When in drought...

...turn to the gulf.
Last week, as our biggest blizzard of the last several years was raging outside, I was on the phone with my summer neighbor, Norma. I mentioned that the storm system that brought the snow was from the gulf. She said, "So you're blaming this on us?" as she is from Florida. "No," I replied. "This has given me a great title for my blog!" Though I promised the last time that I wrote that it was my final shout out to winter, I was wrong. Mother Nature had other thoughts about that.
On Thursday, we got about two inches. By Friday, we had more, so much more. Greg went out plowing, but mostly ended up getting stuck and having to shovel. I spent some time scraping snow off the roof of the tent, so that it wouldn't collapse. I slogged through heaps that were up to my knees, to go check on cabins. And the whole time, I would alternately laugh or shake my head. April? Eighteen inches of snow? What happened to our usual mud season?
By Saturday, the sky had cleared and the thermometer climbed to thirty. The roofs were dripping as the melting began again in earnest. And Greg was still plowing. At one point, he said that he was literally up to his mirrors in snow. He had to use his skid steer loader and snow bucket in some places, as it was too much for the truck to handle.
I think that I have learned my lesson. No more "this is the last..." declarations. In fact, I still plan to post more snow pictures. Do you think that might finally bring spring our way? I hope so!

One Last Winter Post

Before I totally close out the winter season, I need to have one last post to give a shout-out to the fantastic skiing we enjoyed this year.  In late November, it seemed that we were off to a great start, with the first snowfall right after Thanksgiving.  Unfortunately, it didn't last, thanks to rain and warm temperatures.  But not to worry, as we were skiing again over the holidays.  During January, we suffered another setback, with more rain.  I had secretly been hoping to ski a lot over the winter, so that I could work up enough stamina to ski the Banadad trail.  Ten years prior, I had set that goal, and with my friend Maureen, was able to do it.  I knew that I needed a certain amount of training days if it was really going to happen.  Rain didn't help that cause at all.​

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But then February surprised me.  Normally that can be a drier month, with the sun climbing a bit higher each day, and the snow enduring, but not getting better. This year was different, as we got fresh snowfalls scattered throughout the month.  I was able to get out on the trails fairly often, and started to rack up some decent kilometers.  Maybe there was hope for a long ski adventure after all.​

In early March, it warmed up again and the snow got crusty.  I pretty much ruled out the Banadad, until once again, Mother Nature surprised me and gave us more new snow.  I went skiing with Greg and our friend Ruth right after that, and it felt so great out on the trail.  I made the snap decision that I was just going to go for it.  I figured that I should just do it the next day, and then I wouldn't have time to change my mind.  I packed my knapsack, downloaded a book onto my ipod, and declined to have a beer the night before.  "I'm in training!" I told Greg, when he made the offer.

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So on Wednesday, the 13th of March, Greg drove me down to Poplar Creek B & B,  where the Banadad Trail begins near Poplar Lake.  What a gorgeous day!​  Loads of sunshine and blue sky, perfect for taking photos.  The starting temperature was in the teens, and though it was predicted to get up into the high twenties, I figured the trail would be fine. 

In the ten years that had passed, I noticed that the trees had really grown up.  It was wonderful to be back on a single-track trail, one where the trees lean in a bit, creating a feeling of shelter.  The old East End Trail used to be like that.  I skied along, watching for the landmarks noted on the map.  It wasn't easy to spot them all, as some were just benches placed on the trail.  I spotted one by chance, buried under the deep snow.  When I got to the bridge that crosses over the flowage between Rush and Banadad Lakes, I saw my first sign of spring.  The ice and snow had melted away in patches, and I could see and hear the running water.  That was a happy sight. 

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The trail ahead was not groomed, but since there was only one path through the woods, I knew that I was headed in the right direction.  ​At this point, the temperature was approaching the low thirties. That, combined with the sunshine, really began to challenge me.  The snow was crusting over on top.  I would break through it, and below, the snow would clump to the bottom of my skis.  I stopped to spread on a layer of maxi-glide, which is supposed to make the bottoms of waxless skis move a little better on the snowy surface.  It helped some, but mostly I just needed patience, stopping to knock the rockers off the bottoms of the skis.  Since I was alone, with no where else to go, I just kept persevering, enjoying the day, the snow, and the sun.

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Overall, it took me a little longer to finish than I expected.  It is approximately 17 miles, and I did it in 6.5 hours.  With a sense of relief and accomplishment, I took off my skis and got into the car at the western end of the trail to head home.

In the days since, I've debated whether or not I will try it again.  That will depend on snow and schedules in future years, but one thing I know for certain.  It might be best to do it again sooner, rather than wait ten years.   It is a great trail, and I'd love to see it again, to check on the progress of that wonderful young forest growing in there.​

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Snowy Spring

As spring times go, this one feels really normal. Large snow banks punctuate the landscape, the ground is more white than brown, and the thermometer does not seem to want to move out of the thirties. In general, it still looks a lot like winter.

Yesterday, new snow fell on us, all day long. At the same time, the roof was dripping, indicating that it was melting. It's such an interesting time of the year. I enjoy watching the struggle between the old season, trying hard to hang on, and the new one ahead.  Some days, it feels like spring is getting a good foothold. Other days, not so much.

Despite the best efforts on both sides of the struggle, some signs of progress continue.  While I was in Grand Marais today, I noticed some ducks in the harbor.  They were bobbing along on the waves, and occasionally would pop below the surface.  They were too far away for me to identify, but it was good to see them just the same.  Closer to home, Sharlene reports that our raven pair have begun nesting.  She watches them exchange places on the nest, each taking a turn so the other can eat.  The crows have been raising a racket in the neighborhood.  I've even spotted them doing their best to eat off the small suet ball that we have hanging off the porch.  ​

I know that some folks are not happy about this extension of winter.  Not me.  It feels like things are on a more usual schedule.  Even when the snow is still falling, I know that soon it will all be gone, and that the power of the sunshine will win out.  Before we know it, we will be seeing green shoots from the ground, mud season will be over, and this winter will be just a memory.  ​

A Boreal Visitor

You may have heard earlier this winter that northern Minnesota was experiencing an owl irruption.  This happens when deep snow cover to the north forces owls to fly south in search of easier hunting.  Many people were spotting owls on the North Shore as they drove up to visit us.  I was able to see two great grey owls when I traveled the shore, but in both cases, I was unable to take photos.​

Then one day in mid-March, while working at the counter, I happened to look out the window just in time to see a bird fly to the pine tree next to the porch.  I hurried over for a better look.  Right there, outside the window by about ten feet, was the cutest little owl I had ever seen. A quick check of the bird book confirmed that it was a boreal owl.   It was perched in the branches, with the resident chickadees fluttering about.  The little birds were quite curious about this new visitor to their territory.​

​I called the kids downstairs to that they could see it, too, and we all took out our cameras to record it.  Soon Greg came home, and he set up his tripod to shoot some video.  The whole time, the owl just kept trying to take a nap.  He didn't seem to care that we were coming and going, in and out the door, a different camera in hand each time.  He just wanted to snooze.  This video is the result of the encounter:

The owl came back the next day for a brief visit, and then made a cameo appearance at Sharlene's.  We didn't see him again, but are very glad to have had the opportunity to not only check this one off of the bird list, but to have recorded so many good memories of it.​