Tuscarora Lodge and Outfitters News

The Wolves

2012-02-04T22:47:00.000-06:00

This time of night, Denali likes to snuggle on the green couch as close as she can get, with her nose touching my chin, if possible. Who can resist this? We are her pack, and she just wants to go where we go. Outside is best for exploring and throwing the ball, inside is best for napping. She sends the universal black lab message: might as well enjoy the moment, live a simple life.

I look at her and I think of that looooong thread that ties her to the wolves. It's a stretch, but still a canine connection.

photo: courtesy of Sheryl and Bonnie-location-- I'll NEVER tell.

Always I've loved the wolves, even when I didn't know any of them. They are fast and beautiful and sneaky, and they can collaborate and catch deer. Can you imagine? Without a doubt they're the smartest animals in the woods. Which is also why they make the hair on my neck prickle; I know they might be able to kill me. Dr. Mech reports 19 million visitor days in the Superior National Forest with not one aggressive wolf encounter. Denali and I have encountered them several times, and not been threatened. It's almost as if they could take us, and they are wiser than that. They just don't attack people.

Yet, they're predators, and people search for the outliers, the horror stories. My ears perked up to this this runner story last month in Alaska. I heard on the radio that The Gray is the hottest movie out right now. It's because those wolves are big and baaaaad.

Apparently the wolves in MN are prolific enough to be taken off the endangered species list. The DNR reports that hunting/trapping might begin as early as next fall. I listened to guru Dr. Dave Mech's ideas about managing the wolf population. I've been reading his books since I was 15: I'll defer to him. He knows wolves, and seems to have a balanced approach when considering all the stakeholders.. I won't picket the DNR, but I don't have to like the idea. I'm not sure, it just seems like---they're our allies. Partners in the hunt, not the hunted.

Our galloping girl broke a tooth a while ago, and she was drooling drooling drooling all over, so we paid the vet to pull it out. The vet said we'd better quit giving her the soup bones to chew on, her teeth have to last quite a few more years. So we can keep feeding her and housing her, and throwing the ball. She's ensured her survival in the craftiest of ways. She wins the evolutionary battle, doesn't she?

Photo courtesy of Sheryl and Bonnie Location: BIG SECRET.

Check out the wolf in this photo. If he breaks a tooth, I'll bet he doesn't even FEEL it, he's so tough and cool.

What kind of crazy world do we live in where our goofy dog trumps this wolf in survival tools?

Cam Tipping - One in a Million Teenager

2012-01-16T09:30:00.003-06:00

If you've visited Tuscarora during late July---during the Spriggs/Butler/Hanneman/Tipping/Gibbons week in the cabins---you might have seen Cam Tipping. Actually, it's hard to pick out Cam-- he's almost always part of the Cam-Leo-James trio. Those guys spend hours playing in the water. They can also dance a mean cupid shuffle, but honestly....James is the one that stands out there because he has the moves.

This year, Cam was the video guy for the American Heart Association. I've talked to Marla about homozygous familial hypercholesterolemia. But it was just a word. It didn't define Cam, of CamLeoJames. The video shows a whole different side of that family than the one that I know. As I understand it more fully, my admiration runs even deeper.

This family crowd really knows how to have fun. They model a powerful lesson about living each day with gratefulness, joy, and humor.

Here's Bill Tipping (sporting purple polyester with Jim Hanneman in peach) These guys can surprise me into spitting my coffee all over the deck, they're that funny. Bill's the kind of guy that carts all the kids out in the dark at midnight to find the wolf puppies (and actually finds them).

Did you notice the tame Yahtzee game in the video? Yeah, well, this is not the Marla who plays Yahtzee at Tuscarora. Don't let the kind polite mother thing fool you: she is ruthless (and also really witty).

This nice family spreads a lively sparkle to everyone around them --including us. Today, I'm praying for a cure for Cam's disease. If you are so inclined to that, can I summon you also for this great kid?

Trout Opener

2012-01-15T20:43:00.004-06:00

I'd say staffer Andrew had a pretty successful opener.........Get a load of those brook trout

Camp Coffee by Jerry Vandiver

2012-01-14T22:33:00.000-06:00

Well, our favorite Nashviller, Jerry Vandiver came up with a new one. Lindsay's dad Phil is in there somewhere---

The other day I was sitting in my car in a parking lot and Tim McGraw came on the radio singing one of Jerry's songs. I wanted to quick tell the all the other people in the parking lot, but I didn't know even one of them. So I just turned it up and had my own little happy moment. Tim McGraw is OK, but it's a better song when Jerry just sings it himself.

Jerry has already sort of committed to the Tuscarora little concert for summer of 2012...........and so we're already hoping for it---and looking forward to his new canoe album.

Gunflint Trail Magic Christmas Tree

2012-01-05T14:55:00.001-06:00

If you drove up the Gunflint Trail this Christmas, a little beyond half way, near Birch Lake, all of a sudden you'd have seen a perfect Christmas tree, lit up in the middle of the woods. It was as electric and out of place as a billboard, but it was also perfect. Nobody in the car ever said "Turn those lights off, we're in the middle of the woods". It was more like the moment when Clark Griswold found the perfect tree and the angels sang, or when the Grinch sees all the Whos in Whoville celebrating Christmas morning. It was a .........Who got up so high to get the lights so symmetrical, and where is that electricity coming from here in the middle of nowhere? mystery.

You know, just plain Magic.

Compassion Trumps Horror

2011-12-17T16:33:00.002-06:00

In a small town, everything gets tied up. My son's best friend, is also the brother of one of my daughter's best friends. Their parents are our good friends, their mom is my running buddy and confidant, their dad is the kids' tennis coach and guitar teacher, and also the County Attorney. When our kids were ever in 'town' they stayed with the Scannells. Those boys are my favorites. There is some kind of bond we make with people who are raising our kids with us. Lucky us.

On Thursday, our friend (that same County Attorney) completed a trial--- and was shot 3 times in the abdomen.

And when Tim got out of surgery, after he had time with his family, I got to hold his hand and look him in the eye. You know, I didn't know the details of the trial. Even though it's a small town, I really didn't know anything about the man who shot Tim. I didn't even know that guy's name--or the details of his convictions, really.

I did know that the small town of Grand Marais now had it's own freaky shooting episode, and a man tried to kill our dear friend. I was angry, I still am. He nearly made a widow out my pal.. Some of my favorite boys nearly lost their father, and my own kids almost lost a special mentor. So, as Tim was talking, continuously replaying the horror of the afternoon---I was searching for some way that he could rest his mind and sleep. I said "Tim, it's over, you can rest --the 'bad guy' is in custody."

And Tim looked at me so sadly and said "Sue, he's had a hard life. You have know idea how hard his life has been."

I was sort of taken aback with the level of empathy I had just witnessed. Here he was, just hours from being shot, and Tim’s gut reaction was to show compassion for the guy who wanted tomurder him. He wouldn’t let me get awaywith calling him the anonymous “bad guy.”

I was re-reminded what so many people in the county already know---not only does Cook County have a very smartand competent County Attorney, but also a very compassionate and ethicalman in our midst.

I can't tell you how thankful I am that I still have my friend.

Winter Wonderland, Tuscarora

2011-12-09T22:00:00.000-06:00

The movie is a re-run, but wishes for joy and peace from Tuscarora are definitely current!

Making Memories

2011-12-03T09:06:00.001-06:00

We were to cut down a Christmas tree. It's our tradition--and it was the plan. I could just post the photos, and it could look like a lovely family memory. Or, I could tell you how it really went down.
I cheerfully reminded everyone an hour ahead of time, so the morning could be semi-leisurly and still we wouldn't be late for the little cookie shindig in the afternoon. And then I reminded them again. Shelby was heavy into her homework, Andy was arguing with the plow truck, and Daniel was ready--because he is always game for anything Christmassy.

Time wore on, and I kept nagging...Let's GO LE'TS Go!
In Andy's plow truck distraction, he'd spaced the whole event. But he recovered quickly, with feigned cheerfulness said ..."OK, let's go! Who is ready to cut down a tree?! I had to give him credit for good attitude, but we could all hear the strain behind his voice, and it wasn't spreading Christmas cheer. Not at first at least, but he is on to something---eventually when a guy fakes a little cheerfulness, he becomes cheerfulness.Shelby thought she might beg off this year, she thought she should just stay in her jammies doing her homework.
I had to grit my teeth without hiding anything...."We will ALL cut down a Christmas tree it is our TRADITION, and we will ALL have FUN, DARN IT.
So, we all headed out. Andy asked winter staffer Andrew to come with us, which was a good thing because we were now censoring any family time snippy comments. Shelby did lean over and quietly say to me--if you take ONE photo of me, I'm so out of here.

The snowy woods were fairly enchanting, and we joked a little bit about the damn tradition, and eventually we all fell under the spell of the woods on a fresh day. When you have 17 acres of trees.....the trick of finding the "perfect Christmas tree" actually turns into trying to find a weedy Charlie Brown balsam with a decent shape that is also shading the growth of a nice little white pine. We did find a good one this year. We were all having fun in the end....honestly................but...........what I'm really wondering is...what memories will we take from it?   It's all in a person's perception isn't it. Will it be---finally mom got so cranky that she practically swore at us so we had to trudge out of the house?.......or will Andy remember the plow?.....or....will the snippiness fade away, and it'll be just another year of a nice family tradition?

I'll tell you what---the cookie baking party afterwards was just as cozy as it looks. Who cared that we were 2 hours late? Way to plan it Ceaster!
Know why the big crowd around the monopoly board was whittled down to Lars and Ritchie? Don't they look like nice and fun guys? They are, but they also cheat, and that's the truth.

These were good people, good snapshots of time.

But---really, is that all we want to remember? Is selective memory the blessing of it all? Maybe we're wired to simply cling to the good stuff. Does it take away the texture, or does it leave us feeling full?

I don't have any photos for the gangly hug I just got from my 14 year old after he got up off the couch from napping. Not only are his arms and legs too long to hug me the way he's used to, he's also grown old enough to feel guilty for napping too much on a Sunday. Isn't that ridiculousness? He's only 14.   A very conscientious 14. I hope I remember our short little conversation--where I said "Daniel, if we were orthodox Jews you wouldn't have been allowed to do anything 'productive' today. And he draped himself a little tighter and so sincerely said "thanks mom" before he stumbled up to bed that I got the little prickles behind my eyes sensation. No photo for that one.

Denali doesn't really like Andrew's sweet Sadie lab. She either wants to stay away, or they occasionally snap at each other. But look at the glee in the photo....this is the way I want to remember the day. It was glee for that moment.   Obviously. Why not just remember the glee?

Variety is the Spice of Life

2011-11-25T09:34:00.000-06:00

Some cliches are so true. I suppose that is how theybecame clichés, I sure would like to invent one myself. Wouldn’t it be fun to have invented 'varietyis the spice of life'...and then every time somebody said it, I could be a quietly smug about it? As I look at mybreakfast, I try a new cliche... 'cranberry relish is the spice of my strawberryjello.' Incidentally, it turned out to be very good jello, after I acquired a taste for it. The gourmet cooks we spent Thanksgiving with this year--no kidding-were very gracious about my pickled jello, but you'd have to taste everything else to realize why so much of my dish was left over.

The other variety spice I’ve appreciated so much these past fewdays has been Round Lake. Last spring the anticipation of ice –out was oh-so-exciting.

But this year's ice-in was the best yet. We’ve had free time and a free lake full ofice, balmy days, so perfect.

The woods are absolutely gorgeous.

Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday were full of skating. Yesterday the kids and their friends spent 4 hours playinghockey……and just playing…….on a flawless lake. Of course, especially before we take other people's children on the ice, we check the thickness, and make sure that the natural holes that flooded it have iced over---with a couple inches on top of the original ice--which we did, and it was thick enough.

And this morning, we’ve already had about 3 inches of snow andit’s clinging to everything---wrecking the ice, but so spicy beautiful that it’s equally pleasing.

I loved skating as a kid-I remember afternoons on Lake Nokomis, with my siblings and cousins. My sister andour friends Karin and Mary would make up routines, graceful, full of our best twirling . Since ourkids have been old enough to walk, we've found them skates—it was so important to me toreinforce the skating brain connections. I usedto skate backwards and they’d try to catch me and stay in the “sidewalk” path myskates created. I was smooth andaccomplished, a groovy Peggy Flemming-skater kind of mom. This is the picture I’m trying to create, becausehere we are only 10 years later---the other night Andy and I were trying tocatch hockey-Daniel as he skated backwards and we skated forwards. He laughed as he agilely skated between us; we felt stiff as we reached our arms out to try to tag him.. Pretty sure we resembled Young Frankensteindancing Puttin’ on the Ritz.

What happened? Which is real? Am I graceful like Peggy Fleming or clumsy like Young Frankenstein?

Which is better, Round Lake in the winter, or Round Lake in the spring? Maybe true reality is exposed through the contrasts.

Aha, "True reality is exposed through contrasts". Is that a new cliché? Any chance it'll catch on? Maybe there's about as much chance that gourmet pickled jello will catch on too----.

At any rate, variety is the spice of life. Thanksgiving is about over, and it’s time toventure out into the snowy woods to get a Christmas tree. Yay!

Skating under the Stars

2011-11-23T23:33:00.001-06:00

Big sky, clear night, many stars, good ice, smooth skating. It doesn't all come together like that so often. Perfect memory.

A Summer Trip

2011-11-21T23:26:00.001-06:00

We had two groups of CaliforniaScouts last summer—led by Hung and Tuan Le (all photos courtesy of Hung Le).They portaged from Seagull to Grandpa to Roy to Sag (and that issomething) ….and on to complete a couple of high adventure trips that they hadbeen preparing for all winter.

I met Hung and Tuan when I was 11years old. In April, 1975, their familyof 15 scattered, and some fled their home in Da Lat. I don’t know all the details. Saigon fell,their father, a local judge, was jailed by the North Vietnamese. Hung picked up Tuan from highschool, on amotorcycle and they made it out of the country by boat, and their older brotherCuong escaped by plane. Theynever got to say goodbye to their parents or their siblings. I remember they felt badly about that. In the chaos of that day they never got tosay goodbye. Hung, Tuan,and Cuong later met up in a refugee camp in Guam.

Our Minneapolis church sponsoredthem, and they came to our house for awhile. Lots of things didn’t occur to me then. When my parents moved all four of us kids out of the upstairs, it wasn’tjust hospitality space for the brothers. It was possible that we had just invited creepy strange men into our home. Isn’t that life? Take a chance on potential creepy strangers,and you might end up extending your family by 3 good people-and eventually, by proxy, a very largeVietnamese family. We hit the jackpot.

It also never occurred to me thatthey were always prepared with emergency rations and an escape plan, in casethey were placed with creepy strangers—or that the evil smiling family (us) were infact taking them to some sort of internment labor camp in the wilds of northernMinnesota.

I was 11, and I had never lived ina war. I still can't quite fathom why anyone would wantto memorize all of the aircraft carriers and destroyers in our navy….and whoknows what else about the defense system. Hung once told me he couldn't imagine not knowing. A war-zone mindset? Is this why he speaks English, Vietnamese,French, Spanish, Russian, and some Chinese? I have no interest in keeping track of the US submarines, because reallyI have enough trouble keeping track of my black socks. But also, what are the odds of Duluth falling(as Saigon fell?). Nope, just not in thewar-zone mindset.

Back to that first summer--the 3brothers lived on Seagull Lake where they worked for Wilderness Canoe Base, andfor the US Forest Service. After theyrealized that they didn’t need to escape through barbed wire into a jungle fullof tigers, they could relax and leave their backpacks full of survival gear,and soak up the people and the place. They were welcomed, and found a home in the Boundary Waters.

They have always been resourceful and self-sufficient, more than anyone Iknow. Their shrewd pride enabled them tosmuggle all their family members out during the volatile years in Vietnam, and morerecently to travel to start orphanages inside Vietnam.

This summer, we transported the scouts tothe Wilderness Canoe Base parking lot so they could visit before they launchedonto Seagull. As Tuan and I walked aheadof the group to the main office in the cove, he was reminiscing, and got alittle misty with his story, and for a minute I had a glimpse of him, a verybrave and sweet young man--- Shelby’s age---walking down that driveway 35 yearsago.

But also, I had a flash of empathyfor Tuan’s mom. It’s the first time I’dever considered the story from her angle. I know how terrifying and touching it is to send your kids out into anynew situation—but to send your sons out into the enemies, while your husbandwas in jail ---well, it must have been a low point. I could feel her anguish. What choice did she have but to have faith intheir ingenuity and intelligence?

She wasa mom in a war zone, but I’ll bet she still had to get up and put her shoes on,sweep the floor, take care of the kids, prepare the food. In the end, everyday life is just what a person does. Maybe she just had to trust that it was goingto be OK, and that her kids would be OK too. Turns out they landed in one of the most enchanted places on earth, and Tuan’sheart began to heal here. Could she have dreamed of the life he would lead, that she'd live in his Californianeighborhood, that he’d be back to the woods when his hiscapable teenage daughters were about his same age? Could she have imagined this 50 year old Tuanwith the same witty twinkle in his eyes?

These thoughts rushed through my own (mother’s)heart as I we walked on. Thirty five years ago, Tuan and Icouldn’t have known that our lives would intersect at Seagull Lake, or that wewould share the sacredness, the peace, the transformational effect that theBWCAW and the people of Wilderness Canoe Base had on both of us.

He smiled at me with eyes brimmedwith tears, and I swallowed the lump in my own throat and smiled back. And we walked into the cove, and lookedacross to Dominion Island where we could see the ribs of the chapel, and thesparkles of the sun on the water. He hadgrown up, and I had grown up. We bothhad children, and even they were almost grown up.

And just like that, the nostalgic moment was over. He was ready to lead his group, and I had to returnto Tuscarora and get back to work. In the end, everyday life isjust what a person does.

Paddling at Dawn

2011-11-12T12:01:00.001-06:00

On still summer mornings, with the lake so calm the surfaceseems poised to shatter, I always discover again the pleasure of paddling forits own sake.

A good canoe does not merely travel across a lake or river, itglides along the interface between water and air, making hardly a ripple inpassing and is so silent that it blends with the world.

Paddling it makes you part of the lake, notan intruder, and a participant in the pastel dramas of dawn.

Being out there is not just a way to greet the new day; it’sa way to be reawakened to it, to see it again with the eyes of children.

-JerryDennis excerpts from A Wooden Canoe

October Night Sky-photos by Rachel

2011-10-24T23:17:00.002-05:00

The northern lights came out to celebrate Juan's birthday tonight---

High Point

2011-10-24T23:08:00.000-05:00

Some Saturdays, it's hard to come up with a high point.........

Would it be the happy-go-lucky dog who thinks life is just one big excuse to chase the ball?

Would it be a bonus day to get the chores done, or Rachel who did the lion's share of the raking?

Would it be the plucky little pine trees that show up when the ferns die for the season?

Would it be the sparkles on the water?

Would it be the coffee break?

Would it be that loyal dog again?

Would it be my two favorites?

Would it be the late afternoon paddle?

Would it be the funny people at the game night?

Or...........is it simply the blue and the green together?

It was a high-point kind of day. May your tomorrow be full of them....

Happy Campers

2011-10-15T22:52:00.001-05:00

It was Jimmy’s first visit to the BWCAW. He came with Brent Belisle, and the St. Croix Youth last August. Brent brings young people up every summer, he’s a quiet guy with a subtle sense of humor that can make Andy roll, even in the busiest time of August.

Jimmy is 13, and we could hardly pull a word out of him when he arrived at Tuscarora. Maybe he was excited, but he just looked nervous to me. When they came back, he told his story to anybody who would listen--in the car, in the store, in the office--finally wanting to film his testimony—assisted by his helpful, (and tan) buddy Tristan.

They were cute—and clearly had a good time. But the thing that touched us the most was the way these woods had become Jimmy’s home. It only took at week for it to become a part of him. It was a familiar story to us—Andy and I both discovered the BWCA about that time in our adolescence--in separate youth groups, 8th or 9th grade. I have to say, it didn't actually kindle a flame until my 3rd trip....but....the spark came on that first trip.

It’s some kind of magic. I suspect it will always hold that spot for Jimmy, because when something becomes a part of you with that kind of intensity at that time in life, the moments can take on a different quality—or at least they did for us. This is also why are hats go off to people like Brent Belisle, Matt and Jamison, Polly, John, and so many others---for bringing the kids in the first place.

The thing is, we know so many people---people all over- Toby in Manhattan and Dirk in France, Linda and Jeannie in the Cascades, Cass in Louisiana, Jim in Iowa……I can’t begin to name them all. It doesn’t matter that they don’t live in the BWCAW, it doesn’t even matter that some of them haven’t visited lately or as often as they wish, it’s just as much their home as it is Jimmy’s as it is ours. It’s the eternal charm of the BWCAW---or as Jimmy put’s it---“I have to say, this is the best trip ever”

Sunny days and permit lottery news

2011-10-09T20:57:00.001-05:00

Fall is lingeringwith summerish weather at Tuscarora—as it seems to be lingering all over the UpperMidwest. Every hour above 60 degrees isa bonus this time of year—but over 70 is a slice of heaven. Rachel and Andrew are the last staff members lingering-and doing a splendid job wrapping up the season.

And there’sonly a little teeny voice in the back of my head, uncomfortable with anythingthat doesn’t fall into the “normal” range. Surely it will snow soon enough. In the meantime, there’s a time for raking and paddling and basking inthe sun.

You won’tsee a December lottery date this year because the USFS is discontinuing the permitlottery system. BWCAW permits for the2012 paddle season will be available on a first come first served basis. On January 25^th, you can secureyour permits by phone (1-877-444-6777) or on-line with recreation.gov. We’re also glad toreserve your permit, first thing in the morning, January 25^th—or anytime after that. Call us if you need help choosing an entrypoint or entry date. Wehaven’t had any problems in the past few years with entry lakes filling up inJanuary. It isn't until summer's most popular dates approach, that some ofthe more popular and limited entry points (like Cross Bay Lake) start to close. We’ll be curious to see if some travelpatterns change along with the landscape on the west side of the forest. And honestly, we wouldn’t be surprised if theReserve America website comes crashing down for a while on January 25th. They’re not always on top of their game. But, ultimately, it isn’t something to worryabout—it seems to be less complicated--and we’ll certainly do our best tosecure your first choice of BWCAW travel permits for next season. In the meantime a few lucky paddlers aretaking advantage of the ~~July~~ October weather. Hope you are enjoying yours.

Per-se-ver-ance [pur-suh-veer-uh'ns]

2011-09-28T22:03:00.000-05:00

photos and text by staff member Rachel

Per-se-ver-ance [pur-suh-veer-uh'ns]noun. 1. steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc.,especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.

Spend any amount of time inthe wilderness and the observant student of life will be presented with a multitudeof lessons. With every canoe trip into the Boundary Waters, I take time to lookfor a new angle in which to experience the wonders of nature surrounding me.Often my perspective is influenced by those that I am fortunate enough topaddle with. This trip I was lucky enough to have two paddling partners, myco-worker John Kenney and John Muir in the form of his book “Travels inAlaska.” The lesson of perseverance, a difficult virtue in today's society ofinstant gratification, came from both of my travel companions as well as fromnature's own fire and water.

The elemental parts ofnature, those at their seemingly simplest forms, can have a great impact on atrip. In canoe country, water is an essential part of why we travel from farand wide to northern Minnesota. Dipping a paddle, tossing a line in, andwatching the light shimmer on the lakes watery facade is what most of us dreamof. No one ever imagines their perfect trip without the presence of water, butwhat if that water is persistently drizzling from a leaden sky? Inclementweather can ruin any trip in a flash, flooding out dreams of sun basking with agood book, fishing and cheery campfires.

In the middle of the night,the pitter patter of raindrops on ripstop forecasted what was to come. Our dayoff was destined to be a damp one. Despite the dreary outlook for the morning,John was determined to have peanut butter toast for breakfast. All of thefirewood left from the previous nights campfire was drenched, making a toastyoutlook looked rather bleak. While I fired up my ever dependable camp stove toboil water for breakfast, John started hunting up some dry tinder. As I mixedthe cinnamon muesli and brewed my tea, John flicked the lighter again and againwhen each new attempt sizzled under a fat rain drop. Long after I would havethrown in the wet towel, John made one more attempt before sitting back to eatbreakfast. Huddled in our rain jackets watching an empty fire grate, we ate insilence. After the second spoonful, much to my cynical surprise, a promisingflame sprang to life! Muesli set aside, John was once again stretched out infront of the fire grate, carefully adding one small, dry twig after another.With a bit more patience and a little light-headedness, a merry blaze wasroaring in the grate, defying the storm clouds above. Toast has never tastedfiner as we stood next to a hissing fire slowly turning to warm up. Tummiesfull, yet still drenched from head to foot, we packed up and headed on our way.

Gaskin Lake was ourdestination on this trip, each for our own reasons.

I was determined to see thefresh burn from a fire that had started at a campsite in June. John was herefor the fish. Paddling through the drizzle we worked our way across Gaskin fromour island campsite on the east side to the site of the burn on the west side.As we paddled through the wind and rain, I was reminded of a passage from thebook I had been reading;

“A high wind was rushing down the strait dead againstus, and just as we were about ready to start, determined to fight our way bycreeping close inshore, pelting rain began to fly. We concluded therefore towait for better weather. The hunters went out for deer and I to see theforests. The rain brought out the fragrance of the drenched trees, and the windmade wild melody in the their tops, while every brown bole was embroidered by anetwork of rain rills.” Travels in Alaska – John Muir

John Muir was anenthusiastic student of nature who let nothing get in his way of exploring newglaciers in the then largely unexplored Alaska. His descriptions of the placesand nature he saw glow with his passion and understanding of the wild places herambled through. With Muir's words in mind, I began to see the forest insteadof focusing on the crummy weather, making the best of the day presented. Wepaddled near the shoreline, looking at the trees, searching for wild rice,feeling the rain on my face and scanning the skies for eagles. Eventually wearrived at our site seeing destination.

Fire is another one of thoseelemental parts of nature that brightens our wilderness experience, but is alsosomething we often demonize. Campfires in grates, well contained and fed bycampers, become welcome companions on any trip. Once the illusion of control islost, fires become things of nightmares, raging out of control and consumingthe scenery canoeists come to enjoy. In reality, fire is as natural and asessential a part of nature as water is, cleaning up the old and renewing thelandscape. The peninsula of Gaskin that was burned was not a scarred blackmoonscape but a mottled collection of charred balsam and birch mixed with greencedars and solid white pines. This had been a small fire that burnederratically, as fire is often wont, coming close to shore at some points andleaving a green buffer in others. Already new growth was persevering, slowlycovering the blackened ground. Next summer, hosts of fire loving forbs willflower all over this spot such as fireweed, pearly everlasting, and my favoriteBicknell's geranium. As I took pictures of the burn, we slowly drifted with thewind until I hear John quietly say “Moose. 11 o'clock.”

Standing on a ridge,blending in with the burned tree trunks, was a huge moose. She slowlyalternated between watching us closely and munching on some of the young growththat had started to shoot up in the past two months since the fire had gonethrough. Moose love when fires scorch through the woods. Their favorite saladsinclude the fresh, young growth of balsam, alder, willow and birch that populateopen areas such as these. Her bulk was little hindrance as we watched herstealthily move through the woods and down the far side of the ridge. Wepaddled around the point, hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the other side.Barely touched by the fire at all, the far side's lush green growth easilyconcealed our moose who made as much sound as a squirrel in the underbrush. Ouronly reward for rounding the point was being circled by a low flying osprey,annoyed with us for intruding on his favorite fishing bay.

The rest of the day wecompleted the loop up through Henson, Meeds, and Poplar. We took in the sightsthrough a steady haze of rain and were rewarded for our perseverance with asense of solitude. Not once did we pass another traveler after leaving Gaskinbehind or see a far off canoe. It was just us, the woods and the drizzle. As wemoved from lake to lake, John would occasionally expertly flick out his fishingline, testing the waters for a nibble. It would seem that the fish also thoughthat this was a day better suited for hunkering down and waiting it out.Although there would be no shore lunch for us, John continued to flick out hisline here and there with a fisherman's tenacity, never giving up completely,just trying out a new spot then moving on.

This had not been a trip ofpostcard blue skies and star filled nights, but as we loaded up the car we bothagreed that it had been a fun trip. I had to work a little harder to find thesilver lining in the heavy gray clouds that dogged our day off, but once Ireally started to look, they were as shiny as ever. Taking away a new lessonfrom the woods, on future trips I will persistently look for the good in eachday and the small little beauties that make up the wilderness. The challengeswe face on canoe trips and in life can sometimes feel like we are constantlytrying to start a fire in the rain. It may take a while to get going in theright direction, but with a little perseverance the flame finally catches,making the blaze more than worth the wait.

May the blessing of the rain be on you....

2011-09-19T15:08:00.003-05:00

May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.

May it fall upon your spirit

The Celtic blessing kept ringing in my head yesterday morning as Denali and I ran the access road to Round Lake. We were really happy to run through the rain. It seems like such a miracle-- it really is when you consider the energy and work behind all the water bombers dropping gallons and gallons of water on the Pagami Lake Fire in the other corner of the Boundary Waters. Here we were running through the big giant perfect sprinkler system.

The fire hasn't been growing much, if at all...

What happens next?

High Cliffs Saturday afternoon

They keep monitoring the big giant footprint down near Ely. And the planes and helicopters look for spot fires. On Saturday--before the rain--the fire was supposed to be more active. It was beautiful and breezy--Rachel and I hiked to High Cliffs in search of smoke. We couldn't identify any.
Photo courtesy of Dennis Neitzke
The aerial photo from late afternoon on Saturday shows a lot of black, but not a lot of activity (taken down by Polly Lake, if you know that area).
They have started to let the people evacuated in the Isabella area back into their homes.
They'll start opening up entry points tomorrow (Tuesday). The entire Gunflint Trail will be open, with some restrictions. They still do not want people paddling toward Alice Lake--It's completely understandable why the folks in charge of public safety are so jumpy about that. Last Monday was a mighty weird weather day.
Now will be the time for some people to try pin the blame on somebody. Is that the natural thing to do to try to be in control? We can all say in hindsight it was the wrong decision not to start fighting fire on August 18th when the Pagami Creek Fire was little. But I can't say it was a bad decision. I wasn't sitting at that table, considering past fire behavior, calculating the odds, weighing policy against other factors, trying to predict the future based on a bunch of weather models. I do know that the people at the table were qualified, ones I'd probably still chose to make that decision again if it were up to me........ ........I also remember another flukey weather day 5 years ago when one guy was blamed for the Ham Lake fire. While his campfire was his responsibility, you couldn't imagine what the weather was like that day that fire took off. Ironically, I'll bet I've talked to 15 different people who stopped to put out unattended campfires in August--and that was just me. Was that really his fault?
As we ran yesterday.....on this favorite little piece of road with a recovering forest...I was reminded about some other things that happen next---

The birch seeds will get early dibs in there--traveling on the autumn winds.
The moose love young those birch saplings--hopefully some will enjoy them in the years to come.
The jack pine and spruce cones need fire to open--the cones will have scatted seeds on the rich black ground.
Jack pine cones

These poplars--5 years old, over 10 feet tall

The poplar tree roots will have been stimulated by the fire.. They're like wild men--sprouting after a fire like that. Even fallen limbs that are unburned will start to sprout.

The raspberries

Berries go crazy....

The field--with pearly everlasting

Also the wildflowers--like the white pearly everlasting get some sun, and can thrive....I'm not a naturalist or a botanist..or a forester...but I think I've heard that there are seeds that are dormant waiting for a fire to clear the view.
I understand the animals like the contrast. On this particular hill I've seen moose, bear, wolves, deer.

Grandma White Pines

Happy little guys

The more fire resistant white pines that weather the storm go on to be the seed sources for the whole area.

Grove of birches

Not everything burns in every fire--so the patches of growth may remain.
The old standing trees become habitat for some rare birds sometimes. I don't know how the black backed woodpeckers found these so quickly--but apparently the word gets out.
It's a pleasure to watch the woods recover!

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

2011-09-15T14:13:00.000-05:00

But a little chilly! Some entry points around here reamin closed, but cabin and canoe guests are finding plenty of lovely places to paddle the Gunflint Trail today.

The cold weather is holding that Pagami Creek Fire steady on the west end. Lots of reinforcements have arrived from all over the country to fight the fire down there, but we're still waiting for the clouds to change---the greatest reinforcements will be the big soaking rains. Until then, if you check out the map you can see the most current map of the fire.

I'm really thankful that the people are still safe. I'm remembering that fire is good--we need it in this fire-dependent ecosystem. The woods will be fine, but that is enough for this year, thank you. In the meantime....it sure is a lovely day. (thanks again to Rachel Swenson for the photographs)

Pagami Creek Fire

2011-09-13T12:44:00.001-05:00

(photos courtesy of Rachel Swenson)

Are we worried? You bet. But not so much about Tuscarora or our guests today.
The Pagami Creek Fire started by lightening on August 18th--down near Ely.
Yesterday was a big windy dry day, and the fire made a run. Today is a little windy too but not nearly as dramatic, or alarming.

We know that the woods need to burn. We love our BWCAW lakes and our blueberries- our new forests and our old ones--it's such a mosaical experience these days. But this fire feels out of hand, on all fronts. Please pray for the safety of the fire fighters, and of those on the west end that are evacuating. Our hearts go out to our friends on the edge of this thing---and we're wishing them peace and calm until the rains will come. They always do.

Today, the USFS closed all BWCAW entry points west of us---including Cross Bay, Brant, Missing Link. We can set people up on the east side of the Gunflint Trail, but it is not a good day to start a canoe trip headed south and west. Not until we get some rain.

Forecasts call for cold weather--frost advisories starting on Wednesday night. We'd prefer cold and wet, to calm that fire right down.

Detailed updated information available: http://www.inciweb.org/incident/2534

Please call us if we can re-book your permit to the east side, or Quetico or if you would like to re-schedule your trip. Thanks for your flexibility.

The Morning Fog Has LIfted

2011-09-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

Our favorite Jerry Vandiver wrote this song as a tribute to his friend....Jerry shared the following email recently:

Meanwhile, a paddling friend of mine recently lost his 2 yr battle with lymphoma. He was 42. He had a couple of BW pics he took of the fog coming off a lake and I decided to write a tribute to him and couple the song with a slide show of his pictures. The song is called "The Morning Fog Has Lifted"

Monitoring Fires

2011-08-31T11:24:00.005-05:00

When we issue permits this summer, we’ve been able to tell guests consistently “There are no fire restrictions, we’ve had enough rain.” And then I'd go on to rant and rave about leaving campfires cool-to-the-touch.

We’ve had smoke from Canada fires all summer long--and if you've been paying attention, they've had some biggies. If the wind direction is just right, Manitoba fires can make our eyes water, just a little bit.

And even though conditions aren’t supporting a wildfire around here—doesn’t mean that we humans haven’t started a few. It’s really easy to do, with so many people in the woods. When it is 40 degrees in the morning, the skies are cool, calm, a little cloudy the campfires die down and appear ‘out.’ Then, in the afternoons, when it reaches 80 degrees and the wind picks up, any embers take off again, and passing paddlers see a fire in a grate—with no one attending it.

Most often, good Samaritan paddlers douse these unattended fires, and then return with the stories. But occasionally—more often than we’d like to think, an unattended fire spreads. This last month, fires have been suppressed on Kekakabic, Loon Lake, Brule Lake, Gaskin... The cause isn’t always campfires, sometimes it’s lightening, sometimes the experts can't or won't identify the origin. Fire cleans up the ground fuels, it’s supposed to happen----just not where you and I want to camp next week, I guess.

Earlier in August, we were sent information and a photo of one of the fires on Kekekabic. I have a soft spot for that lake, my ears perk upwhen I hear about Kekakabic---where the USFS completed a prescribed burn last fall.

In January at a ski meet, I was trying to give one of those fire managers in the Ely area a hard time for torching MY FAVORITE lake. He smiled, but would have none of it. When I saw photos of this summer’s fire---I noticed where the smoke and embers might be blowing---I could see the prescribed burn footprint---right in the path of the fire. And I realized—all that mess of blowdown in there, ready to go up like kindling—already burned in a controlled way. I thought AHA! Somebody ought to be smug about this! It’s perfect. Can you see from the photo—that the trees along the shoreline (across from this particular spot), were not burned. Which means, from the paddlers on the lake, the shoreline might still appear pristine.. And behind it---the ground fuels are all cleaned up. We didn’t hear any news of the Great Kekakabic Wild Fire--because there wasn't one.

Near Ely right now, Pagami Creek Fire: less than 200 acres are burning slowly. According to a recent press release:

Ely, MN… Lightning caused the Pagami Creek Fire that was detected August 18, 2011 approximately 14 miles east of Ely in the Pagami Creek area. The fire is located within the borders of the Boundary Water Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW) between the South Kawishiwi River, Clearwater Lake and Lake One. This high use area within the BWCAW is a favorite for visitors recreating in northern Minnesota.

Friday, August 26, 2011 a combination of low relative humidity and higher winds caused an increase in size from approximately half an acre to 130 acres. The rapid increase in fire size lead the Superior National Forest to request an Interagency Incident Management Team (IMT) to assist in managing the fire. The role of the Incident Management Team is to “monitor, confine and contain” the Pagami Creek Fire according to Incident Commander Greg Peterson.

The current moderate fire behavior is allowing the Pagami Creek fire to provide several benefits. Fire creates natural fuel breaks by reducing heavy fuel loads. It also helps to preserve the health of the ecosystem of northern MN.

The Pagami Creek fire will be carefully monitored to ensure that it does not become a threat to the safety of the public or firefighters. If there are areas that require containment, crews will use more aggressive firefighting tactics. Hand tools and saws may be used to build containment lines. Aircraft may be used to drop water on the fire. Fire may be used to fight fire by “burning out” or removing fuels from ahead of the fire.

There are no closures in place at this time. Visitors are asked to avoid the Pagami Creek area and immediate fire area. Incident Commander Greg Peterson stressed, “We will be working with the Superior National Forest to develop short term and long term planning to allow visitors to safely enjoy the BWCAW.”

Additional fire information is available at www.inciweb.org/incident/2534 or by calling 218-365-3177.

I’ve seen the competence of the teams they bring in, and while they can protect people and property on the edges of the fire, no amount of human competence can control the conditions that fan a stray spark into a wild fire, or hold a .5 acre fire around a fire grate to wait patiently for some rangers to paddle out and monitor it.

The truth is, the weather makes the rules. Humidity and wind are out of the hands of the management teams. The woods are wild, the fires are necessary. I keep reminding myself. The woods are wild, the fires are necessary.........

My Name is Asher

2011-08-21T22:54:00.004-05:00

Hey!!! On August 15th, we had the newest addition to the Tuscarora family.......Asher Garbarino was born to Paul and Cass. I just can't stop looking at him.

We're figuring.....Tuscarora staffer, Summer 2032---and we love him already. Definitely worth the wait. Can you tell what good parents he has?

Years ago, when Cass was the nanny--we knew it already.

Welcome to the world---Asher Paul!

The Miracle of an Ordinary Morning

2011-08-14T07:39:00.008-05:00

My eyes popped open before 5am this morning, and Denali and I set out to paddle into the moon-set.

It was so incredibly lovely it made my heart feel like it was cracking open.

I can't imagine there was anyplace on earth more beautiful than this spot. How is it that we were lucky enough to witness it?

Denali was so alert and still, it made me wonder if she could also appreciate the the beautiful scene, or was she just really looking for something to eat or chase like she usually does?I wish I could have recorded the loons calls, surely they could appreciate the way their own songs echoed.

I can't express how grateful I am for the honor of witnessing this morning.

When the sun came up my heart spilled over. I know it rises every day, but it still made me cry.

Staff Appreciation

2011-08-08T22:25:00.010-05:00

We have to appreciate them. They scrub the place until it is unreasonably clean. The carry canoes, they cook, they tow. They came here to take care of people, and they're really good at it. By this time in the summer, they are the heart of Tuscarora. It makes me a little misty to think of them, and the uniqueness that they each bring to peoples' experiences here..

Even if Haley didn't really come from a primitive log cabin in Michigan, she fits the profile. She's as spunky as the lost boys from Never Never Land. And sometimes she carries a hatchet on her belt. Can't you just tell how likable she is?

Megan worked for most of May and June. She was the creator of the orange popsicles in this photo....which were actually frozen old oranges. We liked her energy and creativity, and we missed her when she left even if it meant that our sliced cheese staff food orders dropped by 50%.

Little Ben took to Carl---and so have we. Carl knows a lot of things about a lot of political science , and he also can hustle around the canoe yard and get it all done. We give him an A.

Shelby has had one great summer, and sometimes she even finds time to work at Tuscarora.

Here's Juan (on the left)......., a great guy and a worthy fisherman. The fact that I sent him to Clearwater landing instead of Duncan didn't phase him one bit on the phone just now.. It's fun to have him here--he loves the woods so much, he spends all his spare time in a boat----and I don't think anybody can touch him in the fishing contest of the summer.
You might think Daniel looks disappointed because the rules of the fishing contest say that he will have to open his tackle box for the winner to choose a lure. Actually though, I think Dan simply knows that, although he reached 6 feet this summer, his mother who brought him into this world, could still take him out if she wanted to.

Maggie is the Tuscarora veteran, and is as competent at transporting canoes, as giving fishing advice, as cleaning cabins. We love it that she chose to come back this year....some day she is going to be a big cheese at the DNR, just you watch.

Allie got to pick out the Upper Lakes Ice cream flavor, because it's already time for her to go. She was the latest to arrive this summer, but she caught on quickly, and she tends to run wherever she needs to go. If we're lucky, I think you might get to see Allie here next year. She is upbeat, and never gets caught in any dramarama.

Andrew isn't coming to dinner for the next couple of weeks: he's busy harvesting blueberries and fish. He's staying on for the winter at Tuscarora. I sort of admire his Sam Gribley (My Side of the Mountain) approach. He's a quiet guy who spent the first couple months working in a cowboy hat. And he has the best story for "what's the hardest thing, physically, that you've ever done." Ask him.

Well, we definitely could hand the business over to Rachel and her many talents. She politely keeps her accounting ideas in her head, but we know they could be bubbling forth. Her photo of Abbie from last fall appeared in the Chicago Tribune AND the Milwaukee journal. This year she manages all the food we eat--and holds it all together splendidly.

You can't imagine how funny Anne is. Everybody has learned to perk their ears in her direction...when she says things like "Anne likes it when Sue talks in the 3rd person." It makes me chuckle a little just thinking about her. Also, she's a movie expert, and she knows everything there is to know about the constitution...and the presidents...and....I don't think she even needs to sing any songs to let us in on that.

Aren't we lucky Jamie came back for another summer with us?---last time she worked here was in 2007. The guests who just left kept complementing Jamie on her food packing and canoe lifting skills--telling her that she just put her masters degree to good use. Jamie just laughs it off--one of her biggest skills is her ability to shrug off the size of a task, and just tackle anything with competence and good humor.

I am grateful for the way that they take care of the Tuscarora guests--but the part that they weren't hired for, and the most amazing thing I think, is the way that they take care of us.

Cheers to the Tuscarora Summer Staff 2011.

Little Rascals

2011-08-06T13:28:00.010-05:00

It's kind of quiet for a few hours-turnover in cabins today, all the paddlers are out on the water.

We're all push overs for the little guys around here. They run around and eventually squirm their way into our hearts.

Ben spent the day in the outfitting yard yesterday. He insisted on 5 photos because he is 5 years old. After awhile, "helping" included spraying John and Carl with the hose, as they were moving the canoes around. At one point John said..."Uh oh, Ben, I think you might be busted." His mom appeared out of nowhere, -to make sure he was truly helping. His lower lip only came out for 2 minutes, until he was happily invited back to the scrubbing.

Also--little chocolate Laramie was the new member of the Levin crew. Honestly, Could they be any cuter?

Kicking the Kek

2011-08-04T13:04:00.004-05:00

Linda and her friends finished the Kekekabic Trail today. They came back all sweaty and dirty and beat up.

The trail runs about 41 miles from Snowbank Road to the Gunflint Trail--just about 1/2 mile from us. I don't know the Ely end, but as you get close to us, it dips down to campsites on Gabimichigami, Howard, Bingshick and Agamok. It's a great hiking/running trail for us around here---it's well cared for and maintained by the USFS and the Kek Trail Club.
I know more people tend to traverse the entire trail in the spring and the fall.
It's a rough trail--and when I asked them if they had fun, they just laughed at me. No they said, they'd never call it fun. This time of year it was sort of hot, the trail was grown over, and they met obstacles everywhere.
For Andy and me, was actually a refreshingly amusing trip report. We have had just gorgeous weather for the last month or so. Sweatshirts in the morning and evening, swimming in the afternoon, fish and sun. Everybody is usually so pleased with this little slice of nirvana.

Check them out though---they're still glowing from the escapade. I'm sure they'll not repeat this experience----ever........but it was an adventure--and adventures are the stuff of life. I had a little touch of envy as they laughed with each other....and I had to take their photo before I let them "get the hell out of here."
They were definitely proud that they kicked the Kekekabic!

By the Banks of the Frost River

2011-07-31T10:02:00.014-05:00

Recently, Sheridan, Sheldon, and Ben Frank traveled through the Frost River--to Little Sag, and Tuscarora.

We've had good water levels so far this summer for the Frost River (out of Frost Lake, just south and west of Long Island Lake--flowing toward Little Saganaga).
Even so, it's a challenging route. Sometimes, water levels in July and August can turn the challenging route into .....a seriously challenging route. Our friend DaveO once called the Frost River the best kept secret of the BWCA. What I'm trying to say, is one person's "best kept secret" can be another person's sheer hell.
The Franks however, had a great time. Can you tell that they were enjoying the weather we've been having?....50's at night 70's during the day (perfect, if you ask me)---Thanks to Sheridan for sharing her photos here--she obviously has a photographer's eye.
They saw some baby beavers learning to swim--the lily pads here are about the size of small tortillas--just to give you some perspective on the little guys in the photos below. The way Sheridan described the chattering I guess I love those babies from here.

You know, in the BWCAW you're supposed to stash your fish guts well away from the lake. In the Quetico people are allowed to leave the leftovers on the shore rocks, for the seagulls and eagles to pick clean. It sounds like a good clean sustainable plan, until the eagles start counting on it. Early this summer in Quetico, John Hooley's group had some eagles following them around, waiting to feed their young in a nest nearby. The Hooleys are pretty successful on Kawnipi, and the eagles decided not to wait for the entrails--they just started snatching the fish right from the line. I don't know what kind of test line it takes to hold back an eagle from flying away with a fish---but I believe as they were trying to reel in the walleye and the eagle at the same time, they may have just redefined the term "birding".
The eagles always won. I hope the lures didn't hurt them, but I think it's another good reason to stash fish guts well away from the shoreline, campsites and portages....

I try really hard to appreciate the moths around here. They are at their loveliest when they clump together around the scat. Mmmmm. Sometimes the contrasts are what a person learns to value in this life.

It's a fabulous time of year .

Honeymoon

2011-07-25T19:06:00.004-05:00

Former Staffer Lauren Vilen made a reservation earlier this summer---we just didn't realize she'd be celebrating her honeymoon. Drew and Lauren were married on the North Shore this weekend.

It was a modest affair--but check out the photos on Stephan Hoglund's website. Really nice.

And tomorrow they're going fishing.

Maximum Capacity

2011-07-20T15:00:00.003-05:00

It has been very hot and humid up here the past few days.

Getting through the work day can be a bit brutal when the air feels as thick as the lake water. The staff have been working on ways to cope.

We take 'safety swims' periodically where we stop what we are doing and jump in the lake for a quick dip to cool down.

We wash canoes efficiently in the lake.

The freezers are well stocked with icies and ice cream. After work, we congregate on the end of the dock and swim. Despite our best efforts, the heat is still causing a bit of insanity. The other afternoon, after some gunnel pumping practice, someone pointed out the load limit sticker in the front of the canoe. Of course we had to prove that wrong. We loaded up the canoe with the listed limit of 4 people, then kept adding until we reached 8 people, clearing the dock. We made it a ways away from the dock before capsizing. Deep down, that was the intent all along.

Fluid Boundaries

2011-07-15T19:16:00.005-05:00

by staffer Rachel Swenson

Since childhood we have been learning how to deal with our neighbors. We struggled as we grew with the concept of boundaries, both personal and physical. Taught to share with those around us, we grudgingly did, then screamed our fool heads off when our neighbor became a bit grabby and took our favorite toy. Lines were drawn down the back car seat on long trips with our siblings as cries of “he's touching me!” rung in our parents ears. We ran rampant through neighborhoods as wild gangs crossing from one back yard to another, over fences, through hedges, past yapping dogs. Indignation grew when the sanctity of our room was violated so we created secrete places to ferret away our tiny childhood treasures. We claimed possession of items that were not always ours with strange phrases and excessive use of saliva. Lessons that we learned at an early age taught us to draw lines around ourselves to protect our stuff and ourselves.

As we grow and mature, some allow the boundaries of youth to expand, some allow them to blur and blend, others recede far behind walls of barbwire built by their own hands. Encountering new people and new places inevitably leads to personal boundaries being crossed, bumped, gnashed, jarred, and melded. We learn to redraw our internal maps to cope and learn. Challenging our boundaries is part of what gives life its texture. Taking risks and exploring gives us the opportunity to migrate in to new territory so that we can grow.

Carlos and I took advantage of our day off to explore a section of the BWCA new to both of us, the Granite River area, while expanding the edge of our personal maps. After a little bit of car juggling with an assist from Haley, we started off our adventure at entry point number 57, Magnetic Lake (click on map for larger version). As we paddled slowly into the wind that day, we spotted a number of international boundary markers that serve as physical reminders of an imaginary boundary between two neighbors, like a line drawn down the back car seat with a shaky finger. As two people in a canoe with a single pack, we easily slipped in between two nations without waking the slumbering giants.

In an age where security and immigration are serious topics discussed in the halls of our founding fathers and at the tables of our families, the ease of our travel struck me as a bit silly. There were no high chain link fences patrolled hourly like there is so many miles to our south. No sensor alarm went off, no one was standing there to ask for our passport, no baggage screen scanned our portage pack. We simply trekked on. Without our map and the little makers spaced far apart to remind us we had crossed out of bounds, we would not be any more the wiser of our transgressions. Both sides looked the same, smelled the same, felt the same. Two neighbors with so much in common. Crystal clear water, blue sky, loon calls echoing of glacial rock, rejuvenating forest.

Along our journey we ran into some turbulent water. The Granite River, which inspired the meandering international boundary, comes merrily to life in narrow granite clefts with some beautiful rapids and falls. Although technically we were traveling in the BWCA on the west side of the river, no distinction was made when it came to portage placement. Which ever side of the river was best suited for a trail, that is the side it was on. Apparently, all is fair when it comes to navigating dangerous waters in life. The joke became that when the portage was on the Canadian side, it was truly a portage (pronounced with a thick french accent). All day long we skipped back an forth from the west side of the river to the east side in an international game of hop scotch.

We worked are way slowly north, following the flow of the river which is north of the Laurentian divide, the geographical boundary between north and south. Things that belong to the earth pay no attention to the quibbles of us mere mortals. Countries, customs, laws and remote area border crossing permits can't stop gravities pull on the water cycle. Eventually all that water that glided easily around our canoe and gurgled over rocky rapids will end up in Canada's Hudson Bay. Right now though, it belonged to us. Its tepid quality was whipped up by the wind and shaded gray by an overcast sky, but for me any day is a good day to be paddling.

After pausing at Saganaga Falls, we began to work our way through the numerous islands that dot this giant lake loved by Canadians and Americans alike. Boats easily zig zag back and forth between countries, the only noticeable change being which outboard motor they get to use on which side of the line. Fording the waves and wakes we finally turned south again and left behind the mythical dotted line on the bottom of the lake that lives in infamy with the elusive snipe. With the wind at our back we followed the corridor back to the boat landing and my waiting car. Tired but content we headed back knowing we had paddled many miles and visited a different but not so foreign country.

When we made it back to Tuscarora, I went searching for some information on the peaceful yet lengthy boundary between the US and Canada and to learn more about the little markers we had seen. For an obvious starter, its a long one. Running the width of the lower 48, from the Pacific to the Atlantic, the border is 3,987 miles. Minnesota alone boasts 547 miles of boarder land. Of the total mileage 2,199 miles are in the water, of which Carlos and I had paddled along 20 miles or so. Treaty after treaty were signed throughout history to nail down exactly which piece of land, which lake, which tree belonged to whom. In 1908 a joint committee, the International Boundary Commission, was formed to define and maintain the border. The task of maintaining a physical representation of the line in the sand seems a bit daunting to me. They are charged with maintaining some 8,000 markers and a swath of open expanse on land 10 feet wide on both sides. Personally, I am thankful that the borders around here are a bit more blurry and in the water so no ugly scar is visible in the surrounding boreal forest. Without a clear cut expanse to connect the dots, finding the next marker feels more like hide and seek to me than simply coloring within the lines.

All in all, I felt a bit like I was back in the neighborhood gang, hopping over fences between backyards in a game of intense international tag. I crossed over the invisible line over and over again. Took pictures of little metal markers painstakingly cemented into granite older than the human species. Ate deliciously illegal Canadian blueberries that had ripened to perfection in the summer sun that shines on both countries. Paddled into foreign waters without telling the appropriate authority figure just so I could make a loop around that alluring island in the distance. It was fun to flirt for the day with the idea of a land with no boundaries, where neighbors coexist in peace, content to share the bountifully adventure the northland can provide to those with a canoe, a paddle and a thirst for adventure.

Good Morning

2011-07-13T09:27:00.017-05:00

I woke up at 5:30 to a view that was sky-blue-pink, a color that I once thought my grandma invented. I had to get up, because I LOVE LOVE LOVE to paddle in the mist.

Since our kids have been little, we often do a high-point, low-point review of the day. It has always been a pretty good conversation starter, but also—it has reminded me to try to create high points for every day. This time of year I can forget to do that, but I made the obvious choice this morning. The sky was calling. By the time I made my coffee and filled my partner’s dish, the pink was leaving me, but luckily the canoes and paddles are handy, and we were on the lake shortly.

How lucky are we to live in this corner of the world? How lucky are we for the beautiful places? Some scenes are so beautiful that they hurt my heart. It was my lucky day.

There are times I long for the feeling I had when I “discovered” the BWCAW in high school. There was no nostalgia involved, just delight. The world was fresh and open. I remember a commercial jingle back then that went “today is the first day of the rest of your life” (start it right with Total). I don’t think that way anymore---is it motherhood? Is it age? Is it experience with loss?

I was absolutely full of joy this morning, but even as I looked at Denali—(She's such a loyal girl) .... I was fully aware of the gray hairs around her snout. The temperature was perfect, the coffee was tasty, but I realize moments are fleeting like the morning mist. It makes my heart swell in a different sort of way than when it was 'the first day of the rest of my life.'

I also know I savor it in a whole different way than our kids do. I love it that Denali knows how to look in the water and also keep her weight centered so the boat is steady. I love it when the water is so calm that the reflection is as sharp as reality.

I love it that the “black” of the Ham Lake fire is charming green young forest and meadow.

I love the solitude of the early hours.

And I love paddling back to Tuscarora hearing the quiet sounds of people waking up, a screen door, a little girl fishing in her jammies-talking to her dad.

I guess I just love the morning.

Stormy Weather

2011-07-02T08:48:00.000-05:00

We got a lot of cool thunder last night, some lightening, but not so much wind--not a huge storm at Tuscarora.

But somewhere along our phone system--the lines are down.

We are sorry for the inconvenience. We have Satellite phones for emergencies, but you cannot call us.

Please email us (tuscarora@boreal.org) with any messages.

I'm sure the phones will be in service shortly. Thank you for your patience.

It's a beautiful day in the woods! Hope your holiday weekend is fabulous.

Laudeamus Te

2011-06-26T09:08:00.008-05:00

"............Oh may we live each day in constant wonder...to see all of life as simple pleasures.....Laudeamus te"
It's a song I know.......that describes the Magnetic Rock Trail and all of the wildflowers in bloom right this minute. I sat up there yesterday.......thinking......everybody everywhere should experience this. Every color, not just yellow. It defines splendor. Photo courtesy of Lori Fewer---and my niece Maria.

Daisies in the Rain

2011-06-19T09:22:00.013-05:00

Guess what news snuck up on us already? The invasive species of the daisies are blooming-

In the resort business, happy people come and go, some familiar friends, some new--- and all the stories pile up. It's way too much for me to record.
We sure get to hear about a lot of camping trips.

This nice California family took me on a trip through Ham Lake and Cross Bay, Snipe and Missing Link. They plan to visit all 50 states, have checked off 21...and are doing Minnesota this year. Lucky for us.

Stuart from North Carolina took the kids climbing again --along with their friend Ailee. It was my job to take the photos, and this year--and that was AOK with me.

While you're not allowed to bring cans or glass bottles into the BWCAW, there are no limits on the size of your jumbo plastic State Farm coffee mug.

We sure enjoy hearing about canoe trips.

Alan might be the shortest one in his group, but he caught the tallest Northern......more than 30 inches, from Round Lake.

The staff is really starting to gel. We like this whole teamwork synergy thing....a lot.

Did I mention how much we like to hear about canoe adventures?

It's an honor to meet so many charming people.

Happy staffers Andrew and John returned from an impromptu trip into Larch Lake with a fine catch. In fact, John (who has since been known to me as Juan, as he's now supporting a fine mustachio) is the current leader of the staff fishing contest (I'm still betting on Maggie).

6 guys, 2 families, 3 generations......Sheldon and his dad Carl are favorites of ours, and not only because of the name Sheldon. We met them back in 2004, when Sheldon's son was only an idea.

We get the lowdown on the campsites and the lakes.

Lunchtime around here is a high point of the day--Haley, Anne, and Rachel, Megan, Shelby have all taken turns cooking--and it's tasty and funny and loud at the same time.

Yesterday though, I just needed a half an hour to hear myself think, and I took the lunch break to go for a run in the rain.
The thing is, among these hundreds of life stories that touch us, there are some really sad ones.
Life can be hard on people we care about, and sometimes it feels like it might be too much.

Then, I noticed the daisies. Daisies are my favorite flower. They're so plucky, they're sunshine, even when it's raining. Are they oblivious to the rain? Or do they soak up what they can, and just keep on shining? I know they're not supposed to be here, I know they're a noxious weed. I know that there will always be some sad stories. But I'm glad there will also be daisies , the most resilient flowers that I know. It's OK by me if they invade.

Wolf Bait

2011-06-17T18:44:00.005-05:00

Shelby was driving us up the Gunflint Trail Tuesday night when she had to pull over and wait for a mother moose herd two little guys across the road. We chatted about how difficult it can be for one mother to protect twins--or other multiples against wolves....I've heard some people call the 2nd calf "wolf bait."

Then on Wednesday morning, Peter, (staffer from Hungry Jack outfitters) stopped by in his funky painted car. He had just paddled out of Brant Lake, and he shared his photos and story with us (all photos credited to Peter.)

He was really surprised to see a mother and two calves swim from the point right in front of him, to another shoreline on Brant Lake.

He took some photos of them, before he looked back at the point, wondering why they had left so abruptly.

He found another subject for his photos. Yikes! Thanks Peter.
As far as he could tell, the calves got away safely............this time. Beautiful animals, all of them, just trying to make a living like everybody else.

My First Trip of A Summer Adventure

2011-06-13T20:25:00.008-05:00

By staffer Carl Hoeg

This summer I came to Tuscarora to enjoy a final summer before entering the “Real World”. Come December I will be finishing graduate school and be faced with the prospect of finding a normal 9-5 job, thus I decided that instead of looking for a summer internship I wanted to spend my summer somewhere exciting and adventurous, so I came to work at Tuscarora Outfitters on the Gunflint Trail. Here I expected to work hard but also to spend my time off exploring the wilderness of Northern Minnesota and the BWCA.

Two weeks ago another staffer, Andrew Yates, and I went on our first overnight BWCA trip of the summer. Neither Andrew nor I had seen much of the area around Tuscarora so we decided the goal of our trips was to "Make Tracks" and see as much of the surrounding area as we could during our day off. I would have to say that we were completely successful in our goal as in 23 short hours (12 of which we were making camp) we covered 22 portages (totaling over 1,300 rods), 21 total miles and over 20 different lakes!

Picture #1: Our Route (Click to expand it)

We set out at 3:00 pm after work on Monday (May 31^st) from Round Lake and headed to Tuscarora Lake, where we had originally planned to camp for the night. On our way we got to do the legendary Tuscarora Portage, which depending on which map you consult is anywhere from 360-425 rods (anyway you look at it, that is long and over a mile). A personal point of pride is that I carried our aluminum canoe over the entire portage! When we got on Tuscarora it was still early and we had favorable winds so we decided to keep going instead of making an early camp. The result was we were able to make it to Crooked Lake and find a suitable campsite by around 6:00 pm. In camp we enjoyed the delights of expired dehydrated foods (which we get for free from Tuscarora Outfitters as they cannot sell it to clients), a campfire, a beautiful sunset, and starry night (complete with loon calls and beaver tail slaps).

Picture #2: Me at Tuscarora Lake (After the big Portage)

Picture #3: Camp Site at Crooked Lake

Tuesday morning (June 1^st) we got up at sunrise, packed up camp, and were canoeing again by about 6:00 am. As there had been decent winds the day before we decided we wanted to get out early in order to get to Little Saganaga before any major winds camp up (Little Sag is a big lake, despite its name, and unfavorable winds would have made canoeing it very difficult). When we arrived at Little Sag the wind was just getting going for the day, but lucky for us it was mostly at our back. As the wind increased we decided that we would take a chain of smaller lakes back to Tuscarora Outfitters in the afternoon as opposed to going into other big lakes such as Gabimichigambi and Peter Lake. The result of this decision was a lot of portages! Despite our aluminum canoe though we only had one big pack and a small backpack so there was no double portaging for us.

Picture #4: Sunrise at Crooked Lake

Picture #5: Portaging away from Little Saganaga to Virgin Lake (Senic Overlook of Little Sag)

Our final stop on our trip was on Bat Lake, where we stopped for a quick lunch at midday, before we finishing the last leg of our journey that afternoon.

Picture #6: View of Gillis Lake from Portage to Bat Lake

Overall it was a great first trip! We managed to see a big portion of the BWCA that is right in our backyard. It is great having seen all these lakes as many of them are ones that our clients here at Tuscarora are constantly going on trips to, thus now when they ask us questions ahead of time or tell us about their trip afterwards we will be more knowledgeable about the area. Finally it is good to know that it still only mid-June and that there will be many more trips yet to come as a part of this summer adventure in the BWCA.

Memorial Day

2011-05-30T05:30:00.007-05:00

The days are spinning by us here at Tuscarora.

We're in full spring with all of its florescent green.

It still amazes me when guests show up after a trip, and I'd swear they just paddled away yesterday...........yet they have photos, and sure enough, they've had a week's worth of memories. They've caught fish, they've had some rain and some hail, they've had hot sunny weather- enough to swim, and cold enough to freeze a water bottle one night.

Our Memorial Day weekend was especially busy. Former staffers Lindsay, Jen, and Dave came to help out those of us who are here. The regular family and friends crowd filled the cabins, and this morning, I've got a minute to reflect on it all before people start paddling in, with more stories.

When cousins Kjersten and Joe drove up the Gunflint Trail with Shelby and Daniel on Friday night, I had to shake my head; I'd swear that they were all using toddler car seats yesterday ....yet we have photos, and sure enough, they've each had a childhood's worth of memories. They've caught fish, had some rain and some hail, they've been hot enough to swim, and cold enough to freeze a water bottle.

I sort of like the way they charge ahead without nostalgia. I also like it that they've grown up together, and they have such gentle acceptance of each others' quirks.

They know each other inside and out. Joe still pushes the edge on raunchy jokes, and Daniel still stresses out on the responsibility. Shelby still looks to stir things up, and Kjersten has a mind of her own. They laugh. Their relationships with each other have nothing to do with us adults anymore. I love that.

This weekend the boys fished, Kjersten and Shelby took photos. The light was especially dramatic after the storm Saturday evening, and Kjersten with her new camera and her artistic eye captured some winners (the' Wow' shots posted here are hers).

My sentimental favorite was the path near Cabin 2---where the four of them used to don their special powers of invisibility or flight and play. I'm betting this photo will give them some nostalgic childhood memories some day, when they're my age and ready to be wistful, when there's time to remember.

We wish you a wonderful Memorial Day.

Why do Moose have Bells?

2011-05-16T19:20:00.009-05:00

We've all been seeing many moose around this spring, and I like it.

Do you notice the piece of skin and hair---the dewlap--- hanging under her chin? I'm calling this one a "her" because she had a calf in the weeds, which was why we quickly left her alone. There's not a great way for me to otherwise distinguish the hims and hers in this season of the year before antlers emerge. The gender of the one in the video? I do not know.

At any rate, the dewlaps, or bells, or moostaches, are a mystery. Both males and females have them, but male bells tend to be larger. Some of them are fat and 20 inches long, some are just tufts of hair.
The moose experts aren't in agreement as to the purpose of the dewlap. Some say it helps with heat regulation. The long strands that sometimes hang down can also freeze and break off in the winter. Ouch.

Apparently they reach their biggest magnitudes on the chins of 3-5 year old bull moose.

Many biologists speculate that dewlaps (bells) play a part in the mating rituals, perhaps for dispensing scents (from bull urine and saliva, if that could ever be appealing). Perhaps size and shape are attractiveness indicators.

I'm thinking that the bells have to get caught up in the brush sometimes, and that can't be comfortable. And that is all I know.

Planting Trees, Remembering Fire

2011-05-13T21:07:00.002-05:00

The families came to plant trees last Saturday for Gunflint Green up. I can't tell you what a pleasing little tradition it has become these last five years.
Tom and Julia (who add a little more style to Cabin 2 every summer) and I were a trio. My job was to hoe the grass clumps, Tom would dig, Julia would plant. I was truly a happy hoer.

Last year at this time of year, Shelby wrote a poem of her memories of the start of the Ham Lake Fire. We really would have preferred to shelter our kids from the whole forest fire experience. Not something to wish on a 10 and a 12 year old. Even though adversity builds character and resilience, I think this one went a little too far.

However, we're proud of the young adult she is becoming.

(12 year old Shelby)

Fire

Five minutes to fit my entire world into

This vacant suitcase in front of me

All my memories, necessities, smiles

Crammed in a single duffel

My heart pounds a

Panicked fluttering inside my chest

What what what?

What should I choose to bring?

The photos smiling on the walls

The battered lamp beside my bed

My favorite strawberry T-shirt.

What do I treasure most?

My time is ticking away

Throw in a few pairs of jeans

The money from my top dresser drawer

A third grade year book

What should I save?

Everything? Nothing?

Grab some pictures off the wall

Toss them in the pile

Five minutes and my entire world is packed into

This bulging suitcase in front of me

The tromp of heavy boots echoes upstairs

A firefighter’s gruff voice hollers

I sprint up the steps

Bag slung over my shoulder

Sunlight beams through the haze

As I dash to the idling Jeep

My dad at the wheel

My brother beside me in the back seat

We roar down the dusty driveway

A blanket of smoke curling thick among the pines

Now, I count

One dad, one brother, one panting Labrador…

No Mom

Where is Mom?

We round the corner

And collide with the flames

I open my mouth in a silent scream

Hands clench the door handle

A cocoon of fire envelopes the road

Flaming tree tips plummet and ignite the parched straw

Red and orange flickers burn my wide eyes

With their terrorizing image of destruction

As I glimpse mom’s grey suburban

Motionless at the Cross Bay Lake Entry point

The terrifying truth burbles up

And washes over my forced calm

Straining against my seatbelt

Hysterical panic exploding inside of me

Out there in the blazing inferno

My mom faces a hurricane of flame and heat she can’t fight

Helpless tears streak my cheeks

Strapped in a car; stuck

We approach the second entrance to the Cross Bay Lot

A grey suburban pulls out ahead of us

My heart soars

Stopping the sobs

We screech to a halt at the Gunflint Trail

And slowly turn

The smoky billows climb the air

Purple and orange hues blossom through the gray

Our house, our life

Disappearing into the sky

I discover the panic has stopped

Take a shaky breath

Somehow, some way

We’ll survive this

Waiting, breathing, accepting

Watching the firefighters

Hearing the radio exchanges

Dreading the hour we’ll see the destruction

----------------------------------------------

The mile driveway stretches into millions

As we head back in the anxious car

The true wrath of the fire

Is revealed

Wasteland stretches before me

A desolate scene of smoking silence

Charred black from the raging blaze

Only a splintered shadow of the majestic beauty this forest once was.

The flames have stripped the very soil of its memory

Scraped down the rich dirt to raw rock

Leaving beached granite whales

In the ocean of blackness

The ashes ache with death

A forest that was once filled with life and energy

Now flutters between my fingers

And blankets the ground with a heavy sadness.

Towering white pines

That I had loved to lean against

Because they felt so completely solid and secure

Are left as frail slivers struggling to stand

But my eyes stretch over the hill

There, in a sparkling bubble of green

Lies our house, our resort

An island of survival in the sea of disaster

And my heart flies higher

Than the topmost branches of the soaring white pines

Because there will be new life in this desert

A new emerald woods

It may be my children

Who are the ones leaning against grand old trees

The ones who get to experience their great support

But sprouts are already tunneling up through the ash to sunlight

So I unpack my world, my suitcase

Put back my treasures

And watch this stunning forest

Create and recreate its beauty

(This poem appeared in the Boundary Waters Journal, Spring 2011 issue.)

Saving a Chair

2011-05-10T05:25:00.002-05:00

Maybe I was feeling a little nostalgic about Mother's Day.
Maybe it was because Daniel was working like a fiend on his autobiography project---and I was helping him compile photos from growing up, and reading his version of the memories. I don't know if it is a sad tribute to the Suzuki method of violin, or to me....but I had forgotten how we used to argue about the proper placement of the margarine box/paint stick that was his first violin. Really Suzuki? I was supposed to sit in on all the lessons and practice with him every day? I was supposed to remember and reinforce the exact placement of his elbow, and he was going to remember that forever.? Sigh.

At any rate, on Monday when it came time to throw this particular chair in the dumpster, I just couldn't do it. It was a great chair before the glide pedestal broke off. The glider footstool that provided the true comfort broke years ago--not sure, but I'm guessing it was from multiple kids 'surfing' on that thing.
My parents bought us this glider--where they wisely guessed we might spend hours with babies. I'm most nostalgic about those middle of the night feedings, where I was alone in the world with each baby, in turn. The little cottage we lived in had these weird orange sconces. I fell in love with those little bald heads in this chair. In that quiet orange glow, I learned what Sylvia Boorstein meant--when she talked about mortgaging my heart for life.

In Daniel's photo hunt, we came across a photo that didn't mean so much to him, not such a good photo. It was our first family canoe trip, Shelby was the 4 year old expert on 'Boundary Waters' from her trips as a toddler, so she gave Daniel the lowdown for the entire car ride. When we arrived at the Seagull landing--Andy and I went into the bustling mode of unloading canoe and gear. It was July, 1999. We were in a hurry to secure a campsite, having no idea that we'd have the lake strangely to ourselves, because of a recent wind storm. We hadn't been paying so much attention to the news I guess. We looked up, and the kids had climbed out of the car and were standing motionless at the edge of the water, just looking at 'Boundary Waters'. I loved that moment.

Stop by my office. You are welcome to take a moment to sit in my chair and look at Boundary Waters.

Paddling Season

2011-05-07T07:52:00.003-05:00

The ice went out last Thursday--we woke up to a beautiful morning today, that's for sure.

In a couple of hours we'll plant some trees by the Round Lake landing--part of the Gunflint Green Up shindig.

Staff members started to arrive last week, paddling guests start coming on Monday. Here we go!

Now That's More Like It.

2011-04-30T07:31:00.007-05:00

Yesterday was a day worth waiting for.

The pussy willows were liking that sun as much as I was...I think they might be a little behind this year.

I was reading about the way lake ice melts. Apparently, when the snow melts from the surface, the ice acts like the glass in a greenhouse, encouraging the sun to warm the water, and melt the ice from below. Who knew? When the depth of the ice is a foot or less, the ice is transformed into crystal "candles" that conduct light even better, which also makes the ice look black. After that, the ice doesn't stand a chance. When a wind comes up, we hear the friendly tinkling sound of many candles breaking apart. Shelby and I were talking about it the other day...and she said "Isn't it cool, that the ice evolved to go out like that." Then she immediately corrected her thinking....it DOES seem like an evolution-type thing, but....why would ice evolve to disappear right on time? For the survival of the planet? For the survival of the outfitters? At any rate, it's disappearing by the hour. It must have rained last night, because it is full of puddles right now, and much blacker than yesterday

Some people will recognize the wine water of the Cross River. It's not pollution--it's tannic acid, from the nutrients in the water. Not sure why some lakes are so clear and blue, and others are tea-colored, but it doesn't affect the quality of the water. Just talking about it makes me want to take in small water bottles to our familiar lakes and do a blind taste test. I know some lakes have water worth camping early for----and others are not quite as sweet, but I wonder if we could actually identify the specific lakes by the taste of the water? The sun yesterday made for a sparkling water sight, that's for sure.

I can't help taking photos from the overlook on the Centennial Trail. Denali and I make it a destination on busier days. We think of it as our plot. Our little retreat to a lonely place. It's familiar and oh-so-peaceful.

This boulder fell next to the road this spring. Andy called the Highway Department to report it, not a problem for us, but I'm sure it might be a problem for the plow. Andy told his friend Gary not to worry, no hurry, we moved it to the side. Just a little road humor for Gary when he arrives..an inside excavation joke....we're lucky that it decided to fall where it did.

It always tugs at my heart to see a baby tucked up under the protection of its mother--no matter what the species.
Welcome spring!

Hooray!

2011-04-27T08:03:00.011-05:00

We're feeling proud here at Tuscarora this week.
Daniel will travel down to Minneapolis to present a History Day Project at the State Competition on Sunday. He and his friend Alex progressed from the Regional Competition last month (with the video at the bottom of the page, and with the help of some community members). Hooray for Daniel and Alex!

Shelby was inducted into the National Honor Society on Monday night. Hooray for the 10th graders!

Andy and I have almost made it to spring, with a score of 193 according to the DNR "winter severity index".

Apparently, index points are calculated by location. We receive a point for every day the temperature is below zero and another point for each day where the snow depth exceeds 15 inches. Sam Cook reports the numbers in the Duluth News Tribune:

The highest reading, 193, was at Poplar Lake along the Gunflint Trail. That was the only station that fell into the "severe winter" category, although Snowbank Lake near Ely was close at 177. Here are some other final readings: Grand Rapids, 98; International Falls, 150; Isabella, 159; Eveleth, 150; Cloquet, 112; Brimson, 149; Tower, 164.

Here's how the DNR classifies winters based on the WSI:

Mild winter -- WSI less than 100

Average winter -- WSI of 120

Moderate winter -- WSI 121-140

Moderately severe winter -- WSI 141-180

Severe winter -- WSI more than 180

So, technically, we won state up here!! Andy was still smiling this morning as he brushed off the car, with his score of 193. Hooray for the severe winter survivors!

(side note: the ice on Tuscarora Lake is still scheduled to go out on May 10th, at 4pm, when the wind picks up on that sunny afternoon)

Snowy Weekend

2011-04-18T11:29:00.010-05:00

I have found that, ignoring the forecast, refusing to talk about the possibility of snow, is not a deterrent. It still came this weekend. More than I would even consider.

Sunday was Daniel's birthday. All those sickening cliches about babies growing up? I really try to stay away from them, but they are so very true.
I actually celebrated his birthday privately in my own head, on Saturday. Andy was at the Midwest Mountaineering Expo, and Shelby was in town. Daniel and I were both home in a snowstorm with really bad colds. For dinner, we shuffled around and cooked soup and grilled cheese, I laid on the couch, he sprawled on the chair and explained to me why Davy Jones had snakes and barnacles instead of a beard, and I watched Pirates of the Caribbean. Honestly, I hate that movie and all of its sequels. I am mildly entertained by Jack Sparrow, but mostly, I just wanted to hang out with Daniel the teenager. He thanked me profusely for managing the dishes so he could sleep, and before he dragged himself to his own bed, he folded back the covers of mine, and left my glasses neatly on top of my book on my pillow. He didn't even know it, but it was a little gift/gesture that reminded me how glad I was that he was born 14 years ago.

On Sunday, the people came! We played a little broomball in the snow.

We celebrated 3 April birthdays.

We dyed the Easter Eggs, in the fancy Pysanki form,

and we also danced. You too, can do the Double Dream Hands! It's awesome!

What I can tell you for sure?
Daniel will grow older, the snow and ice will melt under this intense sun. It's all good.

And The Rains Came

2011-04-11T09:13:00.014-05:00

Yesterday felt balmy; 40 something degrees, humid, smelled like spring, smelled like water. Shelby had been hankering for a thunderstorm. Just as they started their run, she got her wish.

The woods are very beautiful in their barren ugliness...and I'm eager to let the winter season go. The rains stir up spring deep down in the roots---I can just feel it.

Here's one of the happy little green up pines planted during one of the last couple of Gunflint Green Up Wing Dings; you are invited to come join us to plant a few thousand more in May. Believe me, it's really fun.

The Cross Bay landing is open for paddling. Looks like we can at least get to the portage if we want to. One of these days..

I believe the soggy little jack pines are happy to shed the snow so quickly this week.

Earl Falls is mostly camouflaged in the summer--but when there is this much water, if you're listening, you can always hear it. Even over the sound of the thunderstorm.

We're so completely surrounded by water around here--and I'm glad to see it starting to move again. Actually, it's an honor to witness the transformation. Right on schedule.

Changing Conditions

2011-04-04T23:00:00.009-05:00

Last week, Denali and I would take the spark out onto the ice

until we got to the middle where it was smooth, and the conditions were perfect for skating.

Then on Saturday, it got warmer and snowed just a tad. Ice skating season was over,

but Shelby could just fly around the lake on her skis.

Last night, the conditions were perfect for a snowstorm, and we got several inches of snow. It was not a perfect drive into town for tennis practice,

but conditions started melting it immediately, and....it was a perfectly lovely ride back up the Gunflint Trail.

Last year on this date., conditions were perfect for........paddling..............sigh.

Seasons

2011-03-26T09:00:00.011-05:00

I went to sit by the Cross River last week. It was a gray day and the river is often the best reminder that there is spring sleeping underneath this winter. I hoped to glimpse the otters—they leave long smooth tracks of sliding from pool to pool, and I've always wanted to see that game in action. Andy and the kids caught a wolf drinking in the rapids the other day. Winter is very black and white, I like the evidence of new life there.
My Uncle Dan died, and I adored him. We even named Daniel after him. Oh, not a tragedy like the earthquake and the tsunamis, not even close. He would have turned 100 this year, his wife died a few years ago. It's just....he was a good guy, and a part of me hated to see my time with him end.
A couple years ago I visited him in Santa Barbara, not because it was a nice gesture to visit a lonely old man, but because he was interesting and funny and I couldn't get enough of him. We sat eating pistachios and talking about things. He was faithful with cocktail hour, even in the nursing home; he kept the liquor in the linen closet. “All things in moderation, and I mean….all things.” He was a smart and upbeat, yet he also shared his insight as a physician; “Susan, sometimes people live too damned long.” He couldn’t see so well, his hearing was fading. I’ve known old people before, but he’s the first guy who was like my peer in an old man’s body—I understood it in a different way. He was ready to die, to join his wife, his friends and siblings, one of whom was my grandpa, who we called Pop.
Uncle Dan was our link to my grandpa after Pop died, 20 years ago. A long time, but the other day by the river, grief washed over me, so fresh and surprising that for a minute I couldn’t catch my breath. I still miss him. I get it, I get the balance of things. The depth of the grief matches the depth of the joy —I was really lucky to have a part of him. I slid into family time memories, especially at Pop’s house, on Lake Genesee where people gathered. My grandpa was such a catalyst, everybody was related, friends were welcome, he and his next door neighbor Wes bantered like Jack Lemon and Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men…. I remember being a little girl, sitting with Pop on the plastic couches on his porch, during cocktail hour. If I took a break from the swimming cousins running from the back door to the lake, Pop would play gin rummy and depart old Welsh farmer wisdom, or childhood stories or multiplication tables. We kids were clearly worth his time. I can still hear his deep singsongy voice when he’d win: Deeedeedeedeedeedeedee………What’s the name of the game?

Both Pop and Uncle Dan had the storytelling gift. They taught us some serious lessons about hard work, about family, about playing blackjack, about judging Holsteins. Mostly they taught us that we were valuable. Always there was time for the kids.
I can even hear the wise things those guys might tell me about spending too much time missing them, when there's work to be done. Lately, Uncle Dan had been loosing a few marbles. I understand he’d begun to pour extra cocktails for his brothers Lyle (Pop) and Emery. It was his time.

And, it’s our time to welcome a new season. We're getting glimpses of sun and spring--a little more every day. We KNOW the ice will go out--an paddling season will be on us soon.
It's time to celebrate the promise of new life--with a thrilling photo of the youngest future Tuscarora staffer—Cass and Paul’s baby due next summer.

It's the season to fly kites on the lake.

And it's also cocktail hour somewhere in the universe---where Uncle Dan has joined his people gathered on the porch— having a little drink---talking smart—and playing gin rummy with Pop. Deeeedeeedeedeedee What’s the name of the game?