Canoeing in the Dark

Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding...Or Not?

2011-12-06T18:29:00.000-08:00

I came from a family that prepared with little variation a Christmas Eve menu based on long-standing traditions consisting of Lutefisk, Swedish meatballs, boiled potatoes, wild rice casserole, and a cheesy vegetable bake along with an elaborate relish tray and massive platters of traditional cookies and candies for desert. My mom labored for countless hours over the course of several weeks to make that desert happen, and it was truly a sight to behold. I would eat the Lutefisk mostly just to make mom happy - few things aren't palatable when drenched in drawn butter - and also because it earned me the right to openly snicker at those around the table of weaker constitutions who opted for the meatballs. My wife's family (in her words) tended to "jump around" where Christmas Eve dinner was concerned, and their meal varied form one year to the next and included split pea soup, beef ribs, big steaks, and (for several years running and much to my newly married amusement) mushroom, shrimp, and beef fondue with a variety of cold salads - eric liked that one. That meal also ended with an amazing variety of cookies and candies. BOTH families served lefse on Christmas Eve, but oddly enough never in my life has a single bite of that substance entered my mouth.

Coming from fairly different points of view and mostly disinterested in the observation of ridged traditions, my wife and I always face a bit of a conundrum in the weeks leading up to Christmas, and tonight at the dinner table she and our sons and I had "the talk." "So, what do you boys want for dinner on Christmas Eve?" she asked. I groaned and got up from the table only to be humorously reprimanded, and as I sat down next to the fireplace and fired up my laptop, she cleared the dished while the boys offered their input. Ry has been advocating for steamed crab legs for a couple years now while Ty remains focused on Cornish game hens which we reminded him would be happening on Christmas Day. I offered my usual long list of (to me) hilarious suggestions like Haggis (Scotland), Carp (Poland and Croatia), and Sheep Heads (Iceland) among others. I still hope one day to do a big seafood boil for dinner, and as I clicked around online during the conversation, this blog both piqued my curiosity about scungilli AND gave me a new idea - "7 Fishes" sounds great. After an initially gratifying reaction of horror and disgust to my more "unconventional" suggestions, they collectively chose to ignore my transparent attempt at derailing the conversation, and after a 10 minute discussion, we decided to peruse the lighter, more "hors d'oeuvre-y" approach that has been so popular in the past. What it "boils down to" is crab bisque, miniature baked ham and cheese sandwiches (made with "interesting" bread, NOT lunch meat, and gooood cheese), a huge platter of raw veggies and dip, big salads, and another as of yet undetermined side dish...or two. I'll likely also grill up a small number of bacon and duck roll-ups because I LOVE standing outside in the dark on Christmas Eve grilling with a beer while zoning out on my lights and luminaries. It's an unusual and eclectic menu to be sure, but it's highly festive and "fun." The boys and I also lobbied successfully for mom's "epic" cheesy egg bake for breakfast on Christmas Day.

I'll add the obvious disclaimer here that I'm the farthest thing from a gourmet and have fairly unsophisticated tastes, BUT they very day that my time-consuming musical avocation comes to end, the grill and the stove will be roaring to life right along with my woodworking machines. Happy Holidays! ;-)

'Til They're Black and Blue

2011-11-29T16:54:00.000-08:00

I've been stuck on a recent strange dream that involved a certain MN musician of note putting my band up in less-than-ideal lodgings after a show in Minneapolis. She became VERY cross with me when I expressed my disgust about the Bed Bugs all over the room. "YOU have been brainwashed by the Petrochemical Industry to WRONGLY believe that our FRIENDS the Bed Bugs - our sisters and brothers - are BAD. Now roll out your sleeping bag and cuddle up with them...OR would you rather I put Rush Limbaugh on the radio for you?" I finally looked up "bed bugs" on an online dream dictionary and discovered this: To dream of bedbugs indicates that you are uneasy or annoyed about some situation or relationship. You are keeping these negative feelings to yourself instead of verbalizing it. Huh...I'm gonna need to mull that one over a bit. ;-)

2011-11-21T17:53:00.000-08:00

Dear Santa,

So, we haven't talked for a long time, and I"m painfully aware of the whole deal with your obligation to uphold "the list," but this isn't just about me, and it's been like ten years since there's been anything in my stocking, so...I think I'm kinda "due." My sons Tyler and Riley have taken an interest in the "shooting sports," and we've been talking about getting a new BB gun. I mean, that's admirable, right? Geez Lousie, some nerdy kid in the 50ies wanted a Red Ryder and they made a whole freekin' movie about it. Ok ok, it's more of a pellet gun, but it's pretty much the same thing, and we promise to be very careful. It will be used mostly for target shooting, and we won't shoot at any animals that aren't either delicious OR frighteningly overpopulated, covered with red fur, and destroying the bird feeder. What we'd like to see on our hearth on Christmas morning is an all black Crosman 1377 with a rifle stock, scope, and removable bi-pod. If we can work out some sort of deal here, I'd be willing to be ~~considerably~~ slightly less naughty in the coming year. Thanks.

Eric (and Tyler and Riley)

P.S. Maybe throw in 3 pairs of safety glasses while you're at it. You're the greatest. ;-)

The First Weekend of November 2011 - Part 1

2011-11-15T15:44:00.000-08:00

Here in Northeastern Minnesota, a significant number of the people in my demographic are avid deer hunters. Though I love spending as much time out of doors as possible in the fall, that’s one activity in which I’ve never developed an interest, and despite the potential danger posed by the unsafe trigger-happy minority of deer hunters, early November is by far my favorite time of year to sit in the duck blind. Over the last 10 years, I’ve stumbled into the observance of a sort of tradition during the 1^st weekend of the firearms deer season, and once again the week after Halloween found me scurrying about my garages assembling the needed gear for a long weekend at a quintessential Minnesota wilderness deer camp. A friend of mine has a county lease and a rustic shack on the banks of what I’ll refer to for the sake of confidentiality only as a “Great Northern River,” and while he and his partner and their dashing young crony headed up for the weekend with ATVs in tow to search of big bucks, Lucy the Lab and I arrived at the landing at 4 a.m. and set out into the darkness in search of ducks with the promise of a hot meal, good sauna, and warm bed at the end of the long journey upstream.

The River possess a number of characteristics that would suggest a living, breathing entity, and with the passing of each season come changes that affect the movement of fish, the habits of wildlife, and the safety of navigation. It was once a major artery of transportation for the logging industry that thrived around the turn of the last century, and innumerable sunken White Pine boles lay at the bottom awaiting their time to fill with the gasses of decomposition and partially rise to the surface. This was the first time in 2011 that I’d been on the River, and I had no idea where the year’s hazards lurked, and as I drove my small, heavily-loaded jon boat through the mist, I quickly came to the somewhat troubling realization that my powerful spotlight was useless in the light fog suspended just above the water. I continued on in total darkness on that moonless morning using only the reflection of the stars on the water to search for deadheads. My motor droned on, the tree lines loomed and then receded, and the miles slipped by.

After about 30 minutes the sky opened up as my destination drew near. At a spot where a large wild rice-filled bay joins the main river channel, I cut the motor and slid up on the floating bog to unload some gear, debark Lucy, and prepare the decoy bags for business. Tossing out 4 or 5 dozen duck decoys in the dark is potentially hazardous and is best done with as little extra weight or important gear in the boat as possible. Lucy, who knows the routine very well, curled up on the bag of camouflage netting and kept an eye on me from shore, and the occasional glint from her eyes illuminated by my small headlamp provided a ready reference as to where the blind was in relation to where the decoys were being placed. At this particular spot a large mud flat of water two feet deep or less drops off dramatically to a maximum depth of nearly thirty feet, and that poses a number of problems where decoy anchor lines are concerned. After nearly an hour of setting, resetting, tying, and untying, I set about the back breaking work of pulling my boat completely up on the bog through knee-deep muck, and after some quick work with the camo netting and abundant dead grass, I left my concealed boat, carried my bucket and gun over to where Lucy was waiting, and poured a cup of coffee. Five minutes into legal shooting hours, the coming day had more than announced itself, and I was acutely aware of the fact that I’d neither seen nor heard a duck all morning.

To reveal a curious truth, I planned and packed for this trip with the full knowledge that, as in previous years, I would very likely come home with few or NO ducks, and that was just fine. For me the goal of that weekend was to hang out at deer camp, have miles of beautiful river all to myself, enjoy good company, and sit in the duck blind to the point that I was darned good and sick of it for the year. The migration patterns of waterfowl in North America are currently in an erratic state of flux, and while locations long revered as “hot spots” across the State have been reduced to “hit or miss,” more marginal areas like the River, though consistently “not too bad” in the past have become virtually devoid of significant numbers of ducks. I was prepared to take home only photos and memories, and the numerous Tundra Swans and occasional small flocks of Hooded Mergansers (some of the last waterfowl to fly south) revealed that the migration was coming to a close. Lucy watched all of these birds with great interest, and although I generally don’t shoot ANY type of Merganser, I decided that if that was the only duck I was going to see all weekend that one in the bag would be ok. As a single Hooded drake rocketed by high and outside, I drew a bead, and it crashed down on the other side of the river. Despite the 28 degree air temperature and 37 degree water, Lucy plunged in with great resolve, and after a long retrieve, she went to heal and deposited it in my hand…and then shook off all over me.

Buck and Me in November 2004

A few cups of coffee, two sandwiches, and a couple pieces of pilfered Halloween candy later (standard duck blind time increments), I heard a motor in the distance, and about 10 minutes later a distinguished older gentleman in a well-worn Filson hat maneuvered his small boat carefully through my decoys. It was Ted, the owner of the shack, and his Chocolate Lab “Buck,” and they were making their last trip upstream to the shack for the year. "Good morning, Eric!" he said with a big smirk on his face. "Say, if you have a pile of ducks you'd like me to run to the shack for you, I'd be happy to grab them." I found this reference to the sad state of duck hunting on the River most amusing and laughed out loud, and we chatted for a couple minutes. I asked about the position of any deadheads on the river, additional hazards caused by the very low water level, and the whereabouts of the rest of his party while Lucy jumped annoyingly in and out of his boat in an effort to greet Buck. Standing to start his motor, the cheer briefly left his face as he solemnly spoke his parting words. "Be alert." To a person all alone miles from rescue without wireless capabilities and with plans to travel in the dark, those words carried great weight and served as a powerful reminder of the potential hazards inherent to my situation. "I will be. See ya in a bit..." was my reply.

As the sound of his motor faded off into the distance, I stood in my somewhat shoddily constructed blind and looked hopefully for any ducks set to wing by his passing, but none came. As the sun crept higher in the sky and noon approached, I stretched out on the large mat of dead grass assembled for Lucy with the intention of grabbing a quick 30 minute nap. I dozed off quickly and slept for an hour or so until a few quiet but serious "ruffs" from Lucy brought me back to life. I slowly regained my senses and realized that she was "ruffing" AT something...a familiar sound...a sort of...burl...the kind made by...a duck? I poked my head around the blind to see an impressive Ringbill Drake bellied up to one of my prized hand-burlaped Herter's decoys, and I slowly reached for my gun. Now, one of the things I find most confounding about the art of shotgunning is my personal tendency to connect with difficult targets on the outside of my range while at the same time ineptly bungling the easiest shots imaginable. Suffice to say that this particular duck went safely on his way, and all I was left with was the very distinct feeling of being stared at...by a dog...which I was. "What?!" I asked indignantly. Lucy looked away.

About an hour later I missed a surprise Mallard, and then a Green Winged Teal flew by followed by a couple more. By the close of legal shooting hours, I was both happy and surprised to have observed 50 or more ducks, and the three in the game bag - all retrieved by Lucy - made the day an unqualified success. After struggling in the mud for 10 minutes freeing my boat from the bog, I pushed out and started to collect decoys, and in the gloam of that early November evening, a phenomena known only to duck hunters in quiet, swampy places materialized before my eyes. I have no idea where they spent the day (Pelican Lake? Lake Vermilion? Voyagers National Park? Beyond ALL of those?), but literally hundreds of ducks in groups of 20 to 80 started to pour into the rice bay to spend the night. I learned a long time ago that, in the exact style of a Warner Brothers cartoon, those ducks were "un-huntable" and would have left the rice in the 20 minutes before the start of shooting hours the next day, but it was an amazing sight none the less. I felt blessed to have been there there to witness it, and as I collected my dog from shore and cracked the first beer of the day, I was overwhelmed by the joy that came from the great start to an exciting trip. I adjusted my boat seat, cinched up my life vest, and turned my little boat upstream.

...down into a dream we go...

2011-11-13T20:50:00.000-08:00

I've posted this song online before, but this is just such an amazing version...this lady has "mad ninja" chops in every department. Wow...

Wait For It...

2011-11-11T22:43:00.000-08:00

Preface ~ Aside from two uncles with whom I visited only a handful of times each year, I grew up in a family of non-sportsman. It wasn't until I settled down back in my hometown in the early Nineties that my love for being in the woods in the autumn gave rise to a mild interest in Ruffed Grouse hunting. That interest slowly grew into a serious pursuit, but due to the nature of the quarry and the decided advantage the grouse has over a lone hunter on foot, I enjoyed only limited success. Numerous times after having been made a fool by a number of birds flushing unexpectedly from all directions, I'd catch myself in the midst of deep frustration thinking, "Damn! I wish I had a DOG." Despite countless proposals, negotiations, and pleas throughout my childhood, I was never allowed to have a dog, and very much in keeping with my thought process during those days, some time passed before I resolved to start the search for a suitable pup. A trusted friend who I regarded as somewhat of an expert on the sporting breeds pointed me in the right direction, and I narrowed my choices down to either a Visla, a German Wirehaird Pointer, or a German Shorthaired Pointer. Through what I've come to regard as equal parts remarkable divine intervention and ordinary dumb luck, I found my Kelty - a stunning example of a German Shorthair from the storied Hege Haus bloodline. The Universe sort of dealt her a less-than-desirable hand by placing such a high-powered dog with the rank amateur dog handler that was 20-something Eric, but after a couple years of head butting, hard work, and lots of yelling...and whistle-blowing...and cuddling, she and I came to an uneasy understanding and gradually evolved into an efficient team.

As an amateur dog trainer who was very excited and impressed by what to me was the "new" world of gundog training, I read the book The Training and Care of the Versatile Hunting Dog by Bodo Winterhelt 5 or more times and consequently joined my local NAVHDA chapter. Like the other members of the so called "Continental Breeds," the German Shorthaired Pointer was developed in the mid to late 1800's to provide the emerging German middle class, people going afield "on a budget," with an all-purpose dog. Whether the task at hand was pointing upland birds, chasing furbearers, retrieving waterfowl, or tracking big game, Shorthairs were intended to be equally well suited for each task, and the tests developed by NAVHDA were designed to evaluate each of those abilities in a non-competitive environment were the dog was judged according to a set standard - not against the other dogs in the test. From the start of the MN Woodcock season on Labor Day weekend to the end of the small game season on December 31st, Kelty and I would go afield in search of birds nearly every day except for a two week break during the firearms deer season when dogs were not safe in the woods, but it was only due to mild curiosity and for the sake of improving her score on the next NAVHDA test that I agreed to join a friend on an early season duck hunt with the hope that she'd be given some work. Over the course of the day we saw one duck fly down the middle of the lake several hundred yards away from us, and that very well could have been the end of the story, but a couple weeks later something happened that quite literally changed my life forever. Fate brought me to the garage of a local carpenter whom I'd hired to help me with some windows as he excitedly ranted about his amazing morning while standing over a line of 10 or more Greater Scaup. These were large and impressive ducks, and with them as a backdrop to his colorful narrative, I warily agreed to accompany him to the same lake the next morning. The details of that experience alone would fill several pages, but suffice to say that while standing on a floating bog in the gathering grey light with a gusting wind and stinging sleet as great flocks of giant northern Bluebills rocketed over the decoys, I was overcome with the strange feeling that I'd been there before...or at least that it was a place I very much belonged.

My commitment to getting Kelty out to find birds on an almost daily basis gradually turned to a pattern of early morning duck hunts, a nap, and then an evening in the grouse woods, but by the time she reached 10 years old and was unofficially "retired," Lucy the Lab had joined our family and my primary activity in the fall shifted almost entirely to pursuing ducks. I should note as always that my motivation to dedicate countless hours and dollars to what the uninformed layperson could so easily write off as nothing more than a primitive "blood sport" in reality has very little to with any sort of thrill or satisfaction derived from the killing of unsuspecting birds. Nor is it related in anyway to the misguided quest for dominance or "male affirmation" sadly exhibited by so many of the folks who appear on the unfortunate hunting shows on the Outdoor Network and the like. I go afield in the autumn at sizeable expense and even considerable risk to honor and carry on a centuries-old American tradition. I'm fascinated by the history of waterfowling in America, and I love sitting out in the garage on ever cooler August and September nights painting decoys, working on duck boats, and fine tuning gear. Giving a loyal and dedicated dog like Lucy the opportunity to fulfill the purpose for which she was bred is highly rewarding, and the fact that I'm able to combine my enthusiasm for duck hunting with my passion for canoeing allows me to chalk up nearly 20 trips a year that many people who live far away from my part of the world would consider individually to be "a trips of a lifetime." I actually pull the trigger on a very small percentage of the total number of ducks I see every year, and I make it a point to be the most careful and ethical waterfowler that I know. Beyond that, looking into my mouth will instantly reveal to all but the dumbest and most delusional among us that I am an omnivore, and wild duck, partly due to it's lack of any sort of chemical additives or corruption by evil corporate agriculture, is one of my favorite foods. There is but ONE way to acquire that great delicacy, and the ducks I bring home every fall make up nearly 30% of my personal meat consumption over the course of the winter. All that being said, due in part to the conflict of open seasons and also because of the stigma attached to the sport by countless well-documented "accidents" and other forms of unspeakable idiocy, I have no interest in deer hunting.

Dressing in high-tech camouflaged clothing and sitting in a duck blind during the firearms deer season in the State of Minnesota is problematic at best and just plain dangerous at worst. Like it or not, there are an upsetting number of irresponsible deer hunters who actually shoot at movement without taking the time to positively identify their targets. I am (with a number of qualifications that would instantly reveal my preference for non-motorized modes of wilderness travel) a believer in the concept of multiple use for public lands, and there's no way that I would ever hide indoors during deer season the way that so many people do. Asserting my right to sit in the duck blind for the duration of the season has been the source of a number of unique adaptation and techniques, and many of those along with an entertaining and compelling account of my adventures from last weekend will appear in my upcoming post on this blog. Stay tuned. ;-)

"BOATS AND..."

2011-09-23T06:09:00.000-07:00

...and the audience (with any luck upwards of 2000 people) shouts back "BLUEGRASS!" That where I'll be this weekend. Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses are playing at the Boats and Bluegrass Festival in Winona MN this weekend, AND we have a killer time slot - 6 p.m. on the MAIN stage. Hehehehe. I haven't been to Winona for nearly 6 months, and I'm excited to return. There's just something about that part of the state for me - it feels very much like home. The grouse woods and the duck blind will have to wait - there's crazy old time music to be made. :-)

“Here’s a pretty thing…”

2011-09-13T06:36:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, there was a time when I was a member of a Canadian duck camp, and every year starting in mid-September until the last weekend in October we’d make the 4 hour drive from home to an old cabin north of Morson Ontario to spend anywhere from 2 to 5 days a week hunting ducks on magnificent Lake of the Woods. It was the greatest thing ever, but sadly the time spent away from my family combined with the investments I needed to make in new music gear and the demands on my free time exerted by heavily booked bands forced me to bow out. I fully intend to return along with my sons in the not-so-distant future to share the mind blowing experience with them. I was going through an old online photo album, and I came across this lovely shot. It was taken from Drennan Point at the west end of the Basil Channel looking out into Big Traverse Bay at sunset. Though you can’t see it clearly in this photo, there’s often a magical shimmer on the horizon at the point where the planet curves away, and it’s one of my favorite sights on all the earth. I shot only two Bluebills the whole day and was thoroughly outsmarted – made a fool of, really - by the small flocks of Mallards and Black Ducks that would occasionally cut the base of the point, and yet I snapped 4 or 5 of my favorite photos ever including this one of Lucy and this one of some interesting clouds. Like I said, it’s about so much more than simply shooting at ducks…

Gettin' Juggy With It...

2011-09-11T17:02:00.000-07:00

Here's another "Ok, so..." of mine. Ok, so, I've been working on the guitar since I was in 9th grade. Yes, that's a long time, and how sad that I've only reached my current level of skill. Oh well, I get by just fine, thank you, BUT with the unfortunate departure of Damn Horses' long-time washtub bass AND jug player, the job of blowing the jug in the band has fallen to me. This summer we played in Grand Rapids MN for KAXE Radio's Mississippi River Festival, and that was my debut performance on the jug - in a big amphitheater in front of a couple hundred people. Despite my total lack of experience - or know-how or skill for that matter - it went fairly well, and I received two very generous rounds of applause for my efforts. After our set as I was walking around the festival, I had numerous people actually approach me and tell me how much they enjoyed my jug playing. I thought about it for a moment and came up with, "Really? So, I work my fingers literally to the bone for 25 years trying to learn how to kick a$$ as a guitarist with luke warm results, yet one of the first times that I step up to a mic and produce semi-musical tooting noises by blowing into a ceramic container, it's an instant big hit?" I'll edit out the conclusions about people and music that I drew from that. ;-) Instead, please enjoy this instructional video from the "Jimi Hendrix of the Jug."

"...if you were worried about looking like an idiot, why are you learning to play the jug?"

2011-09-10T06:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, I LOVE duck hunting...I dig driving down some lost old dirt road at 3 a.m. with a cup of strong coffee while the BBC World Service on NPR is on the radio, and the very thought of pulling up to some overgrown landing on a little used swamp or bog of a body of water with my loyal dog Lucy in tow excites me even as I type this. The sounds of wings whistling overhead while mallards call and ringbills burl on distant darkened rice beds as drops of freezing rain pelt my parka have come to haunt my dreams, and I actually make a couple trips every year purely for the reason that they insure the maximum amount of Canoeing in the Dark. The rush of adrenalin that comes from accidentally cornering a family of territorial otters in a bend on a river or scaring a large moose from it's pre-dawn breakfast is really the only drug I'd ever need. Please don't misconstrue my enthusiasm about this activity as any sort of psychotic love of blood or killing, either. Harvesting ducks is but a small part of a very complex and colorful equation, and far FAR more ducks pass safely over my decoys than actually end up in the game bag. Adding even more enjoyment to my favorite activity (yes, if pressed I'd give up the public performance of music LONG before I shelved my decoys) is the fact that BOTH my young sons have become willing accomplices to this annual undertaking. Today is a "big day" in the scheme our duck season, for this morning we hauled 10 or more large bags of duck decoys from the storage shed to the garage where they will be sorted, inspected, and repainted as needed. My garage will also be an "unparkable mess" of blocks, boating gear, bits of wild rice, and assorted happy debris literally until the lakes freeze over in mid to late November. "Get ready, boys...here they come..."

Hey Look, Two Posts in One Day.

2011-09-08T13:27:00.000-07:00

My crazy old-time acoustic string band Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses was recently invited to play on Twin Cities radio station KFAI’s House Party. The show and the interview went fairly well, and the gig at The 331 after was REALLY good. There’s a video below and a bunch of other videos from the day as well as a TON of stuff from other amazing bands here on 420Ninja's Channel. Enjoy!

Incidentally, that also marked the sixth time I've done a live radio show...it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. ;-)

2011-09-08T12:14:00.000-07:00

Ok, that’s it. I used to LIVE to blog, and yet I’ve posted NOTHING here since May. My old blog The Ethereal Garage had a hit counter that was up in the tens of thousands, and it also had a respectable number of loyal readers. LAME. I’m going to post something on this damn thing EVERY single day whether it be an actual substantive post, a photo with a caption, a rant (I have been stifling a LOT of those as to not offend people), or whatever. Ready? GO!

Hey, look! I just took a peek through my phone and found this photo from last week. Last Sunday was a special occasion because my band and I played a great set at the 1st annual Northern Train Music Festival in Holyoke MN along with local legends Hobo Nephews of Uncle Frank (can you believe that Jessica Lange was in the audience??), and by the time my wife’s car rolled back into our driveway, I was in a pretty relaxed state of mind. It was a cool, fresh “pre-autumn” evening, and the grass in our backyard was exceptionally inviting, so I kicked back for a couple minutes. I invited my spouse to join me, but she wasn’t in the mood to make “grass angels.” This photo is of our fire pit and wood pile area on the left, some wild raspberries in the middle, and the storage shed that the previous owners used as a chicken coup. We don’t have poultry, but we call it “the chicken coup” anyway. It used to be the “atom bomb” of time out locations for our high-spirited little men. …and there you have it – daily blog post number 1. ;-)

2011-05-09T06:12:00.000-07:00

At this year's Duluth Homegrown Music Festival, my other-worldly experimental rock band Roxie Magistrate was the 1st band to perform on New Band Night at Pizza Luce. The crew from WDSE Channel 8 was there to tape an episode of The Playlist featuring the evening's festivities, and the footage was edited together along with interviews of all 4 bands involved. Our interview section featuring Derek and Sela is HERE, and the video of "Stuck on Want" is below. Nice!

Bah!

2011-02-25T08:12:00.000-08:00

"If you're going to have a blog, you might want to POST something now and then."

Well fine, I will. Many apologies, but the two main reasons my blogging has suffered so severely are 1.) I'm able to connect much more easily with both my friends and those who share my interests AND get faster and more meaningful feedback using a certain social networking site, and 2.) my musical pursuits are a tremendous drain on my free time and have left me with far less meaningful blog content - it's a "same story, different day" sorta thing.

Anyway, my hard driving acoustic string band Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses is still kicking a$$ all over the place. We have tons of bar gigs, benefits, theater shows, and festivals on the schedule for 2011, sales of our DOUBLE CD "Then and Now" have been brisk, and we were recently featured on WDSE Channel 8's television program "The Playlist." Video clips from that show can be found HERE and HERE.

Also, my other-worldly, outer space, experimental rock band Roxie Magistrate has been working hard and playing some great shows. That band also has a T.V. appearance coming up in April, and we're putting the finishing touches on a set list that will allow us to play full 4 hour shows. It's a LOT of work, but it truly is a labor of love.

Beyond that, I just made my 18th annual President's Day weekend winter camping trip (sadly a short, solo expedition), and I had a nice time and took some great photos. It would make a heck of a blog post, but don't hold your breath. ;-) Peace!

Outstanding...

2010-04-22T12:47:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a long post about a recent trip (no, REALLY), but until then, please enjoy this new video from Duluth's own Trampled By Turtles. It's my understanding that this album is currently #1 on the Billboard Bluegrass chart. Nice job, fellas.

2010-01-04T12:08:00.000-08:00

The I.R.O.M.A. Warm for the Winter Food and Clothing Drive-

On 12/19/09 I had the distinct pleasure of managing and running sound for a charity event that was dreamed up by the leadership of IROMA. The following is a brief “gig report” from that afternoon:

On a snowy Saturday in late December of 2009 the Iron Range Original Music Association produced the 1st annual Warm for the Winter Food and Clothing Drive. Graciously hosted by Barb at Bonsai Tea in Eveleth MN, the event was staged both to showcase the talents of a number of local solo acoustic performers and to raise donations for some of the less fortunate folks in the area. IROMA is a nonprofit organization founded by a group of musicians in Northeastern Minnesota for the purpose of promoting and publicizing the creation and performance of original music, and the members involved in the fundraiser were all very excited about the opportunity to perform their songs for the benefit of others.

The show began at 1:00 p.m. when Mike Drianis took the stage. An experienced solo performer, Mike recently wrote, recorded, and released a CD of original tunes. Having moved to Virginia MN from California, his music reflects that journey and clearly draws from a broad variety of influences. His songs covered a wide range of topics from the pitfalls of materialism to the complications of romatic relatioships and many points in between. He played a crowd-pleasing set while showing some impressive chops on the guitar and got the event off to a great start.

The next performer on the bill was Mark Henderson. Bringing to bear the confidence, technique, and expertise that come from 50 years of playing the guitar, he moved flawlessly through his set while exhibiting a genuine ease of performance that instantly won the room. He favored the audience with several amusing anecdotes with topics ranging from his childhood in the South to his family to his tenure as front man for the Mojosaurs Blues Band, and he ended his part of the show by playing a few numbers of growling slide on his resonator guitar.

Due to an unfortunate conflict, there was a last minute change in the line-up, but thankfully Jesse Richter was there to save the day both by showing up early and by extending his set by a couple numbers. Jesse has been writing original music and playing out for several years now, and he has arrived at a point in his career where his act is highly polished yet very natural. Through his carefully-crafted songs he treated the audience to a candid peak into a lifetime of experiences in Minnesota with the occasional tasteful addition of a harmonica accompaniment. He left the stage warmly received by those in attendance.

Tim Baldonado was the last performer to take the stage at what had already been a great show. In musical terms Tim has always been a drummer by trade, but as of late he has been sliding into the role of the singer / songwriter. Some of his songs harkened back to the protest songs of the 60ies or even the old labor anthems from the 1st half of the 20th century, and his inspired lyrics and enthusiastic playing instantly struck a chord with the crowd. After Tim finished his very entertaining set, there was still nearly half an hour left in the show, and pianist Geri Burja stepped in and let fly a flurry of traditional Christmas carols thereby bringing the afternoon to a decidedly festive close.

Despite the fact that at the end of the performance the roof over Bonsai Tea was still fully intact, the show was still well attended and generally regarded as huge success. Donations in the form of some cash and a decent amount of nonperishable food items were raised, several IROMA sampler CDs were distributed to the public, and the groundwork for future IROMA charity events was laid. IROMA sends a sincere “Thank You!” to Bonsai Tea, Hometown Focus, and Suzy Archebald at Range Print Shop in Eveleth for their parts in helping to stage this event. The first Warm for the Winter Food and Clothing drive was just the beginning, and IROMA is now committed to growing and improving upon what they hope will become a popular annual event. Be sure to check their website for a calendar of exciting upcoming shows, and thank YOU for continuing to support the vibrant local music scene here in Northeastern Minnesota!

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Bonsai Tea is located on Grant Ave. in downtown Eveleth MN and is open daily. They host an open mic show for local performers from noon to 4 p.m. every 1st and 3rd Saturday, and if you’re looking for an audience for some new material, just give Barb a call – she’d be happy to have you on her stage anytime.

We're comin' in too hot!

2009-12-26T06:22:00.000-08:00

Would you believe that I'm a big fan of crazy old video games? I'd take an Atari 2600 over a modern game system any day. When I was a wee lad in the early 80ies, I used to squander my weekly allowance at the local bowling alley every Saturday and / or Sunday afternoon playing the games of the day, and at one time, the bowling alley's arcade had a table top version of something similar to this. Add a can of Mt. Dew and a Snickers bar, and you've got yourself a perfect day...as far as wasted youth is concerned, anyway. ;-) Click on the image, and use your right, left, and up arrows...and DON'T click on the blasphemous 3D version!

2009-12-17T12:54:00.000-08:00

Fishing First Ice in Northern Minnesota -

On the evening of Saturday Dec. 12, my band Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses played the last set at Beaner’s Central in Duluth MN. After arriving back home in rural Gilbert MN, I scurried about the garage and kitchen for what seemed like hours, and my head didn’t actually hit the pillow until 1:00 a.m. After a solid 2 and a half hours of very restful sleep, the coffee pot clicked on and the alarm went off, and at 3:30 a.m. I headed downstairs to suit up for a day of fun on the ice. My pal Tim, briefly waylaid by “dog issues,” showed up soon after, and by 4:30 we were on the road and heading east towards Isabella MN. My truck’s thermometer read minus 4, and I commented that, “Well, at least it’s going to get up to 10 today.” Tim let fly a borderline evil laugh and said, “Ha, YOU didn’t check for the new weather forecast. THIS is IT.” Several years ago after countless miserable sub-zero trips, I arrived at the “10 /10 rule.” If the forecast low temperature at night is colder than minus 10 or if the high temperature during the day is expected to be less than 10 above, I forgo any serious outdoor activity and stay indoors and lounge about the house instead. We were heading out to spend the day exposed to the elements in violation of that rule.

After a 55 minute drive, we pulled off the highway onto the snow-covered dirt road and made our way to the public landing on our chosen lake (a lake in this general area). We observed a few sets of tire tracks on the road, but there was no evidence of traffic out on the ice. Because it was a smaller lake and since the weather had been favorable for the formation of safe ice, we walked out from the landing with confidence but cautiously followed the shore in a somewhat circuitous route to our fishing spot. The temperature had dropped to minus 8, and the lake was rapidly making ice. From low moans and melodic pops to explosive cracks that shattered pre-dawn silence, the sounds were truly amazing. We sunk our first hole a hundred feet from a rocky point and found a good 4 inches of nice black ice. Our assumption, based on years of Minnesota ice fishing experience, had been proven correct – the ice was safe. For a heart-stopping 3 seconds I clung desperately to that fact when, while kneeling on the ice setting a tip-up, a mile long and half inch wide pressure crack opened up directly under me. The concussion sent a jolt through my body that shook me to the core – an experience I’ll not soon forget! By the time the first hint of day light appeared on the eastern horizon, we were in the right spot with four lines down and fishing quietly…and it was “noon somewhere.” ;-)

Here in northern Minnesota the influx of cold Canadian air is often associated with a low pressure system, and that sort of weather usually has a negative effect on fishing. Tim and I set out on this trip fully realizing that our chances of fishing successfully were lower than usual. By the time the sun started to come up, we hadn’t experienced a single bite, so we quickly moved his portable shelter a hundred or so yards up the bay from 12 feet of water and sand / clay bottom to 9 feet and a muddier bottom. Well, we should have set up in that spot first, because we immediately started to catch fish. Granted, they were small northerns and walleyes, but as we sipped or breakfast beers, the action was a welcomed amusement. True to form, the one nice fish that hit my line – what I estimate to have been a walleye in the 2 pound range – threw my hook almost immediately. Perfect. After a few beers and some good conversation, we decided to try the “plan B” area on the other end of the lake, and within 10 minutes of making the decision to relocate, we were on the move. With the air temperature hanging right around zero and a stiff 15 mph breeze in our faces, we made the 1 mile hike down the lake.

Upon arriving at the new spot, I started to sink holes through the ice while checking the depth, and Tim went to work setting up the portable shelter. His portable was a collapsible Eskimo Quickfish III with a built-in frame, and he’d had some strange problems with it in the past. When he went to set it up on this side of the lake, something went wrong, and one of the frame poles became hyper-extended. Despite the fact the he tried to maneuver the errant pole back into position with great care, a two foot long rip developed in the tent material, and an adjacent frame pole broke. I’ve had nothing but good experiences with my “antiquated” Clam Classic in the past, and I seriously question the design of any piece of outdoor gear that is able to be virtually destroyed by a single minor error in operation. Just before Tim grew irritated with his portable and decided to drag it back to the landing, I had a tip-up flag go up and after a brief fight landed the largest fish of the day – a 4 or 5 pound northern which I released after an unconventional photo op. In my efforts to play, un-hook, and release that fish and then reset the line, my gloveless hands were wet and exposed to the wind for a minute or two, and I froze the tip of one of my fingers. It thawed out again after a short time in my pocket, but it was a powerful reminder of just how dangerous cold weather can be. It was also good supporting evidence of the validity of the “10 / 10 rule” – I should have been napping at home on the couch! I took a quick stroll around the shoreline, inspected a beaver pond on the interior of one of the points on the lake, ate 2 roast beef and Swiss sandwiches, and packed up to join Tim back at the landing.

Although we technically failed to take full advantage of the great fishing potential offered by a “1st ice” angling situation, it was still a great day. Back at the office on Monday, I learned that Tim and I fared a lot better than many other local anglers – it was apparently a slow weekend in our part of the state. With Tim’s messed-up portable laying in a heap at the end of my driveway and my sled and gear sitting in the middle of the garage exactly where it was deposited on Sunday afternoon, the date of my next ice fishing trip is uncertain, but with Christmas Vacation and 5 days off just around the corner, it can’t be too far away – I’ll keep you posted. ;-) I’m happy to be back – thanks for reading! Peace.

2009-12-16T12:54:00.000-08:00

Hey. I’m eric and this is my new blog. There was a point in time not too long ago when I had 2 blogs here in addition to a live journal account and a blog on myspace. I also maintained the blog for one of my bands. That’s just silly – no one has that much to say about anything. It started to occur to me that my seasonal entries were all starting to look the same, and I wasn’t about to take up hang gliding or mountain climbing just have something new and interesting to write about. Then, after a couple years of fairly regular posts, I hit sort of a rough spot in life last spring, and by the end of the summer I really didn’t feel like saying much about anything. It also came to my attention that some first class a$$holes were using those pages to cyber stalk me. Beyond all that, I was having technical difficulties with one of those blogs and had started to feel forced to post meaningful content all around, so I deleted all of them in favor of a fresh start. I know that was upsetting to some people, sorry about that! This journal will be different from the others because it will encompass all of my interests, and I will be using tags to help readers navigate though the different subjects. Also, due to a surprising outcry from other Minnesota sportsmen, I will generally not divulge the names of places to which I travel on my fishing and hunting adventures. I’ve stripped down my profile info as well – do you really care what my favorite movie is? – and I’d like to post the following disclaimers based on past experience and my blogging hopes for the future:

- I like me. If you don’t, too f'n bad. At least have the courtesy and courage to tell me to my face, and we’ll talk it over. If you’re reading these posts and looking at my photos with some sort of hatred or malevolence in your heart, you might want to step back and take a good hard look at yourself – that is NOT normal or healthy behavior, and you're probably suffering from some sort of mental illness.

- I’ve made some mistakes in the past year, and I spend time each day going over those bad decisions in my mind. I’ve grown and changed considerably over the course of 2009. I’m sorry for those times when I used poor judgment, and I can see a day when I’ll be at peace once again with my life.

- I learned from my previous blogs that a good number of people share my interests, and I will make every effort to provide the readers here with reliable information and high quality content. I am not a “certified expert” on any subject, however, so be sure to cross check any “facts” that you find here with other online sources.

- Yes, I'm the guitarist for a couple different groups – big f’n deal, a LOT of people are. It doesn’t make me any “cooler” than anyone else and, honestly, considering what an easy instrument it is, I’m not very good for having been at it for more than 20 years. I like to post photos of me playing because those are often the times when I’m most happy, and that seems to come through in those pictures - they always seem to represent me well. I’m NOT trying to be a “show off” of whatever. If you have a problem with any of that, here’s a tip – go buy a $90 instrument at Wal-mart, click HERE, and start your own band. It’s THAT easy!

- I love duck hunting (it’s by far my favorite hobby), but I don’t go afield every fall for any love of blood or killing. The appeal for me comes from the experience as a whole; maintaining equipment, painting decoys, scouting, shooting practice, working with my dog, canoeing in the dark, little boats on big water, etc. Plus, the rich history of waterfowling in North America fascinates me to no end, and I love being a part of that long-standing American tradition. You will rarely if ever see a photo of a dead animal posted directly on this blog. Also, I generally practice catch and release fishing. If a fish in a photo wound up in the frying pan, it will be duly noted. Of all the fish I catch in any given year, I usually eat only 3 or 4 of them.

- I may go for weeks without a post – deal with it. I felt sort of trapped by my previous blogging efforts, and I don’t want that to happen again. If I have something interesting to say, you’ll hear about it.

- A fair amount of what I say is tongue in cheek, and I make frequent use of the “winky face.” ;-) I’ve found that a lot of people either have poor senses of humor or just plain like to pounce and fight, and that’s not what I’m looking for here. Stand down and read my posts with a smirk on your face because that’s what I’m doing while I’m writing them.

Ok, good enough. Sorry to sound like a pompous ass. I LIKE to take pictures, I LOVE writing, and blogging just happens to be an activity that fits me well. Oh, and I usually go through all my posts and count the instances of the words “I, me, and mine” in the interest of eliminating as many as possible. This post was particularly bad, so I’ll try again tomorrow. ;-) Peace.