Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Runaway Ice in Jasper Creek

It's one of those years again at Northwind Lodge.  Last year we had too much snow and brutally cold weather.  This year we're having mildly cold weather (in relative terms) and not enough snow.  For those who don't know it, we rely on snow to be an insulating layer against the cold.  With low snow levels, the cold can penetrate the ground something fierce.  In this neck of the woods, our frostline for building code purposes is 84" or seven feet down.  Unfortunately, that is easier said than done and I do recall a few years back with low snow and cold temps that some people had their septic tanks move upwards from frost making it beneath the tank and freezing the water in the dirt.  The lifting of the tank would result in either breaking the main sewer line to the tank from the home or making the main line now move upwards thereby affecting the flow into the tank.  The residual water remaining in the sewer line, would freeze and plug up making for many unpleasant moments in the homeowner's basement.  With no simple remedy, this sort of thing makes a long winter feel much longer because our frost doesn't usually leave the ground here until mid-May.  So, when I hear our southern brethren tell me that it is just as cold in the Twin Cities, 265 miles to the south, I don't really agree.  Seven feet of frost is just one of the indicators as to the differences in global reality.

For Northwind Lodge, our low snow presents a different kind of problem.  It is mainly in Jasper Creek.   As it flows so beautifully through our property in the summer, it haunts us and taunts us all winter long with threats of overflowing its banks to threaten several cabins. The last major event required taking a chainsaw and cutting a 600 foot long ditch from the bottom (at the lake) all the way past the top of the falls.  We cut the ditch about 10 inches wide with one guy on the saw and another guy on the chisel, popping these huge blocks of ice out of the 16" deep ditch.  When the block gets pried out of the ditch, it sometimes would slide like a 75 pound bobsled down the ice.  We had to watch so we didn't wipe each other out with plummeting ice blocks.  Then, the excess water on top of the glacier gets routed into the big ditch to better focus it's erosive qualities.

When, this first appeared that it was going to happen back in the early 2000's as I expressed my fear about having to solve the problem to Annette, Jackie and Curt, Annette lightly scoffed and told the employees that "Joe overreacts."  She did not realize that "Joe" had done this disaster preventing maneuver long before we had been married and was far from exaggerating.

When the day came that Curt and I began to chainsaw the river, Joe showed Curt how the whole procedure is done.  We take the oil out of the oiler and loosen the chain on the bar.  The saw has to cut backwards in order to be effective.  If you've never cut two 600 foot lines 16" deep into ice climbing up a veritable glacier in screaming wind with your wool pants turned into ice stove pipes, you have not lived.  After Day One of the ice attack, Curt reported to work the next day with stories of brushing his teeth by jumping up and down while Jackie held the toothbrush to his teeth.  His arms were so tired from sawing, chiseling, prying, and sliding huge blocks of ice, that he couldn't hold his tooth brush.


We would finish with the ditch and in less than two days of -20 F, the ditch we cut would disappear completely as if we weren't even there with chainsaw in hand.  Then, we'd do it all over again.  I would cut, chisel, and ditch for hours after the employees left for home, trying to stay ahead of that incessant water.  Some nights I would go out with a head lamp and work some more in the dark.  At the time, we had the lodge open for skiers and the water was heading so hard to Cabin 8, that we put down sand bags that the county gave us to fight the onslaught.  Nothing says "wonderful experience" more than hand-shoveling salt-sand into jaggedy sand bags in a county gravel pit with the wind howling in below zero temps.  

We stacked the bags to re-direct the water and it built up against those bags almost immediately.  The ultimate was when a party from the Twin Cities arrived at an ungodly hour on a Friday night as opposed to a sensible check in time because they don't realize the issues that can surround wilderness existence.  I watched and waited for them and somehow they sneaked by me and parked their Subaru in five inches of ice water, front wheels right up to a row of stacked sandbags.  At midnight, I decided to get out of bed, get dressed and go over to their cabin to see if they arrived.  Sure, enough, they had been there, meeting up with the rest of their party (who KNEW all about the river, the ice, the water, etc.) and they parked their car and were in the cabin "shooting the bull" for hours.

The water was freezing almost to the rims of all four wheels and had to be encroaching the differential on the vehicle.  I knocked on the cabin door and suggested that the owner move their vehicle to a place that is high and dry for the 25 below night we were having or we'd be chiseling that car out of the ice by morning.  They thought it was kind of funny while not realizing how bad it really could have been.  I could not believe that they would park their car with their wheels in the water -anywhere- let alone at a cabin deep in the northwoods.  I just shook my head at the obliviousness that permeates so much of city-dwelling humankind.

One day, when the river was really kicking our butts and we couldn't get ahead of it, I asked 

Annette to don ice creepers and help with chiseling ditches.  She did; it helped immensely and that evening she was completely shot from pounding an ice chisel and climbing up and down a veritable mountain of unforgiving ice for about 5 hours.

And, by that point, nobody thought I was exaggerating about the creek anymore.  


Here's a video of our New Year's Eve efforts to try to stay ahead of the potential nightmare that it could yet become.  This is plan B and it should work.  I don't know what Plan C is yet and I hope I won't need it.





Happy New Year from Joe and Annette Baltich at Northwind Lodge, Ely MN.

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Dogs...

What a morning start on New Year’s Eve.  I let both dogs out while I was building a fire  in the basement trying to get the day going.    It’s  1 degree above zero and feels like T-shirt weather to both me, Cookie and Delilah compared to yesterday.    While I had the fire going and it looked like it would continue, I went out to look for both dogs.  Warm outside or not,  I still did not want them to wander off because we have a wolf pack in the area.   Upon calling, Delilah came snorting full speed out of nowhere, happy to see me like I’d been gone for a month.   Cookie was nowhere to be found.   I called for that stubborn, fluffy Pekingese and she’s nowhere.   This is unusual because she’s usually the rock that guards the palace gates, sitting in front of the store doors keeping a lookout for anything unusual.   Upon sighting something unusual, she would then do absolutely nothing like a large, fat, house cat.  Maybe she’d bark and if it was a car coming down the ice hill which is our driveway, she’d charge directly at it expecting the panicked driver to garner complete control at all times despite the road conditions.    I still have not determined if that dog is fearless or just plain dumb.

I thought of where she might be and headed up to the back of my house.  Our back deck is the default position for when she decides it is time everyone needs to run around looking for Cookie in a panic.  Walked up the hill and turned right I did and there she sat on the deck looking like she was asking “What?”.   I told her to come down and when she stood up from her sitting position, I saw it:  the Christmas tree from Hell.  Big, fluffy furry mass with dog poop ornaments of all sizes flailing about with every indignant, Pekingese, flip of her tail.  “Ugh – what am I gonna do?”, I thought to myself.  Of course, Annette was safely in our van heading for Hibbing, MN to be a substitute beauty school teacher for the day and I had a really, REALLY messy dog full of fur and poopsicles who was not listening to anything I was saying.

I proceeded to chase Cookie around the parking lot with a dust pan, trying to sever the connection of fur and flailing turds by driving the edge of the dust pan into the snow below.  With each fur-ripping yank, Cookie was having little to none of it.  Delilah was bouncing around us thinking we’re all having a great time in the northern Minnesota wilderness.  I was speaking my second language in which I’m very fluent:  swearing.


Well, I was overall unsuccessful at best,  but I did manage to remove some of the offending squishy mess from that errant show dog.   I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to take her up into the house and give her a bath.  Using Delilah as gullible bait, I called her in and she bounded up the basement steps and Cookie, a creature of rigid habit, followed Delilah up into the living room. 

Not being able to control each part of the operation at hand, I got a smaller tub in the bathtub, filled it with warm water and doggy shampoo, donned some rubber gloves that went up to my neck, and proceeded to go find that dirty dog.  In those five minutes of prep-time, Cookie managed to travel to the living room and the bedroom leaving particles of poop and fur here and there.   Like little adobe bricks, they fortunately held their shape and didn’t get a chance to soak into the carpeting.  But, now I’m trying to catch and pick up a dog who wants to be neither caught nor picked up.  Run all over the house we did as I tried to corner that stinky furball.   Delilah watched in utter confused fascination not knowing the final fate to befall Cookie.   I finally cornered the 22 lb. Pekingese and while she snarled like a Tasmanian Devil, I bravely dove in, picked her up, kept her away from my face while hauling her to the other side of the building.   Fortunately, she being a normal girl, the act of taking baths is a true luxury and once she hit the warm, soapy water in the tub,  she did her short-nosed snuffle which I interpret to be the equivalent of “Ahhhhhh….Calgon, take me away!”    With that, the intense scrubbing of private doggy  parts and fur with blue rubber gloves on, began.

It was squishy, warm and wet  and felt  pretty much just  like gutting a deer, but I got that fir very clean.  I rinsed, re- applied copious amounts of shampoo to try to smooth out the matting, rinsed again thoroughly and toweled her dry.

Her tail turned into a Rastafarian dread-lock.  It became a fur rope.  I found a dog comb and tried to take the knots out but I was met with more Tasmanian indignation.   Not quite knowing what to do, I dug in a drawer and found the dullest, most worthless pair of scissors in the house – why we own them, I cannot say.  I then proceeded to cut off about 6 inches of her furry tail.  I was careful to not hit any important parts, but that, which was a  large, stylish, flippy part of her tail, is now gone.   Then, I decided to solve yet another problem and basically took the world’s dullest scissors to Cookie’s nether regions which were spotlessly clean, and I did the equivalent of a bikini trim – or at least, that is my guess, having never actually performed a bikini trim on neither human nor beast to this very day.


When I was done, I must say that my grooming and trim of Cookie looks like the equivalent of a “bowl cut” in yesteryear’s group-home environment.    It certainly was not the 5-Point Sassoon pixie cut that Annette masters so brilliantly on many of her clients by their request, but in my defense, it got the job done.   I may have even re-defined dog-styling.   Her tail is definitely shorter and there is now a poop-chute. 

Jackie just got in for the morning and upon inspection of Cookie,  broke out laughing at Cookie’s tail and suggested that I not take up dog grooming as a secondary profession.    I explained that it is obviously not Sassoon, but more of a “functional cut”.
 
I can’t wait until my hair-stylist wife sees it.   

Saturday, November 22, 2014

My Dad Got His Deer

Annette was on the road coming home from Hibbing, MN where her former beauty school had asked her to come to be a substitute teacher for four days while some of the staff there was on vacation.  So, I was in our store alone with the dogs, Cookie and Delilah and they both know that 5 o'clock is dinner time, so they began to bounce around the office and I couldn't get anything done.  I just gave up and headed the foot commute home which is about 158 feet away.

In the house, I fed the dogs, and decided to make myself something simple for dinner so I settled for ramen noodles and lentils.  I never get tired of ramen noodles and I like lentils despite the fact that they are considered hippy food in many circles.  As my fast-prep dinner is simmering on the stove, I do the dishes remaining so Annette doesn't have to come home to dirty dishes (she can get a bit testy and apparently I've been "trained").  My dinner is finally finished and the phone rings.  It's in the bedroom so I sprint through the dark for the phone and answer it.  My dad was on the line.

He's said that "he's currently on the Garden Lake Bridge and a deer was hit by a car."  He was sounding disgusted  because the deer was broken up and crawling while deer hunters watched with nobody taking action on that poor deer.  Everyone in the group of so-called "men" were paralyzed in not knowing what needed to be done for the poor suffering animal.  My dad speculates that nobody among the deer hunters would dispatch the deer for fear that it is a doe and this is an bucks-only season.  Fearful that they would get in trouble for shooting an injured doe, they all stood there watching as we say here "with their thumbs up their butts".   Whatta bunch!

Apparently, some other cars had stopped as well and my dad talked to a woman (of all people!) who had a .22 caliber pistol that she lent him.  He being fearless of the law and one to address the decency of the moment, dispatched the big doe with one shot behind the ear and the suffering ended immediately.  He handed back the gun to the lady and everybody left.  He wanted me to call the game warden because his cell phone was dying.    I turned off my dinner on the stove and called 911 where dispatch informed me that a deputy sheriff was at the scene along with a game warden.  That was quick!  I hung up the phone and went to my laptop to get some work done while my dinner cooled.  Then, in 5 minutes, the phone rang again.  It was my mom.  "Bring the truck!", she said.  I looked at my just-cooked  dinner and decided it would have to wait.

As I found the key for the truck and my boots, and my jacket, and my mitts,  and a flashlight, two pairs of eyes watched me intensely from the floor.  Delilah always assumes it's her duty to go everywhere I go.  Cookie wants to go for equal time.   I couldn't take Cookie as she can be a pain getting in and out of vehicles.  I think I can manage Delilah in the dark.  So, I told a disappointed Cookie that she had to stay behind as Delilah raced down the stairs into the basement as we headed out on a hunt!

Into the darkness we plunged and I made my way cross country up to my parent's house which is about 300 feet away.   The plow truck sat parked and ready as usual.   My dad still plows the entire property and he also keeps the truck ready to roll in cold weather.  It was in the twenties and pretty warm so the truck started up in flash.  I lifted Delilah inside, hit the plow button which raised up that 800 lb. V-plow, put the truck in four-wheel-drive and the big diesel engine pulled us out of the driveway and onto the Fernberg road.

It was pitch black on the road and because of the weight of the plow, the lights shine low even when on high-beam.  I made a mental note that we have to re-adjust these lights.  So, being able to see only 100 feet ahead, my top speed was about 45 mph on the few Fernberg straight stretches.  That's a dumb road that pointlessly winds around in the woods with no views or vistas but two - Refuge Pond and Rookie Pond.    If you are going to simply drive through rocks and sticks with no views of anything and no shoulders to so much as fix a flat tire without getting killed, it would have been just as easy and far more sensible to make a straight road.  As I drove that familiar snow covered, narrow road, I wondered what the designers "Fern" and "Berg" were thinking given the fatalities and injuries their "work" caused needlessly over all these years.  We would have been better served had they been fired long ago.  This is the kind of work we get from government bureaucrats, I guess.

Rounding a corner past the dreaded Fernberg Cell Tower that nobody even knows exists on the Fernberg, a deer pops out in front of me.  I hit the brakes and instinctively begin to pump even though pumping with anti-lock brake systems is highly ill-advised.  I do not want to test the strength of the plow against another doe for a "two-fer" this evening.  I avoid the deer successfully and keep the truck on the shoulder-less road pressing onward to the bridge.  Delilah is in passenger seat somewhere in the dark.  What an exciting trip for the dog I thought.  Can't see anything, bouncing along in a big tin can with engine noises, I bet she was wishing she had stayed home with Cookie.

I crested the final hill to the Garden Lake Bridge and slowed down to assess the situation.  Vehicles idling on the Ely side of the bridge in the Minnesota Power boat launch were my cue.  I saw the back end of the deer half way sticking out from under the north guardrail on land.  So, I pulled up, talked to my folks and the deputy, turned the truck around and parked by the deer on the road.  The deputy put on his blinding emergency lights and then all three of us proceeded to pull that big doe out from under the guardrail.  We had a heck of time as it was stuck but we finally managed to pull it out.  Then, the deputy and I wrestled that big deer up on the back of the truck.  It hadn't been gutted yet and was extra heavy. He was trying not to smear himself up with deer goo as he had just started his shift.  Of course, the avoidance was unsuccessful.  For the next 8 hours he was going to smell like a doe, a female deer.  In our wrestling I noted that one hind leg was broken close to the hoof and the other appeared to be dislocated at the hip.   It's always really sad when that happens but at least this deer was not going to be wasted.  We all said goodbye and I headed the loaded truck ten miles back home into the woods.

At home, my dad wanted to change out of his nice clothes and said to take 15 minutes.  I decided to go home with Delilah and see what dinner looked like after sitting on the stove top for 45 minutes.  It was still good.  I finished it off quickly enjoying those hippy lentils blended in with all those noodles. It's actually a pretty tasty, simple dinner.  After my fine dining,  I went back to the other hill and this time brought Delilah and Cookie.  Cookie went barreling down the stairs and ran all the way to Grandma's house in the dark.  Both dogs tentatively checked out the carcass and went then inside to see Eddy my parent's dog along with Grandma, the eternal source of tasty dog snacks.  It's always a party at Grandma's house when one is a dog.

Now, my dad is 82 years old.  Definitely not a spring chicken.  But, you ought to see him dive into gutting a deer.  He instantaneously becomes 30 years younger when you give him a dead deer and big  sharp knife in the dark.   It may sound barbaric to those who don't know where beef comes from, but I was a bit in awe watching my 82 year old dad, bending over the whole time, in the dark, gutting a large deer like he does this every day.  Then, there were "the ooh's and wows" as we both marveled at the healthy layer of fat on this very healthy deer.  Literally, there is blood and guts and my happy dad.  When, he's done with the main part, I flip it over to drain while he lays out a fresh tarp in the garage to put the deer on for the night.   I pulled the deer into the garage, parked the truck, gathered the dogs and headed home on foot for the night to wait for Annette who still was not home.

Today, the next exciting part of deer handling will be preformed by my dad.  Butchering.  He just loves that part, too.  Making steaks, and roasts, and hamburger, and stew meat.  It's a surprise, joyous time of year.  My dad got his deer.  


Friday, October 31, 2014

Snowstorm on the Wood Lake Portage



Five thirty PM, October 30, 2014, I quickly finished dinner.  I laced up my boots, grabbed my coat, my 20 gauge, single shot brush gun, some #8 birdshot for my left pocket and two slugs for my right.  Delilah watched me intently with her beady little brown eyes and ears on full alert like a Labrador ready to go get some ducks.  Every little move I made, Delilah studied intently.  She was bound and determined to not let me get out the door without including her in my plans.

I stuffed a flashlight in my back pocket as it was almost dark and the wind was beginning to howl.  I told Annette that I was going to Wood Lake to flip the boats for winter and she said "Now?!"

I confirmed that and told her that cold weather was coming in and I just couldn't find time to get down there during the day.  So with what little daylight I had left, I put on my coat, grabbed my gun and at the bottom of the stairs, Delilah looked up at me with great anticipation.  I didn't see that eight pound dog sneak by me.  I found her little dog coat, put it on her and opened the door to a full-blown blizzard.

I couldn't believe how much snow had come down in a half hour, but it's not unusual for this time of year.  There was a half inch of snow on the windshield and hood of the truck.  I picked up Delilah and put her in the cab.  She was shivering as I started up the truck.  The diesel engine came to life with a rumble and while it warmed up, I checked to make sure that I have all the Wood Lake boat keys, my bird shells, Delilah's leash and my defensive rounds, the slugs.   Ever since I began hunting small game in October, I've almost always carried a slug round with me.  It's probably illegal but I have no intention of ever using them for anything illegal.  In a worse case scenario, I would use them to save my butt when the chips are down.

October is the moose rut.  That is the time when bull moose like to assert themselves as king of the woods.  They have their full antlers and are driven by the call of mating season.  This is the time when the strong dominate and show off to chase all the other bull moose away from "their" territory.  They demonstrate their prowess and strength by pummeling, pounding, kicking, biting, and stomping on anyone who is considered a threat to them and their "woman".  Unfortunately, they think humans, trains, and cars are a threat to their women.  We are talking about totally nuts and the size of an angry battering ram.

One time, my brother Bernie and I were in the car heading towards Ely with Big Grandma.  (she was my dad's mom and bigger in size than my mom's mom. It stuck forever.)  Big Gramdma had a souped-up game warden car with three on the tree, double belts on everything under the hood, a big engine, and about 12 neatly drilled holes in the steel dashboard where the control switches once were mounted.  The labels were still there.  There were on-off switches that shut off the tail lights, the head lights, the brake lights, etc. and those that turned on the siren, the flood lights, grill lights, etc.  None of those were there anymore but the red plastic labels conjured a youngin's imagination about wild car chases in the night, hiding in the woods and adrenalin pumping moments with wounded bears attacking and angry men with guns wanting a showdown on a narrow, overgrown road in the middle of nowhere.  It was good stuff and Big Grandma owned it in full.

We were barreling down the Fernberg in Big Grandma's blue ex-game warden Ford  approaching Camp Four Creek which is at the base of the hill and just on the Ely side of Wood Lake Portage.  It was mid-October and when Big Grandma drove, she had this nervous grip on the wheel and used to alternately tap her thumbs.  It was a twitch of sorts and it always made me a little nervous.  Back then, we didn't have airbags and the seat belts were nowhere to be found and probably stuck in the crack of the bench seats down with the gravel, dust bunnies, assorted coins and probably some bullets and old, dried-up ballpoint pens.  When Big Grandma was anxious, her thumbs were a-tapping.

She must have been feeling something because the thumbs were going and down by Camp Four Creek a gigantic bull moose with rack like Atlas' arms stepped out and centered his bawdry magnificence over the center line and struck up a pose that said "Call of the Wild" and stopped.  He was huge and crazed by the rut with the fear of nothing in his eye.  Big Grandma hit the brakes and I braced with locked arms against that steel dashboard, and little brother Bernie pushed his face up against the back of the vinyl-clad, bench front seat.  When the car came to a complete stop, we were about 100 feet away from the new owner of the Fernberg road.  And, he was making no consolations, no exceptions; he would move at his determination.

We sat there idling in the big blue ex-gamewarden cruiser.  We are all quiet and in awe of this monstrous ruler of the woods waiting for him to finish crossing.  Then, Big Grandma's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel turned to nervous thumb tapping with increased frequency.  Must be something big gonna happen, I thought.  Big Grandma shoved in the clutch with her left foot, pulled the shift handle back and up for reverse, hooked her right arm over the back of the seat on the ex-game warden car and looked back with no humor.  She stepped on the gas and eased out the clutch rapidly making the rear tires squeal and the posi-traction laid down smokin' blue rubber tracks as we peeled off backwards up that hill.   As she turned to look back with her left hand on the wheel like a Kentucky bootlegger, I looked forward and that bull moose had all of his fur up from his tail to his ears.  It stood up like six inches of  whoopass as he put his massive rack down and began to charge.  Big Grandma was way ahead of him, however and I didn't know she could drive like that.  At 30 mph in reverse,  Big Grandma easily put six blocks of space between us and that angry moose.   Looking a whole lot smaller from our safe vantage point, the bull lifted his rack and proudly sauntered off to the south side of the road disappearing into the thick woods.  He won yet another battle without firing a single shot.  Big Grandma let him believe that anyways.

This was just one of the many, moose stories that I was either a part of or heard told by my family.  The theory behind the slugs is that we could shoot a charging moose in either antler and ring his bell hopefully enough to get away.  Since they lose their antlers, at least we wouldn't be wasting a moose because that would be a shame.  So, that's the plan.  No one has ever tested the theory so we don't know if it works.  But, if running like a guy who just stepped on a wasp nest in a stump won't cut it, sometimes you have to have a back-up plan to stand your ground.  Slugs and crossed fingers.

It's snowing hard on the portage now and visibility is not that great. Delilah is running ahead, disappearing, and then appearing from behind at full speed.  She's making me a little nervous because we have coyotes and plenty of wolves.  My worst nightmare would be if she decided to attack a moose and then after ticking him off, run to find me.  Well, none of that fortunately was happening and I was covering ground fast because daylight was fading and those boats would be full to the gunwales with rainwater.  Bailing would take at least a half hour and that would mean coming out in complete darkness.

We get to the final hill and in the leafless October woods I can see through brush to the familiar water below.  Delilah takes off in an excited full gallop down that hill and turns right to where the boats are parked.  I followed knowing that the two gallon bucket in my hand would be put to good use in only seconds.  That's when I saw the unbelievable.

There our boats lay on the shore where I'd left them months before.  But, instead of being full of water, they were upside down on dry ground.  Somebody bailed them out and carefully flipped them over, still locked to the eyebolt in the stump!  I was flabbergasted.  This has never been done before.  If anything, passersby returning from canoe trips will leave plastic bags of garbage in the boats so they don't have to portage them out.  Nobody EVER bails our boats and then flips them.  I wanted to know who so I could properly thank whoever it was.  I still have no clue.

I stacked the boats on top of each other away from the little creek that flows from Rookie pond because the water is so low it may overflow and back up into a glacier covering the boats in ice.  With it getting darker still and more snow falling, I called for Delilah who went missing in the last 30 seconds of boat wrestling.  For about five, tense minutes, I thought a wolf snapped her up.  But then, she suddenly appeared from some micro-adventure in the brush.

With darkness falling and snow joining in, I put a leash on Delilah and begin the uphill jaunt back to the trail head.  As we were rapidly walking, the wind suddenly kicked up and like it does at this time of year, it didn't stop blowing - hard.  It was howling through the trees.  We passed through a stretch of Christmas trees  and I debate taking out my flashlight but hold off.  The trail is all white and I can still just make out the rocks and roots.  We both hear trees snapping and crashing to the ground in the distance.  Then, suddenly, to my right, I hear new crashing about 30 feet away.  I look into the woods there to see if trees are tumbling my way but the visibility is only about 10 feet between the driving snow and the lack of light.  This particular tumbling sound became continued crashing and the thunking of heavy hooves.  Delilah even took notice and I was glad that I put her on a leash,  It was getting way too dark to run, shoot, or shoot and run, so "no trouble" would be the preferred state of my existence right then.  Big deer?  Moose?  I don't know, but it was big and ran the other way and that was fine with me.

We continued up the portage through the horizontal snow my fleece jacket turned completely white.  Despite the potentially fear-inducing conditions, I felt a particular calmness as Delilah and I were all alone deep in the woods.  Maybe it is my lifetime of experience in this element that makes me feel so at ease.  Maybe it was having the faithful Delilah next to my ankles.  Maybe it was my trusty 20 gauge slung across my back, or a combination of all those.  Then, there is always the memory of Big Grandma tapping the steering wheel with her thumbs.   Whatever it is, this is where I must belong.

Delilah and I finally make it to the truck and head home.  Wood Lake is done for this season.  A big thanks to whoever flipped our boats.



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Monday, October 27, 2014

How Hot Can It Be?

Years ago, we just re-carpeted Cabin 5. Ah, that new carpet smell gave a fresh new look to the cabin.
A young couple rented the cabin and they were professional people. She was an electrical engineer and he owned his own business.
Four days into the week, she stopped in an said that she burned the carpet (it was BRAND new) and wanted me to come in to look. Well, at least she let me know. A little later, I went over to the cabin and there was a grill pattern melted cleanly and distinctively into the new rug. In fact, there were two perfect grid marks that overlapped in a criss-cross pattern. No black marks, no discolorations, just these grid patterns.
I scratched my head, squinted and asked, "Now...how...what happened?"
She said that she was preheating the gas oven to 400 degrees and when she went to put the food in, she thought that the rack was too high. So she set down the casserole dish on the counter and grabbed the rack - with her bare hands - and then proceeded to fling it across the room. It landed on the rug and melted in one grid pattern.
"Oh," I said. "But why are there two grid patterns in the rug?"
"Well, the night before last, I was baking fish and the oven had to be preheated to 350 degrees...and the rack was too low."
She was a brilliant electrical engineer AND a blond.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Blow Horn For Service

Last Saturday, it was slow in the store and I wanted to finish shingling Cabin #3 because I still had one more roof to go and winter is approaching. I wrote on a full sheet of paper this message:
"Blow horn twice for service. Give me a couple of minutes and I'll be right here."
The reason for blowing the horn twice is because I was using an air-nailer that has a bark. I'm bound to hear one of two honks. The reason I said to wait a few minutes was because I had to climb down a a ladder and cross through about 100 yards of trails and brush. Simple enough to understand, or so I thought.
Well, as the beautiful late-October day grew shorter, I heard my four-legged doorbell Delilah go off, loud and clear when a truck drove into the yard. So, I hit the ladder and down to Terra firma I climbed. I cut past Cabin 7, took a couple of turns through the brush and stepped onto an obscure trail that leads me right to the store. It took me all of 45 seconds to get there and as I approached, I saw a late 20's couple looking at a map on the wall and peering into the glass on the door with cupped hands on brows. They looked like they were trying to find something on the deck, as well.
I could see what looked like the essence of confusion. I greeted them and inquired if they missed the note that I taped OVER the door knob, but also quickly added that it didn't matter because Delilah was making far more noise than any horn.
The guy replied in a slightly exasperated tone that they would have "blown the horn" but could not seem to find it anywhere around the door. He looked around the area as he said this to me. He also pointed to the obviously dead door bell button next to the door frame and said that nothing "really sounded any horn" no matter what they tried. They were perplexed.
I said slowly, "The horn on your truck, is what the note meant. There is no horn hanging by the door here for you to actually blow."
"Oooooooooh", they both said in a slightly confused harmony after seeing the light. "The horn on the truck.", the guy said. She nodded her head slightly in understanding.
Internally, a part of me died....of laughter....and then sadness.
For the next time I have to do this, I'm considering suggesting that there is a "Horn Blowing App" that people should download to their smartphones or maybe I'll hang a saxophone or a trombone on a peg next to the door.
"Play a tune and give me a few minutes to get there." Still SMH.



Saturday, October 18, 2014

Video Ditties from Northwind Lodge


Nothing really exciting going on but you get the sense of the quiet we have here once fall sets in and a tiny bit of snow starts to fall.  This was filmed on October 7, 2014.

Everybody has storage needs.  Waterproof, air-tight containers are a great way to go!





Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Cabin #2 at Northwind Lodge - an historical e-vacation

After building Cabin #1 as my family still knows it today and using it for a few years, Grandpa Frank Baltich decided to build a second cabin that was more out in the open and in sunlight.  The #1 (Grandpa's Log Cabin) is still up against the side of a really steep hill on it's south side.  In the summer, it is the coolest spot being located in the shade except for from mid-June through August, but the shade always grows longer as the seasons head to winter. That would make for a very short day in the darkest months of the year.  Grandpa got a little tired of those conditions which can weigh on one's psyche and decided that the next cabin would be in sunlight and next to running water which was Jasper Creek.  So, in 1946, right after the war and when my dad was only 14, Grandpa bid on a government building that was no longer being used.  It was the on the Firetower Road about 5 miles from Northwind Lodge. It was the ranger's quarters and they were making changes in up on that really tall hill where the fire tower was.

That fire tower installation was one of the neater places that we visited when I was a kid.  First there was the road up to the fire tower.  It was, and still can be, rough and bumpy and steep.  At the top, was the fire tower standing tall & proud but unused for many years even when I was a kid.  Towers gave way to airplanes in the never-ending vigilance of tired eyes watching for that little stripe of smoke that makes its way into a monster if left unchecked.   A board was bolted up on the first 20 feet of ladder to keep the crazy people off during it's retirement.   On the ground was a beautiful, old log building with one of those old desk telephones like you'd see on the Andy Griffith show sitting on a table in the pane glass window.  A log garage there with boats that the game wardens was stored as well.  That was a really cool place.

We always went up in the fall time when the resort was closed.   My dad, my brother and I wandered around in the crisp air of the Minnesota fall with really crunchy leaves under foot looking for partridge.  For some reason, there were oak leaves (very few oak trees in this area)  present and they were tough and extra crunchy.  You could try to sneak around in hunting mode, but it was hopeless to be really quiet.  There were also pine needles thick and if you could find a clear patch on the ground, you could hide the noise for a second until you met up with the leaves once again and your cover was blown.  Good thing partridges aren't that spooky.  Age-old trails headed down the hill towards the Kawishiwi river and a spot where the CCC camps built a wellhead at a spring where the water flows even today.  There were and still are the big rock foundations for the cabins and signs of masonry that lives forever but blends in with the land from where the rocks and logs came.

The other thing that I can't forget up on that hill was the wind in the white pines.  It constantly made that soothing sound of loneliness and freedom, and happiness all wrapped up into one endless song.   No matter when you go there, you'll hear that sound and smell those pine needles.   It was the place that I always wished I could live at for it's beautiful desolation and the sound of the gentle wind always present.  Strangely enough, it was the kind of desolation that could drive one to madness, but like a mermaid on the rocks,  it always called me back.  It is still one of my most favorite places to be.

If you followed one unmarked trail to the northwest,  it took you down from the peak and to place where the ultra modern world met the old.  It was some sort of science testing station complete with a little building, several little chicken coops with louvered vents and strange contraptions and propane tanks.  It was like you wandered out of a spooky desolate woods high on a hill into an alien landing site where somebody did experiments.  At least that is what my 14 year old mind told me it was.  It was really creepy.

Back in those days, everything was government secret and they didn't tell anybody what was going on, so imaginations had to fill in the details.  I was pretty sure it was for ungodly alien experiments on humans, but it was and still is, a weather testing center.  If you go there today, they actually spent $10 bucks and put up a sign so kids don't think the aliens have an outpost there.

The place I've just described is from where Cabin #2 came to Northwind Lodge.  Grandpa and my dad won it on a government bid.  They cut the building up into four pieces and reassembled it at it's current location. Over the years, Grandpa added a front porch which is now the kitchen, and a back room which used to be the kitchen.  In later years, my dad remodeled it.  Then in the mid 80's my brother Bernie remodeled it again.  In 2010, I remodeled the kitchen.  It served as a home in 1946 and then in 1952, Grandpa built what is now Cabin 8 and Cabin 2 went into rentals.  The beaver boards that make the ceiling beneath the tiles in one of the bedrooms will still show the nail holes of many stretched and dried hides all brought to the fur buyer so many years ago.

I'm always amazed when I think back to how long we've been here.  Cabin #2 is part of the history of not just us Baltich's but also countless men who stopped fires from burning the woods around us undoubtedly saving people's lives.  That's why it's such an interesting cabin at Northwind Lodge - it's been standing the test of time with great success.

Cabin #2 at Northwind Lodge






Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Another Fall Day on Jasper Lake at Northwind Lodge

Now, that global warming has officially set in on northeastern Minnesota, we are dressing appropriately and still getting out on the water to nail some lunkers.  This is Connie Wegisin from Ohio with her northern she caught yesterday.  That was a particularly chunky monkey she brought into the boat.

The weeds in the lake this year are unlike anything I've ever seen before.  It's weird how some years we have no weeds and think the rusty crayfish have moved in and killed them all.  Other years we have normal weeds, and this year we have weeds up the wazoo.  And yet, my garden croaked and was a waste of  $28...  The brush this year is thicker than peasoup and the growing season was ridiculously short for everything.

As a result of the thick weeds in the lake, the Wegisins were casting topwater plugs because even the weedless are hard to do right now.  Red and white is hot and I think Connie was using a Spook or something similar - Tom couldn't remember the name.  Anyway, the haukies are pounding red and white and Connie caught one of these:
So, if you were staying at Northwind Lodge right now, not only would be enjoying cool weather, but you could be taking advantage of the serious northerns rising from the cover of cabbage weeds to attack easy targets twitching on top.  I don't want to rub it in.  Oh, what the heck; yes I do...

Nice northern pike, Connie!

They put it back in the lake, too!



Sunday, September 7, 2014

Windy Day on Wood Lake




Here is recent blog post in our Red Rock Outdoors Blog about a recent trip to Wood Lake with friend and Northwind Lodge guest Paul Edwards.  Lots of wind, one really nice walleye with the JVC Adixxion II camera worked both above and underwater.  Yes, it is definitely waterproof and dries off very rapidly.  Between the driving rain and dunking,  "waterproof and rugged" is a good thing in little action cameras.  

To see the new post - Click Here



Sunday, August 31, 2014

Wilderness Solitude at a Wilderness Resort

One of our cabin guests just came in to say the reason for he and his wife come here to stay is because when he sits out on his cabin deck looking out at the lake, all he hears are loons calling, the creek flowing, and seagulls overhead.  He was quite moved in his describing and couldn't find all the words one needs to describe what it is to experience true wilderness solitude.  He said he couldn't find anything like this at home.  I understood completely.
Momma Loon on her nest on Jasper.  She and the father have been raising two
 young loons all summer long.  A Loon family of four on Jasper Lake.

Red Rock Outdoors Blog

Monday, August 25, 2014

Larry and the Bait-caster: A Fishing Journey on Jasper

On Saturday, 8-23, the Wilson party arrived and checked into Cabin 6 in the late afternoon.  Right now at 11:45 AM on 8-24, Lori and her friend Joanne popped into the store looking for bass tackle.  They bought Yum Crawbugs and Booyah bass jigs to put together to form Jig-N-Pigs like I showed them about three years ago.  Less than 20 hours after arrival to Northwind Lodge, I asked Lori if they had done any fishing yet.  She replied in a conclusive, confident tone, "Oh, yeah...we've already caught 19 fish."

By Sunday's end, they boated another 19 fish!  Monday morning it was so windy, after boating four fish, they headed into shore to wait for the wind to die down.  Today, because they were land-locked, which is a rare occasion, Lori, Joanne and I talked more fishing and Lori said that they have now pretty much fished every spot that Jasper has to offer and caught fish out of every last one of them as well.  Jasper has 4.1 miles of shoreline and the Wilson party knows it and all the spots in between probably better than most.  

The Wilson party came here for several years in the past,  but with kids, school and college and activities, they had dropped off the Northwind Lodge yearly return-roster several years back.  But, one day, out of the blue, kids done with school and on their own, Lori gave us a call and they showed up for vacationing once again at Northwind Lodge.  At the time, I recall Lori saying to me that "it had been too many years" and they looked forward to staying here again. We were more than happy to have them back this time with the addition of friends Mike and  Joanne.  As I recalled, they used to fish, but I couldn't remember anything truly notable with their results of years past.  I'm sure they caught fish back then, but nothing really notable stood out with me.

Then, one day, a few years ago, Larry, husband of Lori came in to Red Rock to look for a bait-casting rod & reel.  Having been in the business of fishing and selling gear for my entire life, I felt it was my duty to inform my customer about what he was planning to do.  Over the years, I felt that I'd seen far too many people buy a bait-casting combo with not enough info and then they would go home and stick it in the corner after experiencing their first major backlash - which usually occurred in the first cast.  So, I told Larry to test mine out first.  I had a $350 outfit with Pflueger Summit reel on a Falcon casting rod and 20 lb. test braid (the ONLY way to go with a bait caster - mono really does not work nearly as well), and suggested Larry go out and beat the water to a froth with it.  I just happened to have Jig-n-Pig rig tied on that sales rep for Booyah Bait Co., Yum, and Pradco (which stands for Plastics Research and Development Company) Tim Fogarty  set me up with to try for largemouth bass fishing "because it is a TON of FUN".  I left the lure on and told Larry that it is weedless and he could cast it right into the lily pads or cabbage weeds and it would crawl right through the thickest ones with little difficulty.  It was a fun bait to use because the little Crawbug arms flip like a crayfish through the water.  The other cool part about that jig is that you can let it hit the bottom just about anywhere and it come right to you when you retrieve it.  As far as catching fish with it, I had no real luck partly because I am more in the store talking about fishing that actually fishing these days.  Larry disappeared out the door, and other duties called me to action.  I forgot all about Larry and the bait-caster.

About 4 hours later, Larry showed up with that fancy-schmancy bait-caster and jig-n-pig in tow.  I asked him how it went as I saw the reel was devoid of a bird's nest and showed no signs of sword-fighting.  Larry handed it over, thanking me for being able to demo it.  He also added  that he's glad I set him up with the demo and he no longer wants to buy the bait-casting combo because it wasn't for him.  "BUT", he added, "where do you get more of these?", he asked pointing to the Jig-n-Pig rig.  Well, as luck would have it, I knew precisely where he could get more.  I asked him if they were working and he said Lori told him to get some more and return quickly.  I grabbed one off the shelves and showed Larry how to rig it up.  Then, he grabbed a bunch that I put on the bill and disappeared out the door.




It was "Game On" from this point with the Wilson party.  They turned into fishing fanatics!  They'd be gone all day long on Jasper, rain or shine.  I'd see all four of them in the boat, plugging the hell out of the shorelines, working the weed beds and lily pad rafts .  The women would make an occasional visit to the store for a Jig-n-Pig resupply and they weren't excessively wordy. They got to the intended point of their visit and then back out the door they went.  I was amazed at how hard the fishing focus combined with the competitive nature of their fishing.  (!)  Man, you talk about serious, butt-kicking, take-no-prisoners attitudes about putting fish in the boat, measuring them, releasing them, and winning.  Apparently, they've had a rather serious competition going for the last few years and from the calm quiet intensity of it, I would contend that they are betting their homes, cars and maybe even gold doubloons.   In reality, I think the prize is simply bragging rights which makes it even more spectacular.  Annette and I remain fascinated by it all.  I would have to conclude that they are now harder-core fisherpersons than our hard-core guys and I thoroughly enjoy them proving what this particular lake is capable of producing when one goes out and works at it.  After all, they pulled in 19 fish in under 20 hours time here and while that doesn't sound impressive per hour, you gotta remember that they slept, ate dinner and breakfast during that time as well.  

So, it's off to the races with the Wilson party in Cabin #6 for another year. They are on to a solid start on Jasper for 2014!

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Northern Minnesota Through Our Guest's Eyes - All the way from North Carolina

Jasper Lake to the east from Northwind Lodge dock
Joe,

Just wanted to thank you again for a truly excellent stay with you this week. It was the perfect mix of relaxation and activity. 

The kids loved the various water craft; we all had a great time taking regular paddles at all times off the day, from early morning through late evening, either just around the docks or further afield and it was perfect for Tracy and I (and sometimes Clare) to take the canoe, while Robert and Clare variously took the kayaks and paddle boards. 

Being able to rent a Kevlar canoe to allow us to do our day trip to Hegman (or more exactly to allow us to portage relatively easily in general!) was a great plus. I can see us next time bringing our friends and letting some base up at Northwinds while the more adventurous go out for a multiple day canoe trip. 

We all thoroughly enjoyed the fishing. We are definitely not hard core fishing people but, even in our 24 hr window, we spent many hours at all times of the day trying everything from pitting our wits against the bluegills and bass under the dock (Clare) and trolling for the big northerns (Robert). Robert will definitely be remembering his first 'big' fish! 

It was fantastic to be so close to the water so that we could go down and just enjoy the beautiful lake scene from the docks at any time. We quite often went down in the early morning (one morning to watch the beautiful early mist rising off the water as the sun was coming up), and always took a late evening trip down to watch the fish rising in the mirror smooth water and the last of the late evening light.

The cabin was definitely great. Thanks for moving us and letting us have 4 - we loved it! So close to the docks. We would probably do fine in almost any of the cabins but on this particular trip the size was just perfect. We spent lots of good relaxing time inside in the living room reading and playing cards, as well as outside on the deck enjoying the sound of the creek and the loons. 

Loons! Absolutely fantastic! It has been a couple of years since we had been up and the calls of the resident loons really do epitomize the vast wild north. Nowhere else (that we have been!) can you see and hear loons calling like they do in northern Minnesota!

Anyway, we wanted to thank you again for the great stay and to assure you that there are definitely those of us out there (even as far away as Raleigh, NC) who thoroughly appreciate being out on the edge of one of the most beautiful wilderness areas on the planet enjoying the quiet solitude and relaxing atmosphere that folks like you provide. 

We will no doubt be back, if not next year, then the year after or the year after that!

Kind regards,
Charles, Tracy, Clare and Robert. 

Morning at Northwind Lodge


Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Fishing Next Door on Tofte lake

Delilah and I headed out with the truck for neighborhood trout fishing when the clock struck 7 PM at Red Rock.  I grabbed an ultralight Shimano Compre rod and with a Shimano reel and 4 lb. test line, found my tackle box with Ugly Ducklings in it and dropped it in my Kondos Pack and set it all int the box of the truck.  Then, I chased Delilah around the parking lot as she looked like I wanted to kill via an evil death ray (?) until I caught her at the store's door and put her in the cab of the truck as well.   Goofy dog...

The evening was cooler and spectacular with no wind.  Tomorrow's sun was peeking through today's clouds. It was a precursor to its plans for the next day.  A hint of what would be coming like an enticing movie trailer before it hid behind the treeline for another night.  I was pretty sure that despite the spectacular evening, the trout would not be cooperating.  I didn't care either way.  Fishing has very little to do with catching.  The two are unrelated as far as I can tell.

At the Tofte Lake parking lot, I unloaded the dog, and my light gear and walked to the boat landing.  I followed the ages old, shoreline trail west to the flat point which is has been favorite spot for eons.  When we were kids, my brother and I used to ride our bikes to that spot and cast nightcrawlers with hook, a rock and a well-placed trucker's knot.  The terrain today is very rugged and surprisingly overgrown.  Some have passed through here but not like in the years long gone.  Getting a bike to that point is no longer possible.

Once we made it to the rock clearing, Delilah checked out the perimeter to make certain it was secure.  She may have also been interested in who was there before us, the number of rabbits walking by, an occasional bear, etc.  Who knows for sure?  She's a dog.  Nonetheless, any new area is "dog heaven" to a new dog and Delilah was enjoying the evening immensely.

I set up with various lures and cast them upon the glassy, beautiful water.  There was no wind to chase away the striking clouds above so you could see them without looking up.  As the sun fell towards the horizon to my left and after several casts and enjoying the northern beauty of Minnesota, Delilah and I packed up and headed back to the truck.  The rainbows of Tofte had eluded me once again.   That's why Spaghettios are so easy to catch.  Tomorrow, I'm working on canoe repair in the sun.



Come on up and enjoy the summer and fall at Northwind Lodge!

Visit out lodge website HERE 



Saturday, August 9, 2014

Fishing Report for Jasper Lake and the area

This season, June appears to have been the hottest month for fishing in Jasper and the area, overall.  Having Red Rock Wilderness Store here as part of Northwind Lodge affords us the ability to find out what is biting and where.  Plus, our Northwind Lodge guests caught the biggest fish and most species at the end of May and throughout June.  When the smallmouth were on the spawning beds this season (which is usually the third week in June for as long as I can remember), our guests were catching whoppers in smallmouth bass and the largemouth were doing pretty nicely, as well.

Once we entered July, our weather turned spectacular for the most part.  We had the occasional mega-downpour, but were very pleased with the nice temps and sunny days.  Only one day hit 90 degrees F and everyone was griping at the horrific discomfort and terrible sweatiness it caused - for one day.  I kept reminding the complainers that we had a normal winter last season which means actual temps dipping to -40 degrees F and six whole weeks of -23 to -25 degree F mornings.  It became apparent to me that many among us have really short memories with everything from politics to weather.  Once we made it past our 15 hour heat wave, summer fell lock-step into mid-seventies by day and mid-to-high forties by night.  That went on for days on end.  It was awful to be so comfortable.  I do think it caused some issues with fishing as while we humans like the climate-controlled temps of northern Minnesota (at least for this year and probably never again), the fish find it less enjoyable or at least un-motivating.  The barometric pressure remained high and infrequently moving for many of the days past.  Fishing is always best when atmospheric pressure is changing and preferably on the rise.  When it remains high all the time, while that is better than a fish depressing low, it is not as good as an inspirational rise.  With the more variable weather of June, fishing was more exciting and in that lies no surprise.  June generally brings about bigger fish and more activity in general. This June was no different.

As for recent activity, there have been quite a few customers coming into Red Rock (our store and the Northwind Lodge office) asking for very specific lures to catch northern pike.  We have thousands of lures in the store here and whenever we don't have the exact color/design/brand in stock, we get a lot of varied remarks of great disappointment.  "Well, one would think that with 25,000 lures in stock, you'd for certain have MY color/brand/model!"  When I ask what they are using that specific color to catch, they invariably say "northern pike".  At that point, great restraint must be put forth on my presentation that five different customers have been in today all asking for a really different specific lure "for northerns".  That in itself should really easily indicate that the northerns are biting and they are biting EVERYTHING.  Northern pike are like that.  They can really be biting and they pretty much are biting from a reaction to the lure. How do I know that?  I've personally watched LOTS of northern pike under the ice with underwater cameras.  It also doesn't hurt that I fished hard for many years as a guide.  For more current data, Rapala came out with their Scatter Rap which is a whole line of lures that wobble when pulled through the water, but then suddenly shoots off in an erratic motion.  That erratic, occasional veering off-course makes fish take notice.  That notice can result in a reaction strike.  Northerns are reactive fish.   Yes, there are occasional times when they do hit one color over another, but more often than not, they will hit all the lures in your tackle box and sometimes even a six inch yellow, plastic, braided rope with a treble hook attached.  Fishing northern pike is the easiest of all the fish and they are very aggressive.  That is why the limit for them is three.  The trick is finding the big ones.  There is a reason that big fish are big - they are not stupid.

Now, does that mean that northerns will hit every lure you throw out of the boat?  No.  Sometimes, they are simply not in the mood.  The point that I am trying to make is that if you don't find your exact, trusty, confidence lure for northern pike, don't worry about it.  We have about 100 others that will do quite well and on some days nothing works.  Incidentally, the exact same thing can be said for worm harnesses and spinner rigs for walleye fishing.  Colorado or Indiana blade - it's not going to matter that much.  Spin, flash, bite.    For July and August, slap on a  fluorescent orange, chartreuse, or copper colored blade, hook on a worm, and throw it over the side.  Troll around the cabbage weed bed edges and be on the bottom.  Other colors will work as well. They are really more interested in the worm.  


As of late, northerns and bass have been slamming top water lures like Zara Spooks, Chug Bugs, various poppers and  Jig-N-Pigs which are pretty weedless and fun to use.  The best fishing in Jasper appeared to be from 5 AM to 8 AM when the pressure seemed to increase every day for the past ten days.  That was for the Kowalyshens in Cabin 7.  Jim Rhoads and son Dan, and  grandson Abraham did well during a wide range of daytime hours.  Terry Rose, caught fish at all day times but noted that the fishing was a bit slower overall this season.  I'm still holding the spectacular weather to be responsible for slow fish activity.    What was inexplicable was that the bluegills disappeared for the past two weeks.  Normally, this time of year, they are jumping in the boat.   We'll have to see what the rest of August and September brings.  

Lake trout have been hitting big jigs at 90 feet in Snowbank Lake.  Catching lakers at this time of year requires a special skill set.  Rainbow trout in Tofte Lake (next door to us) has been producing some nice rainbows from trolling with Salmo Hornets in Rainbow Dace pattern which is exactly like the minnows that are in Tofte.  To use these little beauties, you simply troll them behind the boat about 150 to 200 feet....and the rainbows are tasty!

We'll see what this week brings.  I'm hoping to sneak a little time on the water as well.  For the bulk of the summer, I spent my time talking about fishing in the store for 12 hours per day, seven days a week since the first week of June which was my last trip to date.  


The ax is becoming dull.  I need to go sharpen it.

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Saturday, July 19, 2014

Making Firewood

It's the middle of July and with the current state of the economy, we've been having a bit of lull in business.  Ordinarily, this is the peak season, but this "new normal" means that our present lodge guests are having pretty much the whole resort and lake to themselves.  And, when business is slow here, it is slow everywhere as would be indicated by the bar graphs of Ely.  The bar graphs are the canoes on canoe racks in Ely.  Outfitters will prominently display their rental fleets and usually this time of year, the racks are all empty, devoid of 40 or 50 kevlar canoes because they would be all out in the woods on a grand adventure.

The other evening, I had the opportunity to attend an opera in Ely.  It was Carmen and was well done.  The Washington Auditorium  is not the Teatro alla Scala opera house in Italy which is noted for its near perfect sound projection, but it was pretty dang good!   I saw Carmen back in Graz, Austria and didn't have a clue as to what was going on because I am Frenchically-challenged, but I still had a blast!  So, I really looked forward to seeing it in Ely one more time because the odds of my getting a chance to see it live again are pretty slim without having to travel to more hoighty-toighty locales such as Minneapolis.  This time, they translated the music on a screen above and the simplicity of the story was great.  Had they cut out the singing, the story could have been wrapped up in about 10 minutes, but  I guess that is the point.  Which brings me back to my wandering point...

As I drove into town with my mom (Annette isn't an opera fan and my mom has never attended one before), I passed several outfitter bar-graphs at 6:35 PM on July 14, in Ely, Minnesota right next to the environmentally-referred-to "gold mine" called the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.  One prominently-displayed bar graph had NO canoes off of their kevlar rack.  NO empty spaces what...so...ever.  Plus, their pile of aluminum canoes was higher than I've ever seen.  I did not realize they had acquired that many canoes over the years and from what I could see, all were on land and in full display.  Then, the next outfitter I passed, had no spaces between his outfitting vans - the ones that they use to haul people to and from entry points.  All vans were in for the night and there were no cars in front of the business - on July 14!  They looked as if they had closed for the evening.  Usually outfitting vans are somewhere out there picking canoes up and dropping off customers, but the indications where that they not rolling.  Further down the street, at a few more outfitters, the same story.  This is not good.

If you've ever wanted to come up to Ely to enjoy solitude, well, you could have done that anytime in the last 50 years even when all of us businesses were all packed.  But, now, you can come up and experience literal (not virtual) solitude.  There are very few people on the water and plenty of openings.  If you were worried about things like motor traffic, don't be.  This is the time to come up and see what the future might become if we continue down our present path.  Town is busy with the summer-homers who come up all at about the same time with the grandkids but then they roll the side walks up for the night at about 5 PM.

So, that explains why I was able to go out and cut some firewood.  Last winter was brutal and we almost ran out of propane but just made it. I ran out of firewood by mid February however so I got Curt  and the gear together and went across the road to begin dropping some of my assets on the ground - AKA  trees.  I figure instead of letting them stand, rot, and go to waste, I'm going to fell them, buck 'em up, split them and heat my house.  So, we collected the Bobcat, chainsaw, chains, cable, gas, bar-oil, and headed across the Fernberg.

I just put a new chain on the saw and it was cutting like a hot knife through butter.  The first tree was a birch and as Curt sawed into it, he, of course, hit the big FAT nail that was in the center of that felled tree.  DANG IT!   Now the saw was cutting like a hot knife through brick.  I gave Curt some Bobcat instructions with the grapple to clean up the brush and ran home through the woods to re-sharpen the now "old" saw blade.

Back at the wood-cutting event horizon, we dropped several trees, cut off the tops and branches and made some piles of logs with the aid of the greatest  tool ever invented - the Bobcat.  (What a back-saver that thing is!)  While Curt was moving some logs, I went in to cut a birch of medium size and about 30 feet high and 12 inches in diameter at the base.  It was in thick brush so I had to saw my way into it.  Dead balsams, balsam branches,  brush, etc.  There were two slanting balsams in front of the intended path of falling I had planned for that tree.   Since it wasn't a difficult drop area (no buildings or structures to avoid) I decided to ignore the two slanting, four inch diameter trees and proceed with the notch in the birch.  Usually, I plan an escape route as felling can be very dangerous, but I must be getting cocky (or stupid) in my in my older age.  The tree began to fall with the back cut, just as planned and was dropping right on target.  Then as it approached the ground, I thought everything was hunky-dory and looked ahead and at the landing and not the lower end of the tree which was right next to me.  The lower end of the tree which was no longer tethered to the stump as my saw was sharp, slid down the balsams in front of it, swiping sideways and plowed right into me.  Think of it as a moderately-swung, 12" diameter baseball bat hitting me in the shins, pinning me against a log behind my calves and knocking me backwards.  Ow.  When it stopped moving in two seconds, my right foot was stuck.  I struggled to get unstuck quickly because I did not want Curt to touch that tree with the Bobcat thirty feet away while I was pinned and there was no way to tell him not to do that because my foot was stuck.  I couldn't out-yell the engine from that distance, either.   So, yank and struggle and the other log on the ground barely moved just enough to let my ankle squeeze through, freeing me.  Happy to be free once again, back to work with the saw I went.

We began to pull down a few poplars that were leaning towards the highway.  One was a pretty good size tree and about 14" in diameter at the bottom. It had a moderate lean on it and I secured a chain around it and  hooked a cable to the chain while Curt positioned the Bobcat in line with my planned notch.  I dragged the free end of the chain to hook it to one of the tines of the claw grapple attachment and had Curt pull back with the Bobcat to tighten the cable to test the 70 foot high tree by shaking it.  The tree shook at the top just like they all do, but this maneuver also insures that the cable is connected and chain, six feet up around the tree, won't be letting go at the most inopportune of times.  There was hardly any traffic on the road, but past experiences with the evil spirit called  "Fate"  reminds me that should the tree land on the highway, 327 vehicles will instantly appear and have a chain reaction pile-up at that very moment.  And, of course, I would be responsible.  So, we don't test "Fate".  We test cables and chains even out in the woods.  It's just safer.

So, with everything looking good, I show Curt the hand signals I will be using and the one about waving my arms means "stop".  I go to cut the notch and it's giving me a hard time.  I think I need to peel the edges off the bar because they wear down and form a bead where the saw chain rides causing the bar to stick instead of slide.  I finally get the front notch cut with the wedge of white wood cleared and begin the back cut.  As I'm cutting, I signal to Curt to pull and he begins backing up as planned.  The tree begins to straighten up and go the other way as it was supposed to, but I hear cracking above me and remembered the birch baseball bat of earlier and the fact that Curt has very little time in the Bobcat.  I literally blasted out into my escape route, trying to create distance from that tree because being crushed by the trunk or skewered by a large falling branch, has to be an awful way to go.  After my first powerful step, moving with my cat-like reflexes,  I hooked my toe on something and rolled like a hippo launched out of a potato gun.   Oh, that went SO well... I think I somersaulted twice while watching alternating views pass of the brilliant blue sky dipped in shades of green and then brown dirt also dipped in shades of green.   As I was rolling around in the dirt on my back, I was also straining to look up to watch the poplar fall in perfect alignment with the Bobcat.  It missed me by a relative mile and landed right where it was supposed to fall.  Apparently, I developed a serious case of the jitters at the last second.

I picked up my cap, dusted myself off, took my wounded pride and unhooked the Bobcat.  Curt wanted to know why I was rolling around in the dirt.  We finished cutting and stacking and went home for the day.

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Sunday, July 6, 2014

Class Reunion and Lightning Strikes

Yesterday, on Saturday, July 5th, Annette went down to watch the store Red Rock and Northwind Lodge to assist with lodge check-ins and store customers while I sneaked away to Ely to attend my 35th class reunion at the Boat House on Sheridan St.

Ordinarily, I don't like to leave the business ever because whenever I do, all heck breaks loose.  It had been storming with some lightning and while the power was on, the phone and internet were dead.  I took my smart phone and stuffed the fat thing in my pocket and reluctantly got in the truck and drove to town.

The reunion was fun.  Meeting old classmates and friends and some of my cousins made for an enjoyable evening.  Many bulls were shot and the world's problems were addressed.   While talking loudly and straining to hear each other,  a waitress with a cordless phone approached our table and asked one of my mates for a particular person and every arm on the table pointed to me.  Of course...I am not allowed to leave the resort and it was making itself be known as it called me back with a smirk.

I had to step outside and recall Annette on her cell phone.  She had to drive to almost Fall lake, 9 miles away to get cell reception.  She tried calling me numerous times on my cell, but because I am a Luddite where a smart phone (really a dumb phone) is concerned.   I could neither feel a vibration nor hear the ring tone I picked for that modern wonder that has brain-dead children everywhere addicted to thumb typing.  Anyway, I headed outside and re-called her to find that there was a lightning strike and some strange goings on with the electrical power in several cabins.  So, leave the fun and race back home I did.  It's no longer a surprise but like a self-fulfilling prophecy, something that I just expect.  Fortunately, there were no deer popping out of the ridiculously neglected, Lake County grass and weeds,  forcing my hand at Fernberg Whack-A-Mole with the truck.  I marveled at how the country seat in Two Harbors is manicured by county highway staff and the our region in the northern part of the county which contributes almost 40% of the taxes can't even get four foot high weeds cut on the edge of the road before mid to late July.   One thinks of all sorts of things while speeding into the night with a strange-sounding problem crawling around on the ladders of one's mind.

When I arrived at the resort, I talked to Annette and she had no new information, so I went downstairs for a diagnostic meter and headed out to the rest of the resort.  On the way, I stopped in the store to pick up a can of wasp spray because along with the lights out in about half of Cabin 8, there was a significant hornet nest  very near the door.  When I got there, I met with the cabin guests and they pointed out the nest.  I proceeded to super-soak it with the spray.  Yep - it was full of those rotten black wasps and I gave them a bath while dancing around as they fell out and slowly zoomed my way in a daze.   With that I went into the back room where the electrical panels are and inspected all the fuses with a flashlight.  All fuses appeared intact.  No visible signs of burning or the smell of roasted metal under lightning.  There was also no heat.  The box was cool temperature-wise.  Nonetheless, there were no lights in part of the cabin where the lights had been and I cannot figure out what is going on.  I was glad that I opted to not drink a second beer that one of my classmates offered me at the bar.  As a rule, I prefer to be completely focused whenever working with electricity.  It only takes one screw up to make for a really bad evening.

I can't figure it out.  Fuses are intact, lights are gone.  Maybe the lightning strike burned off a wire without taking out a 15 amp fuse.  I couldn't see how, but weird stuff happens with lightning.  I told the party that I need to come back in the daylight and take a closer look tomorrow.  They are fine with that and have a flashlight for the dark bathroom.  Before I can get out the door, the group leader, Lindsey Shaner insists I take at least two freshly baked molasses cookies that apparently his wife made for him and the group.  I did and ate them on the way to Cabin 5 where the story of electrical weirdness at Northwind Lodge was a continuing saga.  The cookies were really quite good!  I wanted another one but the scope of the  mission didn't allow it.

At Cabin 5, the Murphies explained what happened,  Big thunder, the lights went almost dark and the refrigerator got loud and didn't sound right.   I tested the power which was now looking just fine and the fridge was sounding normal.  Power hit a perfect 120 volts on my meter.  I inspected the electrical panel and felt for hot circuit breakers and smelled for burning bake-lite.  Nothing unusual, nothing tripped.   I said goodnight to the Murphy's and headed home on foot in the dark, perplexed and a bit irritated that I had to leave the reunion and still couldn't really solve the problem in Cabin #8.


The next morning, the Shaner party headed out to Wood Lake. They fish there every day of the week during their stay here at Northwind Lodge.  I met up with Pete Edwards, another longtime guest at our lodge and he told me the same story.  IN Cabin #7, the lights went dark and the fridge made a lot of noise as it was drawing a lot of amps in the suddenly low voltage of what appeared to be brown-out as opposed to the more expected surge from a lightning strike.  Pete volunteered to come with me and turn lights on and off to check circuits. I also scrounged around and luckily found the right sized batteries for my multi-meter that I would need to test resistance in cartridge fuses in Cabin 8.  We go there and I tested all the cartridge fuses and re-inspected the the round fuses one more time.  According to my meter, none of the fuses were fried.  We go into the bathroom and look at those dang lights.  Then it dawned on me.  

I went to the hallway and located an old-fashioned light bulb, unscrewed the compact fluorescent light in the bathroom ceiling and replaced it with the real light bulb.  Flipped the switch and lo-and-behold, the light lit up like a mini sun.  That was it!  The common denominator was there in front of us.  Four CFL's died in the brownout.  They don't do well  in less than perfect conditions and it was imperfect at best, last night.  In talking with my dad, he said that it sounded like the lighting hit really close to his house and in the vicinity of the transformer that powers the bulk of the resort.   I still can't figure how we had a brownout in a lightning strike, but that is what appears to have happened.  I suspect that the event may have shortened the lifespans of several cabin refrigerators as well.  Only time will tell. Dang....

I need to make a mental note to add "checking common denominators" to my list of how to determine what goes wrong when it does.  Fortunately, the problem was resolved rather easily and vacationing continues at Northwind Lodge.


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