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 biked the Burntside Lake loop with a friend today. I’ve lived in Ely for seven years, and, sadly, this was my first time around the lake on a bike. How can it be that we often overlook the good things that await us in our own backyards? For my friend, this trek numbered her hundredth-and-some time around the lake on a bike this season.
I started down my dirt road at 6:15 a.m. to meet her at the corner of Hwy 169 and Hwy 88 east of Ely. The air was a crisp 52 degrees, the eager summer sun working its way up. Wearing long shorts and just a t-shirt, I felt chilled until I peddled up the big hill on the Kawishiwi Trail just past Ernie’s Road.
We chose to do the loop clockwise and take the route through town first. Even at this early hour, there was a lot of activity on Sheridan Street as anglers and paddlers began their day.
About three miles west of town, we turned right onto Hwy 88. Not far from the intersection, we met the Ely Nordic high school ski team on ski skates, practicing on the paved hills of the highway. “Work hard,” I called out, but too soon, for I was at the bottom of the hill, and, as the wheels of my bike hit the steep incline, my legs quavered. I stood to pump the pedals, puffing hard and looking over my shoulder to see if the ski team could see me struggle. “Wrong words,” I shouted to my friend once I reached the top.
Not a car went by us the whole stretch around the lake. We peddled past a mallard pair on a quiet bay and past lake homes, cabins, and resorts. Wildflowers and tall, soft grasses bordered the winding and moderately hilly road. You can see, hear and smell so much more when riding on a bike than you do when riding in a car.
Too quickly we were back at the intersection of Hwy 169 and Hwy 88 east of town.
Ely boasts a number of mountain biking paths and paved routes. The 15.5 mile Burnside Lake Loop is just one of many that is popular with cyclists. In addition, there are two bicycling groups that meet in Ely during the summer, one on Wednesdays at 6:00 p.m. and one on Thursdays at 6:00 p.m. Contact the Ely Chamber for more information.
This wonderful string of ideal summer days we’ve been enjoying
lately—highs in the mid 70s, low humidity, blue skies dappled with
cotton candy clouds—is perfect for hiking any of the number of trails in
the Ely area.
Today I hiked the Bass Lake Trail, one of my favorites. Just six
miles from Ely off the Echo Trail, the historically unique Bass Lake
Trail system offers a variety of trails to meet just about everybody’s
needs.
I took the trail to Dry Falls first, a bit of a rigorous and
rugged three-quarter mile climb to the waterfalls that shoot from Dry
Lake into Bass Lake. I met up with a group of people taking a wilderness
digital photography class from Vermilion Community College and was
relieved to know the guy lying flat on his stomach just off the trail
was okay—he was only shooting a close-up of a mushroom!
The falls at Bass Lake
Wildflowers abound this time of year—daisies, wild roses and wild geraniums, buttercups, lady slippers, birdsfoot trefoil—and I spied a few wild strawberries
along the trail.
Wild geranium along the Dry Falls trail
Once I reached the falls, for a while two brazen chipmunks were my only
companions. (I put my backpack down to check out the water moving under
the bridge by the falls, and when I came back, both chipmunks were in my
backpack nibbling on the crust of my PBJ sandwich.) But as the sun moved
higher in the sky, more people joined me on the rocks at the falls to
swim, eat a picnic lunch, or rest before taking the three mile loop
around Dry Lake or the lengthier five mile trek that circles Bass.
Taking a break along the Dry Lake loop overlooking Bass Lake
I chose the trail less taken around Bass, stopping often to enjoy the
diverse topography of the land around the lake that almost wasn’t.
Ely resident Debbie Hultman has a personal goal: to swim in 50 Ely-area lakes in 50 days. Follow her posts as she explores area trails and lakes. Read more…
