North Shore Weekend

Wildersmith on the Gunflint     by     Fred Smith      February 1, 2019    

Beginning this weeks’ Gunflint report, life in this part of the universe has become frozen in time. Residents are settled into survival mode, concerned most about keeping living quarters warm and hoping the vehicle will start if needed.                                                                                                 

Border country heads into yet another week of bitter cold temperatures. If anything or anybody could be blamed, perhaps it’s yours truly. After bragging a couple weeks ago about this territory not having experienced its annual January polar blast, I must have offended the “great spirit of the north.”                                                                                                                                    

The scribing back then had barely gone out over WTIP radio waves when “Biboon” the “wintertime guy” obviously took serious offense and decided it was time. This in mind, he must have been thinking, “just a moment you old codger”, “I’m not dead, and in fact, I’m very much alive and well, and in charge.”                                                                                                                                                             

Since then, frigidity has brought activity to a near standstill. I haven’t observed an ice anglers’ rig headed up the lake in over a week. And on another note, I’ve heard no recent moaning from the lake ice. Then again I haven’t been outside much to listen.                                                                                                       

On this first day of month two, it is hard to predict what conditions will be like as this scoop comes your way. A good bet is, it might still be on the lower side of zero. If such is the case, the Wildersmith neighborhood will have been below the nothing mark for all but two days during the past two weeks. That’s a lot of frosty hours and countless chunks of firewood!                                            

There is no apparent logic to this next tidbit, but its sure funny the Wildersmith thermometer has been at its lowest reading each of the last two Sunday mornings. Last weekend saw our coldest low so far as the column of mercury was within three degrees of not being observable, at minus 42. It’s likely some of our neighbors up toward the end of the Trail were even colder.                                                                                                                                                                                       

It seems several folks in the territory have been under the weather, and yes we have, in a couple of ways. Not only have we been under this icy outdoor spell, many have been fighting a north woods crud indoors. Not to be excluded, the Smiths’ have been dealing with the annoying cough, congestion and throat conditions too.                                                                                                                                      
Perhaps being self-quarantined by this siege of cold will slow the spread of the yucky stuff as folks haven’t been getting around much. February comes from the Latin word “februa”  which means to cleanse. So the arrival of this second 2019 segment enters at a time when healing from these sick nasties is in big demand.                                                                                                  

Then again, as January ended with no sense of humor, February might share the same character. Whatever happens, the consolation is, after this weekend, there are only 25 days left until things will start getting better and symptoms of “cabin fever” will begin fading away.                                                                                                                                              

The Beargrease Sled dog race came through to the mid-Trail stopover last Monday. Although conditions did not favor mankind, they were great for the canine stars of the event. Without a doubt, there was likely no overheating during the three hundred mile journey as temps hovered in the teens below zero and lower. For results of this historic travel re-enactment, check the Beargrease website. Warming congrats to all that endured!                                                                                                   

For WTIP, this is Wildersmith, on the Gunflint Trail, where even days below zero are great, really cool man!
 

Magnetic North 1/24/19

A Message from Inside the Great White…
 
Welcome back to Magnetic North, which makes me think of how the view from inside the mouth of a Great White Shark must look, all those long, sharp icicles lining my roofline and practically touching the deck railing. Ugh!
 
Icicles are good examples of what poet Thomas Gray meant when he wrote, ”Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.”
 
When I was a kid, I loved icicles. Hey, free popsicles! Tasteless, true, but free and also useful for poking friends in the back. 
 
Now that I am grown, icicles represent only a poke in my budget; Heat loss through the ceiling and extra expense when my electric bill comes. Not to mention creating ice dams and the resultant leaks and stains on my beautiful cathedral ceilings.
 
But, with luck and additional outlay of cash for insulation, I will get that problem solved....someday.
 
The arrival of The Great White, as I call this winter of 2018-19, has already wreaked havoc on one of the many structures on this 116-year-old farmstead. The chicken run is now missing its wire cover and crossbeams. Viewed from the driveway, it does appear as if some giant creature had just touched down long enough to bring a 10 by 10-foot section down. That first load of cement-like snow we got right before the first of the year.
When first I saw the mess, I just stared at the damage, resenting the ruined work of my Paul and his friend, the late Jack Halvorson back in 1991. Together they made a gorgeous run of stout cedar posts and well stitched together wire, with barbed wire dug in all around so those burrowing predators would be stymied. 
 
It’s rotten to lose something made by those you love and have also lost. But then I realized that perhaps The Great White had done me a good turn. I let the hens out to free range in good weather anyway, so why not just turn the run into a big veggie and flower garden? The sides are already there. I know Paul would agree. As for old Jack, well, he’d probably give me one of his dubious stares and say, “It’s your time and sweat.” 
 
So far no damage has been done to my body by The Great White....but then there are still a few more months to go before I can be sure of that. The first time out of the shed with my little red electric snowblower was a near miss, though. Pushing and pushing that contraption through that wet, heavy snow was nigh impossible. I grunted, I strained, I panted like a dog, and I swore like a sailor. Frankly, I used muscles not engaged since I gave birth to my darling daughter.
 
And so I did the wise thing. I retired the blower and called for help. Now my paths are smooth and chiseled things of beauty that are just wide enough for me to ride around on my Norwegian kicksled with buckets of grain on the seat.  Happiness in chore doing restored.
 
I will admit that I take doing chores in double-digit below zero weather quite seriously. I always have my phone and when the weather report is particularly alarming, the critters get double rations just in case going out the next day proves to be foolhardy. But who is to say what and when is foolhardy?
 
That thought occurred to me while kick sledding to the chicken coop last week in below zero weather. I was remembering an old colleague of mine at the News-Herald, back when Steve Fernlund owned the newspaper. Duane Honsowetz was his name and he was an old-school journalist AND woodsman...Crusty, principled and feigning a fed-up with life attitude - mostly a cover I think.  We got along just fine. I thought of Duane last week because he died in weather such as this on his trap line, somewhere off in the woods - certainly not a foolhardy thing to do, as he had done it hundreds of times before.
The story was that Duane had suffered a stroke while checking his traps in the deep winter woods.  And although I wished he had not been alone out there, I couldn’t help but be grateful that my old comrade didn’t breathe his last covering a county board or city council meeting, I hoped he was at peace, under the sky lit with stars, instead of the glare of fluorescent lights.
 
Morbid? Not a bit. For a kid whose favorite book of poetry was Robert Service’s Spell of the Yukon, the white landscape of the far north was a brilliant backdrop where the shadow of death danced and teased those prospectors and vagabonds wanderers who dared to venture inside her lair… Here’s a stanza I committed to memory long, long ago, I find it quite appropriate as we once again face below zero temps in the coming days.
 
From Service’s poem The Spell of the Yukon, from the book of the same name,
“The winter! The brightness that blinds you!
The white land locked tight as a drum/
The cold fear that follows and finds you/
The silence that bludgeons you dumb/
The snows that are older than history/
The woods where the weird shadow slant/
The stillness, the moonlight/the mystery/
I’ve bade ‘em goodbye......but I can’t.”
 
I whispered this stanza on my way back from the chickens that night last week, breathing each word in frosty vapors into the night. And while there was no prospectors gold ore in my basket, there were riches. My hens gave me seven big brown eggs and one greenish blue, beauty. 

Mercury and Venus blazed in the clear Eastern sky over the old White Pine and Duane’s spirit and Service’s poetry rode the sled with me, good companions that night and throughout this winter of The Great White. She is a ferocious, yet mysteriously seductive mistress known well by both men.  And by me as well; blissfully ignorant, but ever so grateful.
 
For WTIP, this is Vicki Biggs-Anderson with Magnetic North
 

There's been an increase in reports of bobcats along the North Shore recently.  WTIP's CJ Heithoff checks in with Chel Anderson to find out more about the feline animal in this edition of North Woods Naturalist.

Wildersmith on the Gunflint     by     Fred Smith     January 25, 2019    

Last weeks’ report had barely hit the airwaves when my mention of the usual north woods January cold spell being AWOL surrendered to a big turn-around. Folks living in the territory know of what I’m talking, while others in WTIP range, who may be wondering what it’s like on the Gunflint, can be assured it has been seriously cold.                                                                

How cold was it? Temps have remained below zero here in border country for most days since a week ago today (Friday). While temperatures vary considerably from place to place, at Wildersmith, thirty below zero and lower was common for a number of mornings with a brisk minus 40 recorded last Sunday morning.                                                                                                                                                       

These are actual thermometer readings, not the hokey wind chill sensationalism from the weather media. If one lives out this way, you don’t have to be told its dangerously cold when even the slightest the wind is blowing as such is done in Urbania for oblivious younger generations                                                                                                                                                    

Needless to say, outdoor activities around here have been curtailed except for critter feeding time, runs to the mailbox and many trips to the woodshed. The Smith’s have just hunkered down and enjoyed the warmth around a crackling wood burner. The romance of cozying up on a still, bitterly cold night in the north woods can’t be matched, especially when one doesn’t have to get out in the morning for a trek to work.                                                                                                              

Meanwhile, miracles of life below zero go on un-interrupted amongst our “wild neighborhood” critters. How those pert little chickadees and nuthatches survive is incredible. And as if frost on the windows wasn’t enough evidence of bitter cold, jay birds and pine grosbeaks were fluffed up like puff balls as they wait for time at the feed tray. While pine martens and squirrels, with frosted whiskers and nary a shiver, seem undaunted in their daily morsel search.                                                                                                                                                             
During our last trip to the Village, we came upon a moose trio in the middle of the Trail near Little Iron Lake. It was a momma and her twin adolescents. Getting to see them in multiples is always a treat.                                                                                                                                                                                     

They were blocking traffic, of course, so we slowed to a stop. Momma readily departed into the ditch. However, it was a different story for her kids as they struggled to remain upright on the icy surface. After some slip-sliding about, the gawky juveniles made it to the safety of the snowy roadside and disappeared into the forest.                                                                                          

Visiting with a friend a few hours later, it was disclosed she came upon a trio in the same location just moments after we had passed. Guess the salt on the road must have been a tasty attraction in that locale and lured them back onto the ice-covered blacktop.                                                                                                                    

The storied John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon heads north from Duluth to Grand Portage, starting on Sunday. While the 2019 course has been shortened to three hundred miles, it will nevertheless be heading up the Gunflint Trail to Trail Center Monday, with early leaders expected around 10:00 am. After a mandatory layover, all should be departed by around 10:00 in the evening on their way to the Grand Portage finish.                                                                                                                         

The best means of catching a glimpse of the mushers as they come up this way would be to check the Beargrease website or to be in the mid-trail area during the day. Of course, there will be plenty of canine energy, excitement and color as usual out here, and at Grand Portage, which is not that far away. Come on out and give these teams a Gunflint Community welcome.                                                                                                                                                                                                         
For WTIP, this is Wildersmith on the Gunflint Trail, where life below zero is great, even though a bit unforgiving for the faint of heart!
 

White-tailed deer can be found across almost all of North America, and our area is no exception.  However, the North Shore climate creates some unique challenges for deer, particularly in the winter.

WTIP's CJ Heithoff talks with naturalist Chel Anderson about how deer manage the snow and other wintry conditions in this edition of North Woods Naturalist.

NORTHERN SKY

Deane Morrison         

 As January heads into the home stretch, the morning show, starring Venus and Jupiter, is still going strong. Brilliant Venus has begun a descent into the sunrise, as it does whenever it’s getting ready for another trip behind the sun. Meanwhile, Earth is gaining on Jupiter in the orbital race, and this makes Jupiter climb through the morning sky. On Tuesday, January 22nd, Jupiter slides past Venus on its way up. At the end of the month, Jupiter and Venus will be about nine degrees apart.

 Also on January 31st, you’ll see a waning crescent moon close to Venus. And, if skies are dark, the red star Antares, in Scorpius, off to the right of Jupiter, at about the same distance as Venus. On February 1st, a thinner crescent moon appears below Venus. If you imagine a line from Venus to the moon and extend it down toward the horizon, you may spot Saturn. Earth is catching up to Saturn, too, so the ringed planet is also on its way up in the morning.

But the real show happens in the evening sky on the night of Sunday, January 20, when we get a total eclipse of a supermoon. This full moon deserves that name because it’ll be less than 24 hours from perigee, its closest approach to Earth in a lunar cycle. When the moon rises over Grand Marais—at 4:17 p.m.—you may notice that it’s bigger and brighter than your average full moon. Now, here is a play by play of the eclipse. 

 At 9:34 p.m. the moon’s leading edge makes contact with the Earth’s umbra, or dark inner shadow,  and the shadow starts to spread.

 At 10:41 p.m. totality begins. The moon is now completely engulfed in the umbra. An observer on the moon would see a total solar eclipse, due to Earth blotting out the sun.  The observer may also see a ring of fire around the Earth. The red ring comes from Earth’s atmosphere bending red light from sunsets and sunrises into the umbra, and some of it hits the moon. From our point of view, this light often turns the moon’s face reddish—what we call a blood moon—during a total lunar eclipse.

 At 11:12 p.m. the moon passes closest to the center of the umbra, and it’ll be in deepest shadow.

At 11:43 p.m. totality ends. At this point, the leading edge of the moon breaks out of the umbra.

At 12:51 a.m. on January 21, the moon frees itself from the last vestiges of umbra and the show is over.

 During the height of a lunar eclipse, if you can see the darkened moon or at least remember where it was with respect to the stars when it disappeared, you can use it to find astronomical objects that otherwise would have been washed out by moonlight. This time, you may find the dim but lovely Beehive star cluster. Look to the lower left of the moon, about 12 moon widths away.

 The Beehive is a feature of Cancer, the crab. It’s between Gemini, one of the winter constellations, and Leo, the quintessential spring constellation. To the naked eye it’s just a fuzzy spot, but with binoculars, you can make out the stars. In 1609 Galileo was the first to observe the Beehive telescopically. He counted 36 stars, but there are actually more like a thousand. The Beehive’s Latin name is Praesepe, or manger. The cluster is framed by two stars called Aselli, which are donkeys feeding at the manger. The Beehive’s stars were all born in the same stellar nursery and have stayed together for the approximately 600 million years of their lifetime.

Wildersmith on the Gunflint     by     Fred Smith      January 18, 2019    
 
As the old-time western hero, Gene Autry, once sang, “I’m back in the saddle again.” Though it’s a feeble analogy, I’m really back at the keyboard again.                                                                    
 
Another trip to Iowa completes the Christmas season with our daughter, along with a visit to some longtime Hawkeye friends, and the Smiths’ have returned to this pure white paradise. Our wintertime traveling was uneventful, and one doesn’t have to go too far south before a little yucky urban snow and mostly browns of autumn extends as far as the eye can see.                                                                                                                                                              
 
Guess we are pretty lucky to have what we have here in border country. Mistakes of “Mother Nature” and the “excesses of mankind” can leave the landscape pretty ugly when its’ not covered with snow or hidden by foliage.                                                                                                                                                      
 
It’s for sure the word is out amongst power sledding fans regarding the areas’ snow cover. During our drive north up highway 61 last Sunday, if I met one, I may have met ten thousand snowmobile units being toted back toward Metropolis.                                                              

The woods must have been howling with sledding traffic last weekend. Suppose there will be more activity around here until other areas of the state get some attention from “old man winter.” In the meantime, one has to be happy for area businesses catering to our snowmobiling visitors as conditions have been a bit late taking shape.                                                                                                                                                                                
 
In contrast to those speeding along the Trails, our great snow cover is also accommodating those who prefer the peace and quiet of swooshing through the woods. The now deep snowpack has allowed groomers to have the ski trail system in what looks to be terrific condition.                                                                                                                                                       

Perhaps not too happy with all the borderland white were the anglers who hit the ice for the trout opener last weekend. After early ice on, and near perfect ice thickening situations, big snows of late have cast a deep cover of insulation and weight on lake surfaces. Such has hidden annoying slush and water above a foot and more of ice.                                                                                 
 
Anglers’ angst, in addition to spotty catching, was exacerbated by having to dig equipment and sleds out of the gooey slop. Of all equipment needed for the fishing excursion, high boots appear to have been the most important!                                                                                                                                                       
 
Not much snow was added in the upper Gunflint territory during my absence (maybe an inch or two in the Wildersmith neighborhood).  In spite of recent accumulations being on the lean side, depths along the Trail range from knee to waist depending upon where one steps. In fact, the buildup on my roof is getting me to think of pulling it off in case another big dose comes our way, thus making the job more difficult than it is presently.                                                                                        
 
At this scribing, temps are relatively warm for these parts. We’ve yet to be on the receiving end of one of those bitter cold, below zero January streaks. It would seem if the area gets by the next two weeks and into February, we may be home free from a bone-chilling “Polar Vortex” for the season. To miss one of these breath freezing happenings likely wouldn’t make too many folks unhappy, although bragging rights for who was the coldest will be left hanging!       
 
With the Ojibwe, “Great Spirit” moon of January lighting up the northern skies in the wee hours of Monday AM, it’s hard to imagine month two is in the conversation already. Although winter is barely a month old according to the calendar, we head into week four with seed catalogs in the mail, packets of garden renewals on display racks and “green thumbers”visioning seed pods and grow lights.                                                                                                           T

The cold of winter can often bring sadness, and such is the case in the Gunflint Community once again. Some reader/ listeners may already be aware of the passing of perhaps the last Gunflint pioneer icon.  It’s with remorse I report the loss of Rolf Skrien at age 97.   Rolf departed from our midst on January 2^nd.                                                                                                                              
                                                                                                         
He first came to the Gunflint Trail in 1929 on a camping trip with his father, and so fell in love with the territory, he returned in 1946 after serving his country in World War Two. He called the end of the Trail home for most of his life until settling in Apache Junction, Arizona during his later years.                                                                                                                                                                                         

A celebration of Rolf’s life will be held this Sunday, January 20, visitation at 1:00 pm, service at 2:00 in the Bethlehem Lutheran Church. The Gunflint Trail Community offers condolences to his surviving family and many friends. More of Rolf’s story can be found in his obit on WTIP.org.                                                                                                                                                                     

For WTIP, this is Wildersmith, on the Gunflint Trail, where every day is great, regardless of cold, warm or season of the year!
 

The North Shore has received significant snowfall over the past few weeks.  WTIP's CJ Heithoff checks in with naturalist Chel Anderson to learn how this snow affects our wildlife. Chel also explains the rare wonder of snow fog in this edition of North Woods Naturalist.

Magnetic North  -  by Vicki Biggs-Anderson 
January 10, 2019

"Too Much of a Goat Thing"

Welcome back to Magnetic North, where all creatures, great and small, have been dutifully preparing for deep winter snow and below zero cold for months. Oh, not by stocking up on flashlights, or making sure there’s a shovel by every door, but by physically preparing to meet and beat the elements  - I speak not of exercise, but of the age-old custom of carb loading, handed down to us from our elders, who looked upon being slender as a sign of either poverty or illness.

Thank goodness times have changed. From hot dishes to pasties, to pasta and breads in all shapes and sizes and textures, we consume what we must to survive the elements.

And for those of us who tend critters, thought must also be given to their diet, along with deeper hay to sleep in and heated water buckets for all. 

As luck would have it, carb loading for critters doesn’t mean that I have to prepare hot dishes or bake focaccia for them daily. No, it just means adding something called “scratch” to the chicken, duck and goose feeders. And....until this winter, offering a handful of the stuff to each of my five goats as they push and shove each other around their daily ration of hay.

Scratch, for those of you who are not conversant in farm-speak, is a toothsome combination of cracked, rolled, or whole grains such as corn, barley, oats. Sounds rather dull to us, I know, but to a chicken or goat, scratch is akin to what we humans call “crack.” One beak full of the stuff and you have created a glassy-eyed addict. As for the goats, more than once I’ve been caught in a  goat vortex while doling scratch from a bucket. 

So, why not just pour it into a feeder? Simple, unlike birds, for goats, too grain doesn’t make them fat. It makes them dead.
Sadly, grain is inherently foreign to a goats’ fiber loving digestive system, which consists of four stomachs, the first of which is the rumen. Hence, goats, sheep and cows are......ruminants! 

As anyone with tummy trouble can imagine, having four stomachs puts goats at major risk of eating the wrong thing, like grain. They can have a bit of it to add calories to their fibrous hay diets in winter, but  too much and they develop a fatal condition called bloat. Sadly, my milk goat, Hart, died of it some years back, after she sneaked into the garage and nosed open the feed can filled to the brim with scratch. 

Nevertheless, this year, I decided that instead of handfuls of scratch each day, the goats would get Goat Chow, an all purpose grain and fiber in pellet form. My motive; to avoid dealing with 60 bales of hay in the garage.

And so it was. I set out three big feeding tubs on the other side of the backyard yard fence and poured enough goat chow int each to feed five goats. And doing so,  nearly killed my big boy goat, Bosco.

You see, Bosco is Boss, King, Almighty Goat God to his four does. And, as such, he eats first. That meant that he gobbled most of the grain in all three feeders, the equivalent of four coffee cans full of food. I knew his piggish streak, but for whatever reason, I didn’t’ monitor the new feeding system thinking that  I’d placed the tubs far enough apart to allow the does to feed uninterrupted by Bosco. I couldn’t have been more wrong...

The next morning, when I looked out on the meadow I saw something amiss immediately. Four goats, not five, were nibbling on the dried grasses sticking up through the snow. Bunny, Bitsy, Biscuit, and Poppy, but no Bosco.

After calling and calling him, I hoofed it out to the barn only to find the big link sitting down. The old adage, “when a goat goes down, they stay down,” went through my mind as I petted his head and put my head next to his belly.  The usual gurgling of a healthy rumen was barely perceptible. Bloat.

So I did what 28  years of having to vet goats myself have taught me to do. I grabbed a Sven saw and headed for the willow swamp off the driveway, where I sawed down a smallish tree -and hauled it out to Bosco. The other goats followed behind me into the barn, and I expected to have to beat them off the tree en route, but not one of them tried to steal the medicine tree away from their guy. 

When Bosco took that first sweet twig into his mouth and began to eat it, I held out the slimmest of hope that he would pull through.

And pull through he did. As if to allay my worst fears, Bosco was standing at the fence at sunrise the next morning, a bit early for him to be up but I figure he was after more of that grain. Fortunately, I was able to get a special delivery of sweet, green hay that afternoon and Bosco and his girls have had their fill of it each day ever since. There is no way a goat can OD on hay.

The other critters are tucked in for winter properly, with some comfort additions to the coop and the shed attached to the garage. The bantam chickens have a heated water bowl this winter and an anteroom all to themselves - no ducks to muddy the water. The ducks and geese have a ten-gallon heated water bucket, too massive for even Thema and Louise, the big Buffs Geese to knock over. These two heated additions may drive up my electric bill, but doing a cost/benefit analysis, so crucial for women of a certain age like myself, I decided that avoiding lower back strain from carrying frozen water buckets is worth every penny spent.

At least, it WAS until my big lab/golden mix tore his left back ACLl AND tested positive for Lymes. Apparently, ticks live and bite all year long now. So one visit to the vet and two to go, plus meds to clear up the Lymes, is making me reassess the cost of heated water buckets. My core could definitely use some work and as for those upper arms, well, three months of bucket workouts should whittle down those flab flaps just a bit.

My world is complicated by such ups and downs because I chose to share the place I love most of all with so many domestic critters, who, like us, get sick or gimped up on occasion.

But for my trouble, I get fresh eggs, cashmere fleece from the goats, angora fiber from the rabbits and love approaching worship from the two dogs and two cats. From my perspective, that’s one heck of a deal and far more interesting and joy-filled life than I ever dreamed would one day be mine.

For WTIP, this is Vicki Biggs-Anderson with Magnetic North.
 

Despite the cold, some eagles do stay along the North Shore during the winter months.  WTIP's CJ Heithoff talks with Chel Anderson about what those eagles are up this time of year in this edition of North Woods Naturalist.