after our night paddle.
Day Five: Well, we’re back to civilization. The trip was a smashing success, hands down the best one I’ve been on. We started this morning at 5:00 AM, doing what’s called a Voyageur start. We got on the water at six and started on our twelve-mile paddle into Pipestone Bay, Newton Lake, and Fall Lake. We ate breakfast on the water, cold granola again, still tasting good. We met up with the other group at Mile Island, on the border of the BWCA on Fall Lake and took a group picture.
It’s two and a half miles from mile island back to our put in point, and as I said earlier, our average speed was about three miles per hour. We shattered that average on our final stretch. What should have taken us fifty minutes of paddling took us about twenty minutes, seven and a half miles per hour. We were smelling the barn hardcore.
All in all, this expedition has been marvelous. I got to know the other Outdoor Leadership students much better and make some new friends. I was reminded again of my need to be more patient and keep a good attitude, something I need to be reminded of constantly.
And after that night paddle, I learned that I could not only have a career, but also that I want that career to be in the outdoors. I bought into the experiential learning model, which I’ll explain more in another post. And finally, I had a lot of fun, something I honestly wasn’t expecting. Plus, the weather was gorgeous for the entirety of the trip. Most definitely something I would recommend to everybody.
When two big rows in my woodshed fell over, I was so TICKED (wood-ticked)! I justjumped right into the self-pity thing—poor me, spent so much time stacking wood and now have to do it all over again, etc., etc.Fortunately, there is a lot of time to think or better yet, not think, when doing something repetitive like wood splittingand stacking.When I went back to the pile, I had to work for awhile before I could get past the mad space. Slowly, my mind moved through the begrudging learner space (I need to slow down and place each piece firmly), mucked about in petty frustrations in my current life, made a list of things I needed to take care of, and finally free-floated into gratitude. I was able to appreciate the beauty of each piece of birch or maple, its unique texture and shape and how it fit or didn’t with the pieces already in the pile. I noticed that stacking is good exercise for the abs and arms, and for patience too. I remembered that these trees were a promise of warmth in the winter–that the next time I handled this twisted, gnarly piece of maple I would probably be wearing mittens and I would use the sunshine it had captured to create a cozy fire in my woodstove.
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The next day or two, as happens around here so often, a friend came and helped me stack everything that had tumbled over plus all the rest, too. There are a lot of people around here who secretly or not so secretly enjoy dealing with firewood. At the very least, it gives us something to talk about…
The 29th annual Blueberry Arts Festival is a three-day, fun-filled event for all. Although rain was in the forecast for the weekend, the weather turned out fair in the low 70s, and a good time was had by all.
The Festival draws thousands of visitors each year.
There are blueberry pancakes at the Festival, of course!
The face painting booth is popular with children.
Ely’s mayor Roger Skraba enjoys the food at the Festival.
The Festival is a fun time for families.
Many interesting items from over 300 vendors provide lots to look at!
The music of Pat Surface and The Boundary Waters Boys fills the air.
Children follow the lead of performance sign artist Donna Surface.
Friends and family visit with each other as they listen to Pat Surface and his band.
