North Shore Morning

Scott Oeth talk with North Shore Morning host Mark Abrahamson about the many traditional and modern uses of spruce trees in this edition of "Pack & Paddle".

Trail Time by Marcia Roepke
12/17/2021
 
We had quite a snowfall last week on the Gunflint Trail. Loon Lake had about 12-15 inches on the ground by the time the snow stopped blowing. The temperature clocked in 15 below zero the day following the storm. The gusting wind created drifts in some places and windswept bare spots in others. I usually notice deeper snow mid-trail around Poplar Lake and this storm was no different. I imagine the Laurentian Divide has something to do with the differing snowfalls along the Trail, but I have zero science about that to share today. I’ll get back to you on that topic.
 
It’s been steadily warming up since the latest storm. Yesterday the thermometer hit 36 degrees above zero and today it might reach 48 degrees! It’s drippy and misty; the far shore of the lake is obscured by fog. I love the mystery of it – it feels like the beginning of a Sherlock Holmes story, but I am not looking forward to the ice that will certainly cover every surface when the weather turns cold again in a few days. God bless the inventor of micro-spikes! With them strapped onto our boots, we can conquer most icy patches without fear of falling.

In between our winter snowstorms I am seeing a lot of birch seeds scattered over the snow. The little brown fleur-de-lis and the winged nutlets make a delicate pattern across the white micro landscape between my snow boots. Whenever I notice seed showers throughout the winter it makes me think about what a marvelously designed delivery system of moisture, nutrients and seeds layered over the earth. When the snow melts, the water moistens the soil as it releases nitrogen and other minerals to feed these tiny seeds. 
 
I heard from neighbors up and down the Trail this week about ice status on a few lakes. Loon Lake still has open water, and as we’re heading into colder weather this weekend, there might be some fine wild ice for skating next week if a snowfall doesn’t gum it up. Shar from Gunflint Lake tells me that she can see just a little bit of shore ice right now. As it is such a big lake, it is one of the last to freeze over. The east bay of Poplar Lake had over 7 inches of solid ice under 8 inches of snow, soft ice and slush – at least it did before this latest warmup. Tucker Lake Annie reports that they had some lovely skating on Poplar Lake during the first week of December. They were skating over 6-8 inches of ice and heard “gentle mumbling and rumbling as the sheet thickened.” Ann of Little Iron reported the same. Dave at Clearwater Lake said that it froze “in a snap” last week. By December 6, Rene observed that Seagull Lake had iced over with two to three inches of snow covering slush lines. Sadly, no black ice this year for Seagull. (And what a wonderful few days of skating we had last year on Seagull! There was such a happy crowd of skaters taking off from Blankenburg Beach; the sun was shining, and in those pre-vaccination days, it was one of the jolliest social events of the year.)
 
We don’t have any skaters flocking to our lake this year, and a good thing, too, because the ice is not safe yet. But we do have winter birds flocking to our feeders. We see the usual crowd of Nuthatches, Chickadees, and Blue and Canada jays. The Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers are enjoying the suet cakes, too.
 
We received several visits from some Evening Grosbeaks this week. Their colors appear tropical compared to the other winter birds. The males sport a beautiful combination of mustard yellow, jet black and the whitest of whites. The females wear a more sedate wardrobe, but it is all understated elegance. Unlike the Pine Grosbeaks, they are very wary birds, constantly checking their surroundings and flitting off quickly at the smallest disturbance. Their huge bills look so oversized they must make very efficient seed- and nut-crackers. When they fly in a flock they are happiness on wings.  
 
Yesterday a loud sound stopped me in my tracks. There was a black and white woodpecker flitting between a fir and a birch tree making an unusually strident call. For a moment I thought it might be a Black-backed Woodpecker but a quick trip indoors to check my bird books and bird app stilled my enthusiastic rush. Apparently Black-backed Woodpeckers are common here, in the southernmost part of their territory, but, alas, the markings and the song of the bird by my cabin were wrong for that species. It was most likely a female Hairy Woodpecker. I am convinced I saw and heard the black-backed variety on a Boundary Waters trip with Lars years ago. We had just paddled into a small, enclosed bay, and the “Pik!” of the call sounded nearly electronic as it echoed off the water and the steep wooded hills around us. We spotted the distinctive bird right in front of us, midway up a tree beside the bay. The evening was still, the water smooth and the bird’s call filled the air.  I think it filled me that day, too, because a little of that song is in me still; a song from summer that plays on inside me while outside is the silence of winter.

This is Marcia Roepke on the Gunflint Trail, where simply living is a winter sport.
 

Pat Campanaro talked with North Shore Morning host, CJ Heithoff about the local Empty Bowls efforts.  Empty Bowls is an international grassroots effort to fight hunger. 
According to Pat, the Cook County Empty Bowls fundraiser started in 2006 when the artists and crafters joined a grass roots movement  in cities and towns around the world to raise money for food related charities. Traditionally, it involves a simple soup and bread dinner donated by local restaurants and beautiful bowls made by local potters and our friends and neighbors. 

Chel Anderson is a botanist and plant ecologist and she joins us periodically to report on what she’s seeing in our woods and waters right now.

This project is supported in part by funding from the Minnesota Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund.

Education and Interpretation Specialist, Steve Robertsen gives us the Superior National Forest Update for early December.

Amy Addy with The Retrievers and Missing Pets in the Northland talks with North Shore Morning host, Mark Abrahamson about lost dog prevention and keeping our pets safe over the holidays when company may be coming in and out of our homes, and unfamiliar children and pets are introduced to our own pets. 

The Gunflint Mail Run is on for 2022!  The iconic sled dog race is back after the 2021 race had to be cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic.  Race organizer, Cathy Quinn talked with North Shore Morning host, CJ Heithoff about how the race preparations are shaping up and the need to fill 91 volunteer positions in order to make the race happen.

In this edition of "Money Matters", Scott Oeth talks about the "Endowment Effect".

Chel Anderson is a botanist and plant ecologist and she joins us periodically to report on what she’s seeing in our woods and waters right now.

This project is supported in part by funding from the Minnesota Arts and Cultural Heritage Fund.

Trail Time
by Marcia Roepke
11-26-2021

​We have had all kinds of weather on the Trail these past few weeks. It’s been cold and gray (in the 20s and below), it’s been sunny and warm (in the high 30s!) and yesterday we had a very memorable snowstorm. It had started the day before with a gray sky and several loud booming sounds. Lars and I didn’t know what the noise was; each time we heard it, one of us asked the other, “Did you hear that?” I kept checking the news, figuring that if something exploded certainly it would be reported. Or, I thought, maybe it was the noise of a dump truck bringing gravel up the Trail and the boom was the sound of it bouncing around, echoing off the lake and cliffs. It was a mystery. The next day there was a pretty little snowfall in the morning and then the wind started gusting, the snow started swirling, and I heard another boom. I think it was a thunder boom, which is what thunder in a snowstorm is called. The wind was gusting up to 45 mph; it was wild weather. And in the middle of it, I saw a flock of common redpolls cavorting straight into it. I felt their joy in the wild windy snowfall and it echoed inside me. If I could fly, I would have joined them.

We had planned an outdoor party for the day of the storm. We had several winter gatherings last year; grilling bratwursts and hot dogs over a fire; warming the sauna so people could use it as a warming house; drinking cocoa and mulled wine. It’s a great safe way for neighbors of all ages to be together during this pandemic. This year the younger neighbors’ play reminded us older folk that snow can be a toy and a playground. I don’t have many children around these days, and it lifted my heart to see how absolutely covered in snow a kid can get and still keep smiling from the joy of winter play.
 
We were throwing the party to celebrate Wolfenoot, a recently invented holiday. Three years ago a 7-year-old from New Zealand dreamed it up. He told his mom that the Spirit of the Wolf visits on November 23 and leaves small gifts around the house for people who love dogs and wolves and are kind to them. He said the holiday should be celebrated with the eating of meat and cake. I thought the wild weather was entirely appropriate for a day dedicated to the Wolf and the wolves who live with us, our companions, our dogs.
 
 This year we celebrated Wolfenoot a few days early. We eat meat because that’s what wolves eat – some guests had a vegetarian version (after all, wolves eat blueberries, fish and grass as well as meat). We eat cake because that’s what 7-year-olds prefer above all other food. We celebrate both the wisdom of the wolf and the 7-year-old. We all trooped up a hill and ended the festivities by howling together into the swirling snow. And much later that night as I looked out a window, a waning moon lit the sparkling snow, making the night appear nearly as bright as day. It’s funny, people from other parts of the world often ask me, “How can you stand all that winter darkness?” Some nights I whisper my answer into the nocturnal landscape, “What darkness?”
 
 We haven’t seen or heard of any wolves in our neighborhood recently, but we had a little canine visitor this week: a coyote. It stood under our bird feeder, chomping away happily on the fallen seeds. It didn’t see me. I made a small noise and it froze for a second, then started eating again. I made another noise as I was trying to take a picture and it padded away unhurriedly, its coloring a perfect match for blending into the snowy woods. I don’t see that many coyotes. I saw a young one along the Gunflint Trail a couple summers ago; and one year we got two pictures of an adult on our trail camera – going up a hill and then down again, this time with a snowshoe hare in its mouth. Up until then I hadn’t known they live this far north.
 
 One of my favorite winter sightings is the northern flying squirrel, who also visits our feeder after dusk. I was walking toward our cabin one night when I saw what could have been a dead leaf or a bird’s nest in a birch tree, except I knew it was too big for a birch leaf and that nest wasn’t there yesterday! I stood still, the mystery object moved, and I could just make out the flying squirrel with its white underbelly, climbing quickly up the tree. Then it launched – thrillingly – right towards me! It headed my way for just a millisecond, four white legs and a head making a 5-pointed shape against the darkness, then it arched into a graceful 180-degree turn and sailed for a nearby fir, disappearing into the darkness. The precision of their flight always impresses me. The first time I saw one “fly” – glide, really – I mistook it for a Canada jay because of the similar way it seemed to be floating on the air. Then I thought, “It’s dark out. Canada jays don’t fly after dark.” And then I knew what I was seeing. I crept slowly and quietly over the snow to the birch where our feeder hangs, and there it was: with those strange big eyes and that lovely gray fur with white below. And then it scampered up the tree, jumped into the night sky, swooped toward a fir tree and was gone.
 
Flying squirrels, joyful redpolls, wildly swirling snow, good neighbors and the happiness of children in winter: these are some of the many things I am thankful for here on the Gunflint Trail. 
 
 If you’d like to learn more about Minnesota wolves, check out: https://www.voyageurswolfproject.org/