Tag Archives: Outdoors

Recreation

Signs of Spring

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Nearly a week into May and it still feels like March.  I admit it, this is depressing.  And looking ahead at the weather forecast, it doesn’t get any better.  That big old ice cube in the lake is going to be with us for some time, so “cooler by the lake” is a reality for the long haul.

Despite the drab skies and being surrounded by brown barren ground, this afternoon I set off to find Spring.  Traveling up Seven Bridges Road, I diligently scanned the roadside and woods.  Surely the IMG_4016further inland I traveled, the greater the likelihood of finding something green.  Hoping that I might stumble across a micro climate to nurture growth and possibly even an early season blossom, I continued on.  Optimistically.  But it wasn’t to be found.  The best I could do was some early emerging wild lupine.  Just seeing the young leaves was a hopeful sign.  And the more I looked, the more clusters I saw coming up through the otherwise desolate ground.

Realizing that I wasn’t going to find spring flowers, I tried to liberate my mind from its narrow mission.  And the longer I walked the more I discovered other indicators.  Just the fact that the road was snow-free was a good start.  For a surface untouched by snow plows and trampled by snowmobiles and foot traffic, it took a lot longer to melt.  So that was progress.  Runners, dog walkers and cyclists IMG_4019were out taking advantage of this transformation.  Surely that was a symptom of spring.  Amity Creek was awash in spring run-off, rushing down toward Lake Superior and creating white water wherever it coursed over rocks and fell over steep drops.  I only had to ignore the snow still clinging to the shady riverbanks.  Coming up on one of the road’s famous stone bridges, I spied a young couple snuggled up close and enjoying the view.  Ah, spring lovebirds.  Speaking of birds, there was a symphony of song in the woods, if one only stopped to listen.  And come to think of it, I heard a flock of loons fly overhead this morning, easily identified by their distinctive plaintive cry.  Spring migration at its finest.

It’s slow in coming.  But the signs are there.  I still haven’t given up on finding those wildflowers in bloom.  I just may have to venture further away from the lake to find them.

North Shore Triple Exposure

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It was a long week.  Especially for those of us who thrive on outdoor activity.  Day after day of hard driving winds, sleet and rain meant squeezing in workouts in the “least bad” part of the day, and bearing the gloomy skies from behind rain-soaked windows for the remainder.

So when today dawned bright and sunny, in was an irresistible invitation to reconnect with Mother Nature.  And by instinct I headed for the North Shore.  My first engagement was my morning run.  Padding down the road along Brighton Beach, I took in the rich blue of the sky and the water reflecting the same deep hues.  The intensity of the colors filled my soul, after days of drabness deprived of this beauty.  Bright white ice still clung to the shoreline, in stark contrast with the blue – a dazzling sight.  The heavy gray rocks added the perfect balance and seemed to anchor the scene.  It was easy to press on, mile after mile admiring the shore and drinking in the sunlight.  Lacking a camera, I had to memorize the images of the shore in my mind instead.

As the day progressed and still we were graced with the sun, I knew I hadn’t yet had enough.  For my second encounter I enlisted a friend and cycled up the shore.  The same spell-binding scene passed by even more quickly as we pedaled.  Although the air was cool by the frigid water, it felt refreshing and crisp with the aid of the sun.  At Stony Point we circled back on the dirt road along the shoreline.  Where days earlier the pounding waves and high splashing water were the attraction, today it was a tranquil setting where a family picnicked on the rocks.  This time I had a camera in my trunk bag, but I was enjoying the ride too much to bother stopping to try and capture it.

After dinner I was enticed out to takeIMG_4005 a walk with my husband.  Hearing a boat toot for the bridge, we were inexorably drawn back to Brighton Beach once more.  My third visit to the shore for the day.  With the shipping lane finally opening up with increased traffic, the boat made rapid progress and was soon opposite our position.  The sun was low but still shone on the shallow ice as well as the passing ore boat.IMG_4012

Finally I was able to get some photos.  On foot, not distracted by the need to keep moving, I found the right motivation to focus and shoot.  I could record the end of the day, if not the beginning and middle.  I guess the third time’s the charm.

Embracing the Wind

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IMG_0851We didn’t need the weather forecast to tell us it was an ugly day.  We could tell just by listening to the wind howl and seeing the drab wet skies.  Just to emphasize the point, we discovered that a huge pine tree had fallen behind our house during the night.  It was so tall, it nearly reached the neighbor’s house from the lot line where it once stood.  So sad – it takes years and years to grow them that tall.

So what does one do in such nasty weather?  Why go out and watch it, of course.  We jumped into the car with our cameras and headed up the North Shore to get a look at Mother Nature in all her fury.  With 30+ mph winds blasting out of the NE, there had to be some enormous waves.  Duluth was socked in by ice, brought in by that very same wind, so our plan was to outdrive it and find open water.

IMG_3971 adjustedStony Point was our first stop, and it didn’t disappoint.  Watching the waves from the car was impressive, with high flying spray that soaked the rocks right up to the road.  We were content to take it all in from the protection of our vehicle, then decided we had to get out.  Just opening the car door I could feel the strength of the wind.  Standing up in it and trying to steady a camera was another matter.  What power.  It’s no wonder my photos didn’t do justice to the wind and the waves.

IMG_3982Our next destination was Split Rock Lighthouse.  We expected to see spectacular waves pounding the base of the lighthouse.  But we didn’t take into account that the best view was from the leeward side of the beacon.  Naturally the waves would be crashing on the other side.  But rounding the corner from our vantage point, we found a bay with a lot of IMG_3983action.  It also had the advantage of being sheltered from the wind.  We could watch the crashing waves and snap photos in the relative comfort of the protected bay.

It was cold and wet, but the car was warm.  And there was that comforting latte from the Mocha Moose on the way home.  Yes, I’m glad we embraced the wind and the opportunity for a morning’s adventure.

Music in the Park

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We’d seen the signs all week long.  Music in the Park on Sunday evening.  It was an alluring invitation – right in the development, a warm summery evening, and only a bike ride away.  With Dad feeling tired and interested in going to bed early, we decided to treat ourselves to a night out.

Approaching the park, we were amazed to see the line-up of cars.  And even more surprised by the golf cart that passed us, with a glass of wine in the hand of the passenger!  Realizing that the event was in a private venue, it suddenly dawned on us that anything was fair game.   Indeed, all around us were gourmet picnic spreads, bottles of wine, and even tables with balloons.  We arrived with two cans of pop and the remnants of a bag of pretzels in hand.

Without lawn chairs, we settled Concertourselves on an open patch of grass and flipped open our pop.  Clearly we were a pitiable site, as we soon had offers of a blanket, food and wine from the friendly people around us.  Being good Minnesotans, we politely declined several times.  But we could hold out only so long, and ultimately succumbed to glasses of very nice red wine.

The music turned out to be lively and fun.  While enjoying the doo wop rock, blues and classic country music of the 50s and early 60s, the concert was suddenly interrupted by sirens.  The Blues Brothers arrived via an old police car with a classic Bellaire sheriff’s vehicle in pursuit!  They joined the musicians and doubled the entertainment.  Between the music and the warm evening, it was a great time.

Blues Brothers and MollyWe decided it was best to leave before dark, which just happened to be when the Blues Brothers made their exit.  Naturally, they clamored for a picture with me, so I graciously obliged!

In the words of the musicians, “Oh what a night…”

 

Life in the Slow Lane

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Florida. The land of retirees and a whole different pace of life. While we technically fit into the retiree category, we have not yet adopted a more leisurely pace. So it’s a bit of an adjustment to adapt to this alternate lifestyle.  Even for a short visit. But with the loan of my sister-in-law’s bike, I’m making progress.

It’s called a cruiser. One speed, fatGetting the hang of this cruiser tires, big wide handlebars, a cushy seat and coaster brakes. Hers must be a designer model as it also has white sidewalls and is an eye-catching mint green. Truly a classic.

We all had this kind of bikes as kids – it’s what we learned on. So it should be intuitive, right? Well, not quite. After spending the last two years perfecting the nuances of my long distance touring bike with it’s umpteen speeds and cycling shoes, suddenly this masterpiece of simplicity felt foreign beneath me.

My first challenge was the handlebars. Their wide reach meant that any small movement was magnified by the front tire, making it extremely sensitive. As I set off down the road, I felt as though I was veering right and left. I was just certain that I would plow into the path of the next approaching car. Fortunately, it quickly evened out as I pedaled.

The bigger hurdle was stopping. How the heck was I supposed to use my feet for both braking and standing up when I stopped? I don’t remember that ever being an issue as a kid. Perhaps as an adult I think too much. I’m sure I left a few layers of rubber sole on the pavement at the first few intersections. But I gradually got the hang of braking with one foot and dropping the other to catch myself before falling. Mostly. I admit I’m still working on smoothing out that technique.

Thankfully, this area has wonderful bike paths. Wide, smoothly paved and totally lacking in hills, they are perfect for cruising on a bike. Once off the neighborhood streets, blissfully safe from cars and with few intersections, I began to get into the experience. I enjoyed the cooling effect of the wind on the hot, sunny afternoon. Lacking my tight fitting cycling gear, I relished the sloppy way my soccer shorts flapped in the wind, and my loose T-shirt fluttered around me. No need to be aerodynamic.

With only one speed, I discovered the joy of coasting. On gentle downward slopes, the bike sped up of its own accord. I couldn’t ratchet up any gears for more force, and it was pointless to spin my feet faster and faster in an attempt to catch up with the speed of the tires. So the only thing to do was glide and enjoy it. Whee!

When I did cross the occasional drive, I made sure to slow down and anticipate traffic. With an occasional wobble when cars approached, I figured they must think me a doddering grandma out on my bike. Then I realized that’s just what I was! A humbling thought, but not enough to deter me.

Riding for the pure joy of being outside in beautiful weather soon took over. Miles were inconsequential. Speed was meaningless. Distance didn’t matter. A novel experience. Life in the slow lane. I think I’m starting to get it.

One Day of Birds

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What do you get when you cross a passion for photography with a life-long love of birds?  365 Days of Birds – my husband Rich’s latest project.  It’s a year long challenge he created for himself, dedicated to photographing a bird a day. As a fairly new amateur photographer, his intent was to use the assignment to improve his photography skills.

Now we are 61 days into the project.  Yes, we.  For although it’s Rich’s project, it has a habit of spilling over into my life as well.  All the way out to Colorado and back, he scanned the skies.  After all, he had to get his bird for the day.  Then there are the pre-dawn ventures, hoping to get that golden hour light on his birds.  Or the spontaneous photo opps on our way home from church.  I never realized this project would be so all-consuming.  But I will also grant that he has gotten some amazing photos.

Although Rich has frequently invited me to accompany him on his bird hunts or other photo shoots, I don’t often go along.  I’ve learned that I just don’t have the dedication, patience and persistence that it takes to get the perfect photo.  Nor do I have much staying power in the bitter cold – a staple for photographers in northern Minnesota.  So I accept my limitations and pursue my own passions.  Writing in the warmth of our lovely home, with a big mug of steaming coffee nearby suits me quite well.

This evening I must have let my guard down, as I agreed to accompany Rich out to see a Great Horned Owl and her owlets in a nearby park.  Armed with my own camera and tripod, I set up shop next to Rich and promptly photographed the dead stub of a branch on the tree.  A nearby photographer with a foot-long lens on his camera kindly set me straight, and it became clear just how well camouflaged Mrs. Owl was.  And peering at the display on the back of my camera, I could just make out the owlet.  To the naked eye, both were nearly invisible.

Somewhere overhead, father owl perched invisibly in a tree.  I couldn’t see him at all until he swooped down and flew overhead to a distant grove of trees.  From there, he traded hoots with Mrs. Owl and baby owlet turned to the sound of his voice.  That was really cool.  Unfortunately, so was I.  As the cold seeped through my jacket and my fingers turned to useless stiff appendages, my interest waned.  Still, I was glad I’d seen them and hoped I’d gotten at least one decent photo.

So now I ask, what do you get when you cross a fair weather wanna-be photographer with a natural reverence for majestic creatures?  One Day of Birds.

Mrs. Owl and her owlet

Mrs. Owl and her owlet

 

 

 

 

Mid-Winter Perfection

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The latest snowfall resulted in a rapid accumulation of 6″ or more. It easily wiped out all signs of the melting that had been going on the last few days, as well as the resulting ice. Before 5:00am we could hear the thrum of a diesel engine idling just up the road. That meant that the groomer was out on the ski trails.

Never mind that this was the third day of spring. Nor the fact that I’d already declared I was hanging up my skis for the season. The opportunity was too good to miss. What I didn’t bargain for was the fact that the temperature had plummeted overnight. Two degrees registered on the thermometer. Really? All the layers I’d banished to the bottom of the drawer came back out again. I even popped toe warmers into my ski boots. And with a fierce wind blowing, I didn’t regret a single item.

Perhaps it’s not too surprising that there was not a car in the parking lot, nor a single ski track on the virgin groomed trails. Who else would be out on this cold spring day before the sun was fully up? Shivering ever so slightly I set off, confident that the relentless uphill climb at Lester would help warm me up.

DSCN0169The woods were blanketed in snow, and the trail was firm and fresh. The crusty snow and ice that I knew lay beneath the new powder were deeply buried, as if the dicey spring skiing conditions of a few days earlier had never existed. The sun spread long shadows across the snow from its low angle, too weak yet to shed any warmth. But it was pretty.

DSCN0166Even my tiny camera protested the cold by shutting down soon after I extricated the cold metal object from my pocket. Baring my fingers to the brutal cold, I learned to snap quickly to get one picture before it realized its battery was too cold to function.

I had conveniently forgotten how slow the snow is when it’s that cold, and there was little glide to my skis. But I pressed on regardless. I even continued for a second lap around the trail system. This wasn’t about setting speed records. And I was no longer training for races. I could just ski for the sake of enjoyment.

If I ignored the calendar, I could relish the perfection of the conditions, fooled into thinking what perfect winter skiing it was. Sometimes it’s best to live in the moment, oblivious to the seasons.

Yet another ice attraction?

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IMG_3702The sea caves are not the only attraction available this winter due to the ice on Lake Superior.  I recently learned that one could also walk out to see “Uncle Harvey’s Mausoleum” – the listing cement monstrosity that sits in the water just off the Lakewalk at Canal Park. There is nothing attractive about this structure which was built by Harvey Whitney in 1919 as a sand and gravel hopper.  He was hoping to provide the materials for an outer harbor breakwater.  Alas, no such plans materialized and it was abandoned in 1922.  And still it sits, impervious to Lake Superior’s wind and waves.

In summer time the cement edifice does provide a certain tourist attraction.  It has great allure for teenagers wishing to show off their cold-water swimming, climbing and diving prowess.  The result is quite a spectacle for those of us who prefer to remain safely rooted to the shore.  Lithe young bodies seem to show up in all available openings, and manage to clamber up to the tops of the walls, which are open to the sky.  From there they fling themselves into the frigid waters below.

I can’t really claim any urgent need to see inside the building except the fact that it was now possible to do so.  Why not wander out and have a look?  So I did.  Even though the ice was thick, the slush on top made me a tad queasy, and I am certain I looked every bit the old lady as a carefully picked my way across the slippery ice.

The inside turned out to be every bit as ugly as the outside.  Even the ice formations on the foundations did little to enhance its visual appeal.  I could hear children crawling through the cavities of the building, squealing with delight, and envied their greater sense of adventure.  And I still couldn’t figure out how those teenagers scale up to the top.  Some things will remain a mystery.

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For me the more intriguing aspects were the views I could get through the windows.  From outside, I was able to see across the interior and back out again to the lighthouses at the end of the canal piers.  Lowering myself into the large internal cavity, I could see through the window on the opposite side to the city hillside beyond.  I decided that the building’s best vantage point was as a frame for the more scenic views around it.

IMG_3697 IMG_3699It certainly didn’t compare to the amazing sea caves.  But I’ll admit to being drawn to see the attraction.  And I’ve satisfied my curiosity.  Okay, it was a fun little adventure.  Even if it wasn’t attractive.

Of Summits and Snowflakes

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With my stay at Snow Mountain Ranch drawing to a close, I wanted to make the most of the time I had left. My final day of work I was scheduled for an afternoon shift, which left me plenty of time to get in a decent ski earlier in the day. There was only one major trail that I had not yet skied, so imagine my delight to find that it had been groomed that very morning. Others had broken trail with back country skis, but that didn’t appeal to me, and this was the first time it had been groomed in two months. I set my heart on completing the trail.

My first hurdle was the advice I received from more experienced skiers in the Nordic Center. They warned me of the steep terrain and difficulty of the climb. I hadn’t fully grasped the fact that this trail rose 2,000 feet in elevation! Learning that I didn’t plan to bring any food and drink, they pressed a granola bar on me and I left with some doubts.

When I reached the turnoff for the Blue Ridge Trail, it did indeed climb. But I decided that I’d pursue each leg of the switchbacks and go as far as I could. As it turns out, the trail did climb relentlessly, but the climbs were not steep. And as long as I stopped periodically (okay, frequently) to catch my breath, I was able to continue. To further spur me along, the higher I got, the better the views. Feasting my eyes on at least 180 degrees of mountain ranges was inspiring, and further excuse to pause along the way. The grooming was impeccable with a firm surface despite the warming sun, and I relished the fact that my ski tracks were the first ones there. Reaching the summit was almost an anticlimax, as there was no sign to commemorate my accomplishment, nor a clear peak to the mountain at 10,670 ft. Even the selfie photo I took to show me at the summit really doesn’t prove much of anything – but I knew I’d made it.

The return trip was a glorious ride down. I was tired but thrilled I’d completed the whole trail and happy that I reached the summit. And that granola bar did taste good at the top.

On my final day, I set off with two friends for a women’s snowshoe hike. Fran has been coming to Snow Mountain Ranch as a volunteer for years, and offered to lead the hike. Patti was new to snowshoeing, so we were a motley crew of experience but eager for a day out. Undeterred by the steady snowfall, we donned our layers of clothes, snowshoes and packs with food, water, extra clothing and emergency supplies.

From Grand Lake we took the East Inlet Trail, which immediately led us into Rocky Mountain National Park. Lacking trail markers, we were glad that we could see vague indentations from previous snowshoers. New snow was piling up quickly, and our view was curtailed to our immediate surroundings. But the beauty of the heavy woods draped in snow made up for the mountains we were missing in the distance. The trail was fairly flat, following a branch of the Colorado River for a while, and meandering through the woods. Progress was slow but satisfying, allowing us to drink in the quiet of the woods.

With an out-and-back trail, the inevitable question is when to turn around? It always feels good to reach a specific destination, and Fran had one in mind. As soon as we saw the large rock formation, we knew we’d reached it. The trail narrowed along a ledge and seemed to whither away with the rock looming overhead. We all agreed it was the perfect stopping point, not wanting to test our skills scampering around the end of the rock. Taking a short time out for a snack and drink of water, we began to retraced our steps. With temperatures hovering right about freezing, the falling snow was saturating our clothing and gloves. Keeping moving was the only way to fend off the resulting chill.

Although Fran had frequently seen moose and other wildlife on that trail, we saw not a single critter. Even animal tracks were in short supply. We were the sole inhabitants of the woods, or so it felt. But that was okay. It was the camaraderie that was best about the hike, spending time with new friends and sharing an adventure.

Yes, I think I did well. Both outings were satisfying in different ways, and brought closure to my stay. And I have left plenty more to explore, hoping we’ll be back next year.

A Grand Day Out

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Weather reports are fickle. I held off on my planned outing to Grand Lake until today based on the forecast for “mostly sunny” skies. So when I woke up to a world socked in with clouds, I was dismayed. Still hoping for the promised clearing, I dawdled in a cosy coffee cafe in Grandby with my latte and muffin – a decidedly leisurely way to start the day.

By the time I continued on my way the sun was starting to peak out, although the surrounding mountaintops were all still shrouded in clouds. Ever hopeful, I drove on to the Grand Lake Nordic Center. With 5″ of fresh new snow on the ground, the world was a clean soft undulating surface blanketed in white. The fact that Grand Lake touts their “pristine grooming” was comforting, and I was further cheered upon my arrival to learn that all trails had just been groomed that morning.

Heading out through the woods

The Nordic Center is a comfortable building that converts nicely from its summer personality as the golf clubhouse. Expecting wide open trails on the golf course, I was mystified but thrilled to ski straight into a vast wooded area dominated by tall pole pines. With a firm new skate deck yet a soft snowy surface, the skiing was delightful – especially since there were only a handful of other skiers out on the whole system. I was the first skate skier down nearly every trail I skied – kilometers of fresh corduroy!

Tall pole pines grace the trails

True to the forecast, the day remained mostly sunny. The sun was out all day, although the clouds remained firmly entrenched around the edges. I decided that the woods were scenery enough for me, and that I would relish the sunshine. Mountaintops could wait for another day.

As usual with a new trail system I found myself confounded by too many trail intersections, and was constantly checking my map. Sometimes I decided to just go where the spirit moved me – what difference did it make if I backtracked and covered the same loop twice? I was just out there for the fun, the outdoors and the sunshine. One portion of the trail crossed the Colorado River and paralleled it for a while. I deliberately skied that one twice. By the time I was done I think I covered nearly major piece of trail at least once.

Crossing over the Colorado River

In the end, I did find the golf course. That's where the dog trails are – designated trails where dogs are allowed, and joyfully romp alongside their skiing masters. Since no dogs had gone ahead of me, those trails were as fresh as the rest. The wind did take its toll, however, blowing snow over the tracks even on a nice day like today. All the more reason to stick to the beautiful wooded trails.

Mountaintops finally clear in the distance

By the time I finished skiing, I managed to glimpse the snowy tops of one mountain range. Settling down to eat my lunch beside the wood fire in the Nordic Center, I had the same view out the window. Glorious.

A few days off work, good weather and a trip to new territory has done wonders for my psyche. As nice as it is at Snow Mountain Ranch, it's good to break the routine and do something new. Yes, it was a grand day out. (with apologies to Wallace and Gromit!)