North Shore Morning

Lin Salisbury is a bibliophile and commentator on WTIP.  
In this edition of "Superior Reviews" Lin reviews a collection of stories edited by Carolyn Holbrook and David Mura titled, “We Are Meant to Rise: Voices for Justice from Minneapolis to the World”.
 

In this edition of "Superior Reviews", Lin Salisbury reviews Stephanie Watson's YA book, "Pencilvania".

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
10-29-2021
By Marcia Roepke
 
For a few weeks we were reveling in the sunny and mild fall weather on the Gunflint Trail. The temperatures of last few days, though, have been dipping into the 30s at night; we awaken to frost most mornings. While that lovely weather held, I assumed every canoe adventure was going to be the last one. And then we’d go on yet another canoe trip and I’d think, well, this one must be our last time out. But, nope! Wrong again! It was like the end of an unfamiliar symphony when you think it’s over but it continues with more notes and on and on to the true finale. I don’t mind being mistaken about the end of canoe season -- I can’t remember a time when I’ve more enjoyed being wrong. 
 
This weather has allowed us a bit of leisure to prepare for winter. We’re ready but of course there is always more wood to split and kindling to make. Oh, and I still haven’t entirely sorted out the mitten, boot and hat situation. But the snow tires are on, the propane tank is full and we’ve got three cords of wood split and stacked. It’s been so nice to have a little breather!
 
On one of those lovely days, I paddled Lars around in our blue canoe while he fished for walleye. I guess the hook sank a little deep because he snagged a big northern – too big to haul into our canoe. It surfaced a bit, showing off a broad green-speckled back and then started dragging the boat around, a Minnesota version of a Nantucket sleigh ride. I admit I was relieved when the monster bit through the leader and escaped back into the depths. Our canoe is too small for that many teeth.
 
Our buddy Dharma Dave took us fishing on another sunny crisp day to show us his secret spot to catch what he calls “fish sticks” or brookies. There was a bit of a northeast wind and lively waves that kept me focused on paddling. That was followed by rocky landing spots that meant extra care getting in and out of the canoe. It’s one thing to get a little wet on a fine summer day, but another when the air temperature is hovering around 50 degrees. Ooh -- it was chilly in the shade, but so pretty with the sun sparkling on the water. We arrived at a silent, almost still lake – just enough breeze to gently push the canoe down the shore while we cast for brook trout. We took turns sticking a paddle in to gently rudder our way down the shore. I had zero luck with the fish, just some nibbles, but I had a wonderful time gazing at the shoreline, admiring the local beaver lodges, keeping my eyes open for moose or mink. High above Dharma Dave I saw a bald eagle circling in the clear blue sky as it rode the thermals up… up…up. A dragonfly, enjoying the sun and the warmth, perched on my bare arm for a few minutes. It had a red abdomen and amber wings, and looked a lot like the “royal coachmen” trout fly that Lars had tied many years ago. I think it was either a white-faced or a saffron-winged meadowhawk, a new insect for me. The dragonfly and I had a little staring contest before it jetted off. Something about the sunny, cool and quiet day made staring seem like a virtuous pastime. 
 
It was lovely fishing on that peaceful fall day, enjoying the beauty of a northern lake and being in good company with people who enjoy both silence and conversation. Time seemd to stand still for a while, but the sun started sinking and it was only going to get colder. I was reluctant to leave, even though my feet were cold; both my back and my butt hurt from sitting in the canoe so long; and one finger was numb. As we were paddling out all I could think about was next year’s trout fishing. I think I’m hooked, even if the fish weren’t that day, not for me, anyway. Lars and Dave ended with nice little stringers to take home for dinner. 
 
We drove home down the Trail with an almost-full moon rising above the Gunflint hills in a silvery sky-blue pink sky. Dharma Dave put it best:
 
“Filleting brook trout under a nearly full October moon, can you beat that?.. I think the pattern on their skin is sort of cosmic, like a map of the heavens, complete with a green-tinged twilight, red and yellow stars, blue and ringed planets, pearly nebulas, fins like solar flares. Try to see the universe within each living thing.”
 
The sky stayed clear for the rest of that night – the stars and the moon were utterly magical. I got up in the middle of the night to check for northern lights and meteors. The night sky was so exciting it was hard to go back to bed. Soon it will be that time of year when I haul out my winter sleeping bag and, come nightfall, park myself on a lawnchair to stare at the cosmos. Last year I was so star-struck, I mooned about during daylight hours with my head full of falling stars and constellations, just pining for the nighttime sky when I could continue my very important task of stargazing. 
 
Gazing at dragonflies, gazing at stars, seeing the universe in a brook trout; it’s a pretty good life here on the Gunflint trail.
 

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.

"Pack & Paddle" with Scott Oeth
In this edition, Scott talks with North Shore Morning host, Mark Abrahamson about how to survive getting lost in the woods.

Wildersmith Reflections                                                                               Autumn 2021

Whereas I have relocated nearly six hundred miles south of Gunflint territory, my heart remains in the magnificent northern paradise. A day doesn’t go by where some memory of time in the Gunflint woods doesn’t cross my mind. “You can take the man out of the woods, but not the woods out of the man, and his wife.”                                                                                                 

It seems beyond belief the Smith’s have been gone from Gunflint Lake shores and the Mile O Pine over three months already. Like living in the woods, time at our new digs has no limits in regard to flying by.                                                                                                                      
While one might ask what keeps me busy now with none of the usual up north chores, I can’t really tell, but my days seem to always be filled with the hub bub of suburban goings-on and settling in a new home.                                                                                                              
At the moment, I hold fast to the memory of autumn starting to make its final curtain call along the Trail.  In spite of the calendar season being less than a month old, the mosaic of a border country fall must be trickling to earth, building yet another layer of russet material that will in a thousand years, add an inch of good earth.                                                                                        

As the north woods autumn transition progresses, I cherish the times and marvel at the natural happenings all around. A trek down the Mile O Pine always dished up the special splendor of “Mother Nature’s” endeavors. After a million years, the “old Gal” has surely been road tested with the business of natural wonderment, especially this time of year.                            

Although I’ve followed the Gunflint summer journey through hot/dry atmospheric conditions and considerable wildfire danger, it would be my guess a frosty morning or two have already sparkled in the early morning sunshine. And, it is my hope recent showers have helped quench the thirsty forest.                                                                                                                     
For me, twenty-two years living in the Gunflint Community was forever exciting with anticipation. When might the first ice form on puddles, swamps and smaller ponds, and when would the first of white flakes signal the beginning of my favorite time of the year.                       

Equally important was hustle and bustle of the “getting ready” for winter. While this could be tedious work, the chores were a labor of love as I look back. I knew these tasks were just a prelude as the “great spirit of the north” was rounding the bend, heading our way with the beauty of cold adventure and crystal pureness.                                                                                   

Not to forget friends in our “wild neighborhood”, they too worked in the “preparation mode” diligent to their concern for survival during the months ahead. Whether it was avian over head on a southerly mission or stopping by for a brief visit on their journey, or four-legged earth bound critters collecting for a vittles stash, observing such was, and is, a source of shear enjoyment.  The fascination of animals putting on their winter coats, shedding an antler or locating a place to hole up for six months or so, will forever be etched into my northland image bank.                                                                                                                                                         

It goes without saying many wonderful opportunities came my way during the Gunflint years. Most important, they were made richer by the fine people of the Gunflint Community, and the WTIP radio family of listeners.                                                                                                    

It is timely that I file this autumnal reflection at a time of the stations’ fall membership campaign. Remaining an ardent supporter of this Northshore broadcasting phenom, I encourage all to join if you have never done so, or to re-up with a show of love through your dollar donations.                                                                                                                         

WTIP has stood the test of time due to listener sustenance, dedicated volunteers and superior staff leadership. This “little station that could” is certainly “Road Tested Radio” and worthy of continued backing. Won’t you please step up again?                                                                  

In closing, I’m telling all of you WTIP Listener/website readers, the Smith’s still have the Gunflint and Arrowhead on our minds. And the hope is everyone is enjoying the wonderful northland autumn as I recall some of our times amongst you.                                                                   

For WTIP, this is Wildersmith, always a Gunflinter, where every day was, and is great! Keep on hangin’ on, happy holidays and I’ll echo more during the winter.           

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.

School News from Birch Grove Elementary with Tryg and Aubree.

Trail Time
By Marcia Roepke
October 15, 2021

It’s definitely fall on the Gunflint Trail. Many aspen and birch have lost their leaves, and the weather is cool and damp. Unlike spring, with its gradual unfolding, autumn loveliness arrives quickly. Two days ago day I saw the limbs of a birch tree covered in shimmering yellow leaves, reaching toward the clear blue sky; the next morning almost all the leaves were lying on the ground, like a puddle of gold, like a slender dancer had just let her silk dress drop to her feet. The whole of last week was magical, with the warm sun sparkling on water and gauzy little fairy-like bugs floating around in the air. At first I mistook these incredibly tiny insects for gnats or ash, but I managed to catch a few – very gently, for they were so easy to squash – and looked them up online using the search term “tiny blue insects with fuzzy butts.” I got answers immediately. They were woolly aphids. It seems there are as many kinds of woolly aphids as there are trees, with at least 15 different kinds in Minnesota, and some sources said that there are probably more.  The adult woolly aphid sucks tree sap and produces a waxy white covering that looks like minute downy feathers. I had never seen them before. I wonder if it was the unseasonable warm weather which brought them out. For a few days, whenever the weather warmed, you could see these little fairy bugs floating by, wafted by the breeze.

Last week was unusually warm for October, and Lars and I took good advantage of the fine weather by driving down some dirt roads we hadn’t explored before. We had a canoe on top of the car, lunch, paddles and life jackets packed and even a thermos of hot tea along. It felt so civilized. Lars and I had spent the evening before comparing maps and negotiating where to explore. We meant to leave early the next morning, but with one thing and another we didn’t get on the water until 9. It was early enough for mist to still be floating above the water with the morning sun shining through. The day was sunny and nearly windless, and our first stop was a favorite lake for a quiet farewell paddle. It was a lovely way to say goodbye until next spring. There was one other canoe on the water, and we quickly lost sight of them. We saw and heard many kingfishers, darting across the water and swooping up into nearby snags and fir trees. A few times we saw them hover before diving headlong into the water to catch fish. These birds have such unusual proportions, with a head that seems outsized to its body, long stout beaks and very short legs. Everything about them seems direct and no-nonsense except for those wild shaggy feathers on their heads that look like punk hairdos. They are such a gorgeous shade of blue, with white necks and bellies and black markings around their eyes. The female has an additional rusty band of feathers across her chest, like a too-tight waistcoat. They nest mostly in dirt banks after digging a tunnel that can range from 3 to 6 feet long. They lay 6-7 eggs, with both male and female sharing incubation and feeding. The Belted Kingfisher is the only one which summers this far north.
 
I had a front-row seat to a Battle Royale between two kingfishers a couple summers ago. I was sitting in a second story balcony and they went round and round the building chasing each other and chittering that distinctive call. They were flying so fast and calling so loudly! I’m not sure if it was a mating ritual or warfare, but they looked like they meant business, whatever their intentions, and they were moving too fast for me to distinguish between male and female. Kingfishers must be late migrators for us to see so many of them in October. They fly south to spend the winter on open water. I always love spotting them.
 
 Lars and I said good-bye to the kingfishers at that first lake and paddled back to the landing, then headed down the Gunflint Trail to find a new lake – one that had intrigued us during our map reading of the night before. We headed south of the Trail, went down a dirt road and found the entry point. After we filled out a day pass, we made an easy portage to the next lake. Once more, we had the place mostly to ourselves, paddling quietly down the shore, heading to anything that sparked our interest. I saw what looked like a small raft of reeds and dry grasses and paddled over to investigate and noticed a brown furry body in motion. I thought it was an otter, but as I got closer I saw a naked tail -- there was a pile of two or three muskrats sitting on top of this raft. One of them looked up, wrinkled his nose at us and then they all slipped into the water. Maybe they were building a house, getting ready for winter. It was a gorgeous day of paddling and nature watching to end this canoe season.
 
This is the end of the season for Chik Wauk Museum and Nature Center as well. This weekend is your last chance to hike the trails, gaze at the moose pond, view the exhibits in the museum, or shop in the gift shop. Sunday is their last day for this year, and it is predicted to be a sunny day. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll see a moose!
 
This is Marcia Roepke on the Gunflint Trail