Northwind Lodge Website
Thursday, March 26, 2015
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
Northwind Lodge Website
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
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.
Monday, February 16, 2015
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.
Visit Northwind Lodge's Website
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.
Visit Northwind Lodge's Website
Monday, February 2, 2015
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!
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
Check out our Lodge Cabin Availability for this summer - Click Here
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.
visitnorthwind.com
Red Rock Outdoors Blog - Product Reviews
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.
visitnorthwind.com
Red Rock Outdoors Blog - Product Reviews
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.
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.
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”.
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”.
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.
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.
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