A Bit of the History of the Canoe Capital of the World - on a Painted Canoe

Two young guys just came in looking for tackle before their canoe trip. (Woohoo! Somebody younger than age 30 going on a canoe trip! Don't see that very often these days!) Unfortunately, we did not have what they were seeking, but they decided to wander around the store a bit.  

They noticed the Painted Canoe of Ely and ended up circling it three times. One guy told his friend "this is the coolest thing I think I've ever seen."  

Then they turned to me and asked who painted it and I told them it was me.  

The next questions asked were about the resorts that used to be on Basswood, and where the logging train was located and why the Grumman Hellcat was on the bow deck plate and how many hours it took me to paint. One guy asked me if I knew about a resort that was a huge building and had flagstones remaining on the campsite today. I did. I lead him to Maple Leaf Lodge on the port side of the canoe. He actually recognized the little terraced walls that remain crumbling on the actual site, today. He and I both exchanged notes separated by almost thirty years and concurred that this specific site was nice but incredibly full of mosquitoes. Some things never change.  

Maple Leaf Lodge in 1948 on Basswood Lake - Boundary Waters

The other guy said it was "so great" that for the first time ever, he was able to visually comprehend the past history of the region known today as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. He said that he's seen bits and pieces but never was able to tie it all together as there is not a lot of information out there. One would need to read a bunch of different books and form a mental conclusion and while that is fun for some, it's less appealing to even me. After all, most are not seeking a PhD in BWCA history, but a simple greater understanding would be nice. Based on the comments thus far on the historical side of the canoe, I do believe I've accomplished that.
Our conversation ended with one of the guys taking pictures with his smart phone. Then onto their journey they continued, thanking me for the opportunity on the way out. It was a good experience for me as well.

Born to Run

Delilah, the resort dog of Northwind Lodge (well, and Cookie, too, but Cookie is a bit boring) lieks to run against the Skidoo.  You can just see the bird-dog look she gets when I start the machine.  She takes off for home every time.  Fun dog.

Northwind Lodge Website

Bluegills and U-boats in Jasper Lake

Using what whatever snow is left in the yard to get the Skidoo to the water, I drove out on the ice on Jasper Lake  on March 16 at 1:30 PM to set up a pup-up shelter for fishing.  It was warm out at about 40 degrees but like every other March, it was windy.   Blowing from the south, then the north, we ended up tying the 6 x 8 pop-up off from each end to my Skidoo and my dad's 4-wheeler.  We were 100 yards off the beach of Northwind Lodge.

We made use of pre-drilled holes from the day before when we went fishing with Dave Oliver and Paul Haraldson, so setting up was quick.  We got inside the tent along with Delilah and began paying homage to the gods of bluegills by staring down the hole.  Boy, talk about getting a sore upper back and neck after doing that for 4 hours straight.

We dropped down various jigs a sparkly little spinners and they began to come in.  There were fewer today, but they were running bigger.  Nice sized, fillet-able fish swimming 5 to 7 feet below.  Today's visibility was not as good as yesterday and we can never understand why. 

Conditions were about the same with a partly cloudy day, but nonetheless, the sunnies below were bigger and a bit more picky.  All of a sudden, a 5 lb northern pick glided across in the shallow depths below.  The sunnies blew the popstand at that point and then some really nice sized largemouth bass came in for a look.  Even though the sunnies are good sized, those bass come in and they are huge.  2.5 to 4  pounders stopping in to see if they want that tiny #14 tungsten jig with a little bit of plastic on the hook.  It gets your adrenalin flowing because these are really nice fish. But nope, they swam by. After all that fish activity going by, it takes the bluegills about 30 minutes to come back after the head bluegill declares the coast to be clear.

I have 5 rods on the ice floor of our living room on the lake.  Each is rigged with a different jig & different plastics.  Most of the stuff I use is tungsten.  When the school is passing through, one must keep their interest for them to stick around.  So, if they are slow moving to one lure, crank up fast and drop another.  Must have been the air-pressure, but they were only moderately interested in what we were offering.  There was my dad setting the hook and saying "aarrggh!" and and me doing the same while declaring  "dang it!".  The fish below would suck in a jig completely. To hook them requires an immediate hookset.  You're like a coiled spring with a trip wire.  Trouble is that inexplicably, you can set the hook and miss them time and again despite their having inhaled the entire jig.  We call it "flipping them"  when we set a hook and it pulls them up and they flip a sideways somersault and swim away dazed but unharmed.  To avoid frequent flipping, we tried letting them take it for one second and they spit it out in slightly less than one second.  Their little bluegill tongues must quickly identify plastic.  We finally moved to tungsten bead head flies made by Cortland with no plastic and caught a few, flipped a few more.

Then, in a blast of sunfish panic, those slow-moving fish dispersed in all directions like spokes on a bicycle wheel.  Big northern coming through like a German U-boat on the hunt.  The bluegills beneath his level could hear the "ping" as the big green U-boat glided methodically overhead.  To hide, they descended deeper & deeper, closer to the bottom, holding their breath, beads of sweat rolling off their gill covers.  Minutes changed to hours as that big predator swam between them and the two faces staring down the holes in the ice above watching and waiting.  And waiting. And waiting.

Dang northern scared everybody off.  We sat for another 30 minutes with 5 bluegills on the ice and nobody was returning back to that spot.  My dad and I finally gave up.  We knocked down the tent, loaded the sled and cranked up our machines and headed home.   Had we caught every fish we saw including some very large perch, we'd have had fish laying all over the ice.  There certainly is no shortage of fish in Jasper.  Keeping them on the hook is the tricky part.

Adventures in the Big City - Shakopee, MN - Alehandro is a Dead Man

It was the end of the day at the sportshow, Fish Fest Minnesota at Canterbury Park in Shakopee, Minnesota.  I got in the car and navigated the mile or so to my hotel. It was going to be a late check-in and I'd called ahead.  The woman at the counter was young, pleasant and bubbly despite it being 8:30 at night.  I dropped my stuff off in my room and headed outside to find some place to eat.  Conveniently, there was a strip mall across the busy street and I spied the Dragon Cafe and some pasta place.  More adventure in Chinese food I figured, so Chinese it was.

I walked in to the relatively empty cafe and was greeted (if you can call it that) by a short, wide Chinese (I would guess) waiter in blue jeans and an ill-fitting yellow polo shirt.  He asks me "One?" and I nod at the obvious, and he said, "Follow me!" in a thick accent.  We walked about ten feet total and he pointed to a booth and queried "OK!"  and I answered "Sure!" not that I really had a choice.  I sat down and he abruptly slapped down the plastic coated menu and I sensed some urgency in the air.  I began to speed-read through the two million choices because I just knew he was returning with a red plastic tumbler with ice water.  Sure enough; he was back.  He set down my tumbler and said, "You ready, orhda?"  I could feel beads of sweat building up on the back of my neck as the fireplug stood at the booth table edge, his rough cheeks and fuzzy, short black hair pointing at me, demanding an answer.  "Errrr - I'll take #12", I told him quickly.  "Soupohsahda?", he asked very fast.  I had to ask him to repeat it three times in which he never, ever altered or changed his presentation.  It was "soup" or "salad" and I opted for the chicken soup.    "Anyting to drink?", he added.   "No, water is fine", I answered quickly.  "OK!" and he disappeared in the kitchen from where tinking noises were emanating.

As I waited, I noticed a Chinese young woman eating soup or something on a round table next to the cash register.  She was eating so slowly and looking down, I figured she was reading something good.  Upon observation - nope, nothing in front of her but her food in some large bowl.  Meanwhile, the fireplug brought out my "soupohsahda" and it was water, with snow white strips of chicken, and handful of chopped chives, white rice and salt.  Didn't really put a lot of effort into it, but it tasted OK, I guess.  The fireplug also gave me a plastic replica of one of the those ornate and highly-irritating-to-use, ceramic spoons.  It was like a mini bowl with a handle and hard to use at best.  Right behind the soup event came the #12.  It was 4 big puffy balls of breading with a slightly dried-up shrimp hiding in the middle of each.  They laid on top of flied lice and next to a pile of chowmein that buried yet another pile consisting of chowmein noodohs.

While digging through my no-calorie-no-salt Chinese meal, I developed a thirst and was blasting through the ice water.  The fireplug was back with a pitcher of water in his meaty hands, twice.  I looked over my shoulder and noticed that he was standing, arms crossed, watching over the patrons like a prison guard with an ax to grind.  He was efficient, I'll give him that.

When I was done enjoying my Chinese-adventure-on-a-plate, he was right at the table with the bill and requisite fortune cookie.   He asked, "Ow done?" and I affirmed.  "Tank you." and he set down the cookie and bill and disappeared through the kitchen doors.  He was gruff and to the point, but he did his job well.  I left a tip.

I got up to pay and there was party of two before me, paying their bill to the woman who had been concentrating on her bowl of food.  She stood and rang them up and thanked them pleasantly while I stood two feet behind them and was taller than both by a head.  One could not miss my presence if one tried.  As the couple stepped out, I stepped up and the woman looked right through me and went back to her seat to continue slowly eating her bowl of food on the round table next to the register.  I had become a ghost.

I stood there in silence feeling a bit stupid wondering how fast these Chinese could run if I bolted out the door to my immediate right, but then, another Chinese woman appeared and in absolutely perfect English, said she would take care of my payment.  No sooner than I gave her the cash, she started in on the woman eating at the round table. "Odoh, sukinitchy hoooooooyyyy dohwooooh!" she said while she completely ignored my departure.  Sheesh.  Out into the winter air I went and decided that I needed a  can of pop and a candy bar for dessert.

I saw a gas station on a corner and headed towards it.  There was a yellow taco truck parked outside with a bright "open" sign at the door.  Steam was rising from its vents while it sat there with greased up windows closed.  I wasn't sure how one ordered since it was winter and they wouldn't be sitting with the windows open.  I walked past it and into the convenience store.

I took a right to see a large display of incense sticks and things that I normally have not seen in a convenience store.  One was the large, very visible display of adult magazines with covered up front pages.   And, right next to them, was something that I've never seen before: the equivalent to  Mexican Twinkies, Ho-Ho's, Ding Dongs and other assorted artery clogging delights.  There was one that was called Creme on Toast, and from the package, it appeared to be a toast sandwich with layer of creme where PB&J would normally exist.  It was intriguing to say the least, but visions of ground up cockroaches in the creme left me looking but not consuming.

Well, this store piqued my interest.  I began to wander around and noted both the "un" and "usual" snacks in the store.  Having just left my Chinese adventure, I was now in Mexico but couldn't make up my mind as to what I wanted for dessert.  I knew I wanted a pop so I found my flavor of choice and pulled it out of the fridge.  Then I heard the yelling from the check out counter of the store.

I was the only customer in the place and there was a short bald guy with a mustache  wearing a huge blue and white basketball (?) jersey behind the counter.  He was surrounded by a sea of E-cigs, paraphernalia, and tobacco products.  From the back of the store, despite the loudly whirring coolers, I heard him yelling on the phone, "Alehandro!  I gonna _ _ _ _ YOU!   ALEHANDRO!  I GONNA  _ _ _ _ YOU!    WHY ALEHANDRO?  WHY?!!!  BECAUSE YOU'RE MEAN, ALEHANDRO - AND A LIAR!!!   YOU JUST COME HERE RIGHT NOW ALEHANDRO AND I'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU!!!!"

Holy crap (!) I thought to myself!  I just wanted a pop and a candy bar to conclude my earlier Chinese adventure.  Now, Alehandro is most likely on his way to crash through the store windows his low-rider car with its ridiculously thin tires and  over-the-top hubcaps.  Then he was most likely going to shoot the place up with a stolen Tec-9.   I'd be there looking for cover behind the Mexican Ho-Ho display.  Screw the candy bar, I concluded.  I took my Diet Coke and headed to the counter to the crazy fool who was fully planning on doing something very obscene to Alehandro.  I set the can on the counter and the bald Mexican looked me in the eye and said, "Did you find every thing you needed, sir?"  I nodded,  "Make that just a dollar-even for the soda."

I handed him a dollar and then noticed another politely smiling mustachioed Mexican sitting on a chair in the cigarette sea behind the counter. He had hair.  The bald check-out guy politely thanked me with a very professional tone and added "You have a good evening, now."

I walked out listening for the sounds of distant squealing, smoking tires of Alehandro's roaring low-rider to tear through the streets of Shakopee, Minnesota aiming at a Mexican convenience store in the dark of night.  None came.  Heck, had I been Alehandro, I would have skipped going there as well, at least for tonight.

Back to my room I headed and locked myself inside.  Tomorrow night would be different.

The next evening, I decided to change up my dining adventures as last night was rather involved.  I decided to go to Cub Foods and buy some turkey and Swiss cheese and the other components for a delightful evening in my room - alone.  I just didn't feel like putting up with the trappings of dining out.

So, I proceeded into this massive store and bumbled around with everyone asking if I would like to order from every counter before I even got a chance to look at what was there. (Can I help you? Can I help you?  Are you ready to order?)  I decided to observe the contents of the deli counters from afar lest I be bugged by every employee in the store with a white mesh cap.  I should have brought binoculars.    I finally find something suitable, place my order and pick up a box of Little Debbie's Swiss Cake Rolls to complement the Swiss cheese in my sandwich-soon-to-be.

I proceeded to a check-out where there was only one guy in front of me. After numerous attempts to swipe his card, the cashier leaned over and started swiping and pushing buttons as well.  This went on for about 6 minutes.  I just stood there watching until the card finally went through.  The cashier said, "There was $1.47 remaining on that gift card", and the guy nodded.  I secretly rolled my eyes.  Then, gift-card guy turned to me after he noticed my Swiss Cake Rolls.  He then proceeded to tell me about how, as a child, his uncle bet him that he couldn't eat a whole box of Swiss Cake Rolls.   I looked around wishing that I'd gone to a restaurant or at least back to the Mexican gas station.  Thinking that I was fully engaged in his wonderful story, he laughingly concluded that as a result of the "bet" he ended up eating two (2) of the Little Debbies and promptly threw them all up.  "There was barf everywhere!"   It was clearly a highlight of his growing up in the big city.  I was just hoping he wasn't planning to follow me to my hotel room to share more gripping tales of his childhood.

I finally made it back to the confines of my room and securely locked the door.  I made it through my sandwich and two (2) Little Debbies and everything stayed down with no problems.  I should have made a bet with someone.  Heck, I should have bought a lottery ticket after that.

On the final part of my return home, I stopped at an Arby's in Cloquet, MN which had four total patrons sitting down.  I approached the counter with an 80 pound girl who was as cute as a bug with pouty little lips and a round face that reminded of "I tat I taw a puddy tat" Tweety.  She was young with dark, shorter hair and the shining example of someone who would have a vibrant personality and intelligent charm all mixed together with downright interesting good looks.  And then she opened her mouth.

Instead of saying the usual "Hi, can I help you?" upon my approaching the counter, she snarled, "For here or to go?".  That was it.  That was the greeting from Tweety at Arby's.  I ordered the fish sandwich and she snarled, "That'll be $5.37." with the personality of whale snot.  Another smiling, friendly girl from the back brought out the sandwich instantly to Tweety, who snorted and dropped it on the tray along with the fries.   I took it away from the counter with the angry bird behind it,  found a spot in among the 75 open spots in the dining section, ate my run-of-the-mill fish sandwich with greasy curly fries and left.  As I was throwing away my beverage cup, I couldn't help but notice on the side of it was a big blahbitty-blah about how Arby's wants my dining experience to be "more than awesome".  I'm going with "underwhelming", actually.  Tweety must have been having a bad day.

From there, I went to another gas station to top off my tank right next to Arby's and thought about getting a pop and a candy bar for dessert.  There were no swearing Mexicans so I felt somewhat vacant. Plus, there was a Walgreens next door, so I went there instead.  Wouldn't you know it - there were Valentines chocolates on sale for 50% off!  I picked one up along with a few other items and went to the check out. When I got there, the 17 year old boy was having an issue with the scanner and the register so an older lady came out and was pushing buttons.  They moved me to a different till and I set down my stuff.  He scanned it all in and I paid the $9.57.  I left with my sweet deal in hand and about 9 miles down the road, I'd realized that I never got the 50% discount on the candy.  SONUVA!!!!

The cities (everything south of Duluth in my book) are an odd place.  It was nice to come home to the woods.  Everybody was happy to see me & nobody was shooting up any convenience stores with angry Mexicans inside.

As of this writing, we are now out of Little Debbies, too.

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Ely Minnesota Resort - Here's what you get at Northwind Lodge

Are you looking for more information about cool places to stay with nice cabins next to a lake in the woods?  How about a laid back resort setting on a jewel of a lake next to a creek with a waterfall? I'm pretty sure you'd appreciate nice clean cabins where you can cook your own dinner and take a hot shower.  Plus, with a quick walk down to the water you can get in your boat and head out on the lake for the evening.  Listen to the loons while you fish.  Watch the beaver swim by and see the eagles soaring overhead.  Smell the air.   It's ultra clean and you'll sleep like a log at night.

I grew up right here at Northwind Lodge and we still hear that all the time from our guests.  Complaints such as," I overslept.  I couldn't get out of bed.  I don't usually do this at home", and on and on.  Our guests are constantly oversleeping and don't want to get up because it was so comfortable under the covers with the fresh air and quietness.  Then, when they finally get up, they kick themselves for not getting up sooner because the day is beautiful and the deep blue water was calling them.  It has always been the conundrum - a Northwind Lodge "vacationer's guilt" - if you will.  I guess that's part of the great wilderness vacation experience at our resort NE of Ely and surrounded by the Boundary Waters.  Part of you wants to get up and go, the other part of you wants to enjoy the "sleeping-like-a-log" part.  You, like the thousands of guests before you in the last 70+ years of  Northwind Lodge operation, are going to have to figure out how to resolve this "problem" on your own.  We, in the family-operated resort business, have no solution for you.

If you'd like to see some of our resort's rental cabins inside, the following links ought to get you started in the right direction.  Just give em' a click and off you go!

Cabin 8

Cabin 7

Cabin 5

Cabin 2

I'll add more videos of our cabins as time permits.

Check out our Lodge Cabin Availability for this summer - Click Here

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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.   

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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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.

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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

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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!

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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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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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Yearning for the Good Old Days

I just had a party check out after staying one week here at Northwind Lodge.  Well, they paid up their tab and need to leave early tomorrow morning (Saturday) because of upcoming commitments.  Fortunately for me, I was able to talk with the parents and kids individually over the course of the week, and I gained some insight to the behavior and interaction of this family.

While I moved around the resort for various reasons over the course of the week, I found various members of this this family of six at the beach, in the store, and on the footpaths.  I saw the girls and mom out on the stand-up-paddle boards and water bikes, the boys were fishing with their dad and sometimes the whole family went out on the water.  They even took a trip as a family to Wood Lake which is something we rarely see these days.  Despite their arrival from a very windy day of BWCA rowing and struggling in gusts, they all came back smiling.  They didn't even look worse for the wear and nobody appeared ticked off.

In talking with the patriarch, I expressed how great it was for me to see an entire family enjoying their time together at our resort.   It is what I grew up with having been in the resort for my entire life and seeing mom & dad taking out the kids is "homemade meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy" to me.  He told me that they had a wonderful time despite the fishing.  Fishing went from a rather exciting prior week to a big weather change with high winds and slow fishing this week even when I expected it to pick up.  They caught fish, but those fish sure weren't yelling "catch me" by any means.  That's why it's called fishing and not catching.

Also, in talking with the dad, he said it was a bit tough for the first day and a half upon their initial arrival. All four kids discovered that they had no cell service or wifi everywhere they went.  His term was "the shakes" regarding the electronic social disconnection, and he said that after that malady passed, the kids began to enjoy the simpler things like taking out a kayak or a SUP and doing something with their muscles.  They also played Battleship and other board games as a family.  We need more of this in the US today.

Then, he expressed that he really liked the cabin because it was roomy enough and felt like a cabin in the woods - not a condo in a development.  The part he truly enjoyed was Jasper Creek as it passes by outside.  With the constant, soothing white noise after being out in the fresh air day after day, he said that his whole family slept like logs and that meant HE slept like a log.  He hasn't slept THAT well in a long time.  The solid sleep was one of the parts that I sensed really "made" the trip for this dad.

The final part of the discussion was at the cost of staying in Ely.  Given the fun they had all week, he could not believe that we had cabin openings.  Comparatively, he said, for what one gets in a vacation in Ely - real wilderness, a cabin in the woods next to a lake, a real waterfall, water toys and fishing - the cost of having fun compared to other areas was downright cheap.  For the amount of money they spent for lodging and outside activities like a guided fishing day trip, they couldn't even touch such an adventure in Disneyland or some other place.  He estimated that it would cost four times as much easily.   So, he was surprised that we weren't packed reservation-wise given the enjoyable, relaxing, stay they had here.

It was good to hear that again from a family.  With the changing times in the New Normal, we don't get to hear or see it nearly as much as we should.  And, I know he wasn't making it up as they made reservations for next year.   I look forward to their arrival next season!  

Have Faith - Unwind - Pay Your Dues - Catch Fish

For as long as I can remember, people have come here to fish.  Most usually stay a week.   Upon arrival, some of them get all upset after driving for 12 hours.  They run down to the lake bleary-eyed, jump in a boat and beat the water to a froth expecting all manner of fish to come hurling themselves over the gunwales of the boat.  Over the years, a few of them have had the unbelievable fortune of succeeding, but the reality of the fact remains that fish seldom do this anywhere, especially for somebody new to any particular lake.   That fact doesn't offer solace to some as they walk around with a deflated pout because their 347 days of exponentially multiplying expectations didn't present itself in immediate gratification via a boatload of fish.

However, as the week rolls forward, they usually catch a few here and there.  Enough to pique their interest so that progress gets them on the water, helping them refine their technique and dial it in for this lake.  Also remember that just because the fish bite purple green Spiffy-diffy's on Lake Pacodumptruck in Wisconsin is not a guarantee that they will do the same here.  The best thing one can do at Northwind Lodge is come over to the store and see what they've been biting on in Jasper or the region.  Bring along your tackle box and we can narrow down and separate the lures that work here from the lures that make our fish giggle and say "Seriously?!"

One of the most fascinating phenomenon I've seen here occurs the last three days of almost everybody's fishing on Jasper.  For as far back as I can remember, it seems that our new guests take about the three total days to figure out the "feel" of the lake.  Then the last three days, they run into fish.  It is not always, but it is "often" that the biggest, and the most fish are caught in the last three days of a guest's stay.   It begins Wednesday and goes through Friday.   I'd say that it is a combination of commitment, determination and good vibes.  Maybe they are sending out good vibrations and the fish are finally attracted to it.  That may or may not be so crazy sounding as I swear I know people who are "fish-magnets".  I think fish are drawn to them based on their vibes or magnetic field.  Those are the people who can tie a stick of chewing gum on their line with no hook and land a walleye.   I've been in the boat with those types of people and to test the theory I will tie on the same piece of gum, fish one foot from their line, and watch them catch everything while I stare in amazement.

Fortunately, I don't really care that much for myself; but prefer that somebody from my group is catching something.  I always figure my day will come and it has, many many times, but not yet enough for me to want hang up fishing.   Fishing is really Mother Nature's big outdoor casino.  You cast your line and see what you win. The difference from a real casino is that if you tied your knot properly, you usually get your lure back and cast it again.   A real casino just takes your lure and gives it to somebody else.    Despite having done this for all of my life, I still think "today is the day" at the beginning of each day that I get out on the water and cast my line.  You never know what you are going to get for certain.

So, I understand why it is that many of our guests charge out onto the water in a sleep-deprived and sometimes, ornery, state of mind.  They've waited a whole year for this and "Today is THE day!"  But just remember:  usually, the first three days stinks "catch-wise" and the last three days greatly improves.  One develops a feel for the lake at some subconscious level.   That isn't always the case, but I've personally witnessed it more often than not.  That is also why coming up to stay for two or three nights usually won't cut it.  You just start unwinding and you have to head back home.  Uggghh...   Northern Minnesota vacations for three days and two nights are a great way to run around and be more tired than when one arrived.  Just a thought from a seasoned Minnesota resort operator.

The Normans - Wood Lake Catch - Northwind Lodge Dock - June 2014

(this whole family is a collective fish magnet)

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