Solo Canoeing and Camping in the S.W. Region of Minnesota’s BWCAW – May 2021

When seeking adventure out of doors, paddling a canoe with my dog, camping in the forest, fishing for walleyes on Minnesota’s incomparable public waters, or enjoying nature in whatever capacity, I prefer to be alone…to a fault.  In May of 1992 after watching me catch and release one tiny “cigar” sized fish, a guy from Cottage Grove MN frantically motored over to the spot I was occupying and actually bumped his boat into mine in an act of unbelievable rudeness.  At that moment it dawned on me that, though the lake of countless childhood memories, the growing popularity of and changing attitudes toward Lake Vermilion finally rendered it incompatible with my expectations – to a Walmart-like degree - and I dedicated the following decade to the search for a superior experience. 

Truly blessed by a family and employment situation not shared by my group of friends that accommodated multi-day excursions not tied to weekends or holidays, these initial outings in search of solitude were by default solo endeavors, and the first trip took the form of a ridiculously punishing trek through the Southwest Region of the BWCA from Lake Vermilion to Burntside Lake.  Feeling somehow unsatisfied by that ordeal and wanting to “work out the bugs,” I followed nearly the same route the following spring.  Looking back, the exclamation “What a dumb kid!” comes immediately to mind, but obviously at the time it made sense.  Have you ever carried a heavy royalex canoe and too much gear over land a distance more than you actually paddled to spend the night at the uncomfortable, rocky, seldom-visited campsite on murky Glenmore Lake?  I have.  <groan>  Do you have any idea why someone (not me) took a sharpie and scrawled “The Ball Buster!” on the sign marking the start of The Crab Lake Portage?  I do.  <eyeroll>

Due to the prospect of paddling a canoe across large lakes like Vermilion and Trout, canoe traffic in this section of the wilderness area is slightly lower than the rest of the BWCA, and if the icy cold waters don’t kill you during an “unplanned swim,” then the likelihood of encountering other people in May is low.  As these early adventures to quiet lakes to mark the beginning of each year’s fishing season evolved, more “reasonable” destinations like Buck, Western, and Pine Lake piqued my interest, and I visited each one several times with varying degrees of success from “smiled and lost count at ___ walleyes” to “shivered and identified 15 distinct types of precipitation.”  On one of these annual trips, a particular campsite on Pine Lake really grabbed me, and the discovery of that isolated haven and the partial solution to that lake’s unique “puzzle” put an end to my search. 

Out of a sense of tradition, I reserve a permit when the system goes online every January, but for the last ten or more years, that reservation was made with the understanding that unforeseeable circumstances could get in the way of the trip.  Kids’ school events, late ice-out dates, illness, band schedules, etc. all thwarted past plans, so the excitement from the possibility of this year’s adventure being a ‘go’ became all encompassing.  Gear sorting and meal planning started in early March, and concerned about a chronic but mercifully dormant back problem and age-related lack of fitness, I also embarked upon a personal journey towards better health that left me nearly 25 pounds lighter and feeling better than I have in years.  With all the elements necessary for a successful canoe camping trip to the BWCA reasonably in order, a 3 a.m. alarm awaited my understandably unenthusiastic taxi service driver and me, and despite past experiences with restless sleep and anxious dreams on the eve of similar events, I slept quite soundly.

Day One - Though my tolerance for the concept of “other people” while relaxing outdoors increased somewhat with age, as a humorous tip of the hat to past truths, I approached elements of this outing from the point of view of an antisocial and annoyed 20-something, and in the interest of getting through “Walmart” on the Thursday morning before the fishing opener when nobody was around and returning after the weekend when relative quiet returned to the lake – the years-old original concept behind this trip - I stood in the sand at Moccasin Point and hugged my lovely Mrs. goodbye before loading Rosie the Labrador into the boat and sliding quietly off into the darkness of 4 a.m. under the hint of gathering twilight.  In favorable conditions with no wind and an air temperate around 30°F (-1°C), the 3.6 mile (5.8 km) jaunt from the landing to the Trout Lake River progressed quickly, and the triple portage into Trout Lake took only 30 minutes.  Knowing that the wind for the rest of the day even at its highest forecast speed would be insufficient to create dangerous conditions in and of itself, I happily dug in for an exciting big-water crossing, and the 5 mile (8 km) haul across the expanse of Trout Lake ended at the sand beach adjacent to the mouth of Pine Creek with my face tired from smiling.  I traversed that stretch of lake only a handful of times, and in a small solo canoe, it’s an experience that beautifully illustrates the adage “the joy is in the journey.” 

 

Pine Creek at Trout Lake

With the potentially hazardous open water behind us, Rosie and I tackled the portage around the rapids to the navigable beginning of Pine Creek, and upon first arriving at the upstream end of the trail, a swarm of hated Black Flies (a.k.a. “Sand Files” or “gnats”) fell upon us.  Though common in the area to varying degrees, their numbers this time around proved a constant nuisance that dictated many of the plans and decisions in the coming days.  A nice southerly breeze kept them at bay for most of the paddle up Pine Creek, and though that specific route added 3.5 miles (5.6 km) and more than two hours and four beaver dams to our outbound leg, in retrospect I arrived at camp far less beat up and worn down than I did back at home after returning via the long portage between lakes.  Due to unusually low spring water levels, the two known “rocky sections” of Pine Creek increased to four, and the threat of smashing a somewhat fragile kevlar rental canoe into an invisible rock hiding in the stained water forced slower paddling speeds that partially accounted for the increased trip time.  When the creek opened to the northern bay of Pine Lake around 11 a.m., we found the lake deserted, and I pointed the canoe towards the favorite campsite not visited in so many years.

Immediately tending to the large oxygen pack of rainbow chubs (technically Northern Redbelly Dace) expertly prepared by the world’s most knowledgeable bait shop attendant at Lucky 7 Sports in Virginia MN at 5 p.m. the previous day (NO dead minnows!), I then hauled gear from the sand beach landing up to the fire area, pitched my new tent, hung a tarp, and established a tidy, orderly camp. As expected, the previous campers left no firewood, so I hiked up the ridge behind the site and scavenged successfully for some downed maple. With everything squared away, the activities of the day and early wake-up call began to take a toll, and in a nicely shaded tent under a taught, quiet tarp with a perfect breeze blowing through the screens, Rosie and I settled down for what turned into a four-hour nap. We crawled out of the tent around 6 p.m., did a few more chores, made a nice dinner, and sat by the fire until turning in for the night after taking in a spectacular sunset. 

 

Day Two - Because the 2021 fishing season started at 12:00 a.m. Saturday, I planned to lounge around and do some exploring on Friday, so we slept in until almost 10 a.m.  As a life-long unapologetic camping "sleep-insky," a number of past trip mates raised an eyebrow about the extent to which I seriously enjoy sleeping in a tent, but my like-minded, loyal companion Rosie’s name does not appear on that list of fidgety "wake-up-niks," and after a quick, filling breakfast and some time IN the smoke of a small campfire to ward off the flies, we loaded the canoe with everything that couldn’t be risked to a bear incursion in our absence and headed out into the bug-hindering breeze to look around the lake. 

Inspired by a fond memory of an excellent afternoon spent relaxing on the sand beach near the mouth of Buck Creek, one step of pre-trip planning involved flying around the lake on Google Earth to identify as many other beaches as possible with the intent of visiting each one for at least a few minutes. I marked them off on the inset map, and the first one at which we stopped showed no sign of human activity. As the sandy area stretched around the point, it gave way to gravel that sloped off into the depths and appeared to be an extremely likely area for evening fishing. I tromped around looking for possible firewood without success, and from there we headed all the way across the lake to check out another interesting geographic feature.

Indulging a nearly life-long interest in beaver dams and the impoundments they create, we sought out the beaver pond closest to the lake clearly visible on G.E. that blocks the channel of an unnamed stream that flows in on the western shore, and after an easy landing and quick hike through a stand of Ash and Maple trees, an impressive dam appeared.  Solidly constructed in a small gap between two Ely Greenstone outcroppings through which the stream passed, the structure stood nearly 10 feet (3m) high, and judging by both the ideal location for a small, stout dam and the absence of any dead, standing trees in the 23 acre (9 ha) pond, it appeared that beavers lived there for centuries.  Though they were loudly bothered to see an untanned doofus and his black duck dog snooping around, I was thrilled to jump a small flock of Lesser Scaup commonly known as “Bluebills.”  I bumped into a large group of them on Rice Bay of Lake Vermilion two weeks prior, and the big flock of ducks that I initially misidentified as Ringbills on the paddle in on Pine Creek the day before were also Bluebills.  Their numbers have been in steady decline over the last 30 years, and counting more spring sightings in two weeks than in the last 10 years gave me a bit of hope for their recovery. 

From that quick aquatic rodent-related tour, Rosie and I got back on the water and resumed our beach mission, but as we headed north, what appeared to be pilings jutting from the water caught my eye. Influenced by prolonged exposure to an expert about the early logging days in Minnesota, felt compelled to check it out, and indeed the 120+ year old remnants of one of the countless temporary narrow-gauge logging railroad spurs stood forgotten in the water at the edge of the lake buttressed by a substantial amount of still-intact underwater cribbing and rock work. The thought that hundreds of people once lived and worked together logging an area that took me half a day to reach lent an oddly unsettling air of isolation to the spot, and I headed off towards the next beach paddling through the channels formed by several small, picturesque islands.

The full shielding from the south wind by trees surely provided the nasty flies with a veritable kingdom at the beach in the narrow bay on the southern side of the lake, so I checked it off the list after visual confirmation while paddling past and instead pulled ashore on the large one at the north end of the lake.  Though picked on relentlessly for my choice of warm weather canoe trip beverages, it's my opinion that vodka can be quite palatable in adverse conditions, and it combines nicely with light weight, packable powdered lemonade mix, so I poured a vodka lemonade and waded up and down the beach taking in the scenery.  Rosie and I also hiked to the end of the nearby point to find the remains of a winter camp site and then stumbled upon a downed maple tree on the way back which got bucked up into a nice pile of firewood for transport.  Before a quick stop on the very wind-swept, black-fly-less beach at the mouth of Buck Creek where Rosie showed her true, rugged colors by crashing out dead asleep in the blooming Leatherleaf and grass, we canoed home where we followed the routine of the previous day by taking a nap and then getting up for a nice dinner, a long fire, another fantastic sunset, and bed.

 

Day Three - Whereas in the days of my youth the annual opening of the Minnesota walleye fishing season often found me in a boat near the end of Dodge Point on Lake Vermilion excitedly angling in the dark at 12:01 a.m. determined to catch a limit of 6 fish before heading home and retiring to bed, this year's approach was to sleep in…until 10 a.m. When Rosie and I finally rolled out of the tent, the black flies swarmed us almost immediately, and I quickly built a deliberately smokey fire to ward them off. Though the attempt at packing the proper amount of food for this adventure predictably failed because I somehow ended up with 10 days’ worth of food for a 5 day trip, a new approach to breakfast stood out as a rare success. For undetermined reasons, my parents would occasionally serve Spam to my siblings and me at the cabin in the summer, usually with eggs, and though it never appears in my diet under normal circumstances, it’s not the worst option for a “meat-like substance” to add protein, fat, and sodium to the diet of a person traveling light and living out of doors. During the packing process, I loaded 5 zip-loc bags with a portion of Duncan Doughnuts coffee sufficient to pack a portable coffee brewer, a small amount of sugar, 3 pouches of apple cinnamon oatmeal, and a single serving foil pack of Spam for an easy and substantial 750+ calorie breakfast prepared with only two quick Jetboil cycles. Despite hauling home many serving-sized baggies of cashews and beef jerky, a pound of bite sized Snickers bars, 7 freeze dried entrees, and like 9 un-eaten Cliff Bars, my 5 breakfast packs disappeared, and that left me with the intriguing future challenge of creating a similar successful menu and packing scheme for all of each days’ rations.

After gathering a bit of wood, lounging by the fire, and reveling in much expert level goof-off-ery, I finally worked up the gumption to complete the familiar, mildly daunting task of loading vital gear and supplies into the boat along with Rosie, and around 3 p.m. we headed off to try a bit of fishing.  Still in an exploratory state of mind, I tied on a fire tiger Rapala well suited to the moderately stained water, anchored my spinning rod between the portable fish locator's transducer clamp and the gunnel of the canoe, and headed off trolling along the shore using the speed feature on the GPS receiver to stay at or around 2 mph (3.2 kph).  The extent to which a person can fully absorb the finest details of a landscape while moving slowly past in a canoe strikes me with the awe of a new experience every time I follow a shoreline, and the hours spent putting along to south end of Pine Lake and back that day were no exception.

 

Rounding a corner and paddling beyond a stony point, the locator suddenly showed a depth of only three feet with small boulders, and despite taking action to avoid trouble, my lure became briefly hung up in the rocks.  I luckily managed to free it without stopping or retrieving any line, and as the bottom dropped away on the other side of the point, a hungry “lake monster” rose from the shadowy depths and slammed the bait.  The ferocity of the strike, the sensation of dead weight, and the buzz of the reel’s drag during a long run suggested a Smallmouth Bass or Northern Pike, but I let out a spontaneous “Woo-Hoo!!” when the first fish of the year came into view.  Over the next few days of moderate fishing success, it appeared the lake held a strong year class of walleyes in the 2.5 to 3 pound (1.1 to 1.3 kg) range.  Though the source of much prior debate with incredulous fishing partners, according to my personal preference, a walleye of that size makes for undesirable table fare, and since they are likely spawning females, they’re best released in favor of smaller fish - The End.  Fight me.  ;-)

 

Doing a bit more trolling in the wake of an uneasy run-in with two other people in a canoe (meaning I spotted them briefly from over a mile away), I arrived at the Ossawinnamakee Peninsula, an Ojibwe sacred site according to a trusted source, and from there paddled through the narrows and all the way to the mouth of Glenmore Creek pictured here.  The majestic chunk of Greenstone standing sentinel at the creek mouth suggested some sort of epic mythology while in stark contrast, the unimpressive “one star” USFS campsite on the south shoreline evoked the piteous “womp womp” of a lesser landmark.  When that bit or touring was over, I headed back up the lake and chose a spot to angle during the 90 minutes surrounding sunset.

 

Eric’s Spring Walleye Fishing Secrets – The Short Version:  From the time that the ice goes out on a lake unit the time that they spawn, walleyes move to the areas adjacent to their spawning beds and are fairly difficult to catch.  During the time they are actively spawning when the water ranges from 40 to 50 degrees, walleyes are very difficult to catch, and the females will eat very little if at all.  After completing spawning, walleyes go on a month+ long feeding frenzy and are extremely easy to catch.  This lasts until the massive hatch of the largest species of Mayfly (Hexagenia limbate) that fills the skies and clogs the shorelines at which point walleyes again become difficult to catch, and from there on, successful summer angling for the species becomes hit or miss and quite picky and explains the species' reputation as “elusive.”  The progression of this cycle in relation to the set date of the start of the fishing season depends on the weather any given spring, and this particular fishing opener on Pine Lake arrived during a post-spawn posture with water temperatures around 60 degrees.  In that situation, pick any stretch of land or island shoreline, identify a point that has been in the sun all day with a bottom that slopes gradually to deep water, toss out a minnow, and catch as many fish as you need.  Don’t tell anyone you heard this from me.   “Hey, Mr. Hick Weirdo – say ‘spawn’ again.”  No.  ;-)

 

Sorting through a truly entertaining number of predominant year class sized fish, I finally caught the 1 pound (.5 kg) entrée for which I searched and made quick work of the jaunt back to camp with nearly 7 miles (11 km) of padding on the day’s odometer.  Multiple-day outings develop predictable rhythms, and as with previous evenings, I made a fire, sorted gear, had a lovely dinner (with some fish this time), took in another breathtaking sunset, and hit the hay.  Mission accomplished.

    

Day Four - Aware of some minor aches and pains and concerned about tackling the route home in a diminished state, I resolved to spend Sunday relaxing as much as possible and avoiding unnecessary physical exertion.  Mildly dreading the coming day’s early wake-up call, Rosie and I stayed in the tent until nearly 11 a.m., but after breakfast and a bit of lazing about, the firewood situation at camp drew my ire.  One final “big” camping mission took shape, and with a literal hose-down with insect repellent, I grabbed the Bob Dustrude Quick Buck saw (the ONLY saw to carry in canoe country – made in MN, too) and headed up the tall ridge in the forest behind camp.  A few steps after departing the trail to the latrine in search of higher elevations, we interrupted the friendly neighborhood “drum circle” by spooking a chunky Ruffed Grouse off his drumming log.  He was so focused on the business of courtship that it took him a couple seconds to “deflate” while scurrying off into the bush, and amusingly enough my supposed “expert” upland game hunting dog only halfheartedly trailed after him.  I spotted two larger “down and dead” Maple trees knocked over by high winds, bucked them up into manageable sections, made 6 trips up and down the 90 foot (27 m) high ridge, and amassed a respectable pile of the region’s supreme firewood next to the grate back at camp.  I’ve found that in normal canoe camping situations, a sharp, stiff-backed machete is lighter, far safer, and equally as useful as a comparatively heavy axe, and using mine with a knotty piece of wood as a mallet, I produced a woodpile of split maple that was truly a thing of beauty.  After arriving at a remote campsite in the rain many years ago with a partner approaching hypothermia in need of immediate warmth only to find no easy firewood around camp, I’ve made it a point to leave enough wood behind for the next visitor to have a substantial fire immediately upon arrival, and upon our departure on Monday morning, more than half of the pictured woodpile remained.  It would be great if more people built that practice into their canoe country etiquette. 

 

Having enjoyed a long cocktail “hour” in the tent and under the tarp waiting out the one very welcome and needed heavy downpour of the week – with lots of lightning - the daily sorting of gear in advance of another evening fishing foray took place with a focus on preparing for the coming travel day, and in the interest of paddling as little as possible, I chose to fish the point with the western exposure closest to camp.  I caught and released a couple hefty walleyes and returned with a successfully targeted 1 pound delicacy, and with another delicious hot meal on board, I kicked back with my dog to the spring chorus of all woodland creatures amped up by the day’s rain and absorbed to the fullest the exquisite beauty of Pine Lake mesmerized by the final blazing sunset of the trip. 

 

Day Five - Thinking wishfully the night before, I set an alarm for 3 a.m., and when it went off, I popped out of the tent, used the restroom, scoffed aloud at the idea of being awake at 3 a.m. while camping, and reset the alarm for 5.  Despite experiencing it firsthand in disbelief, the black fly problem unbelievably appeared to worsen by the day, and even in the cool morning air at 5 a.m. after the second alarm, there were already flies swarming Rosie and me.  Breaking camp and packing up went quickly, and after policing the area for misplaced items and bits of debris, I said goodbye and thank you to Pine Lake Camp and pushed away from shore.  The weather forecast called for a humid day with a high of 83°F (28°C) and 10 mph (16 kph) south winds gusting to 15 (24), so I chose to avoid most of the big water on Trout Lake and headed instead toward the portage.  At 260 rods (.8 mi or 1.3 km), the portage is nothing at which to scoff, and despite carelessly over-packing planning to triple portage on the way in, I reduced and rearranged gear intent on double portaging on the way home. 

 

A person can follow the path of the portage from Pine to Trout Lake on Google Earth, and the first section that crosses the floating bog through thick Leatherleaf has been improved the by the USFS to minimize erosion and lessen long-term environmental damage.  Passing through, I recalled a year when the trail over the bog was fully submerged under ankle-deep, leech-filled water, and just after crossing the second plank walkway, a kindly southern-sounding voice erupted from up ahead.  A gentleman walking in from Trout Lake to fish from shore excitedly lavished praise on Rosie who was trucking along with a decent load in her Granite Gear dog pack apparently looking impressively business-like.  Though overly long, the portage is easy enough, and after spending the better part of 4 days on tannin-stained Pine Lake, at first view the blue-green sparkling clarity of the waters of Trout Lake briefly took my breath.  I did the first trip with the medium dry bag holding cookware, fishing stuff, and the remainder of the food (5 flippin’ more days worth), and tossed the canoe on my shoulders for good measure, and when we arrived back at the Pine Lake side for the final load, a group of four other travelers surprised me.  Though I had Rosie’s slip lead in my pocket, she ran ahead and quickly made friends, and when I sternly called to her, they rebuffed my command and said, “Oh!  We LOVE your dog.”  Then, after making out my face, one of the members of the crew absolutely yelled “A HEAD NET!  You’re smarter than us!  I have FOUR of them just sitting on my workbench at home because I didn’t think we would need them this early in the year.”  I said, “Yeah.  These black flies are OUT of control.  I don’t usually complain much about bugs in Minnesota, but they made this trip…difficult.”  They disappeared down the portage by the time I had the trusty 100+ pound internal frame backpacked loaded on my shoulders, and after surviving the hike back down the trail, the short paddle from the Pine Lake Portage to the Trout River Portage passed by all too quickly.

Determined to keep my arms and legs covered as much as possible while in the woods on the portages and not wanting to sacrifice the arch / ankle support and sure traction of my heavy neoprene portage boots, I held out hot and sweating until the final trip to the Vermilion side of the Trout River portage…and then wildly stripped off my clothes as the temperature climbed nearly to the heat of the day.  As with every visit, I wished that fantastic river was miles long rather than yards, and turning the corner to the lake, I observed a genius struggling to un-beach his giant mutant boat from a sandbar as his family looked on...from inside the boat.  As if that scene didn’t remind me enough of why I’d gone to such great lengths to avoid Lake Vermilion, I looked away and to my right only to see another guy cast a baited walleye jig into heavy weeds in knee-deep water who then gave ME the “stink eye” when it came back trailing a slimy salad-worth of aquatic vegetation.  There could have been no more ridiculous a "welcome party" for a paddler leaving the wilderness and returning to an overcrowded residential lake - perfect.   “Serenity Now!  Huh, Rosie?” I muttered to my dog as we barreled out into the medium chop of the windward side of “behind Pine Island.” 

 

Depending on the weather, the passage from Trout Lake to Moccasin Point on Lake Vermilion can be sketchy in the largest of watercraft, and due to the potential for trouble, it should never be attempted in a canoe without careful consideration up front, diligent focus while underway, and an emergency plan in the event of trouble.  If you haven’t taken a canoe or kayak safety and rescue course, you have no business paddling that stretch of water and even less so in May when the water is cold enough to kill.  With only a 5 minute break floating blissfully amid the boulders in the lee of Meads Island where I enjoyed a Cliff Bar and some Gatorade while remembering the times as a teenager catching and releasing ALL the smallmouth bass in the area, I completed the stretch in one shot without incident.  As St. Mary’s Island came into view, I pulled off into a placid cove to call my lovely Mrs., and 50 minutes later she greeted me back on the sand at Moccasin Point.  She loved up Rosie while I shuttled gear to the back of the car, and when she saw the tea-colored drinking water in the plastic bottle filtered from Pine Lake, she rolled her eyes, invoked the T.P.B's, and said, “Nice pi$$ jug, Ricky” delivering the first smirking jab of about a hundred exchanged on our drive to Ely where we dropped off the rental at The Piragis Northwoods Company - truly a first class operation and highly recommended for ALL your gear and outfitting needs!

 

Though a fairly conservative “base camp” style trip with only 40 miles tackled over the course of 5 days, my short adventure to the S.W. Region of the BWCA after a long absence more than ticked the boxes for quiet solitude, comfortable camping, good fishing, and satisfying outdoor activity, and I took heart from the reassuring proof that even at 51 years old, my ageing carcass can still stand up to quite a bit of abuse and come through it without any lingering aches or injuries.  Feeling a bit “back in the game,” plans exist for another go if it toward the end of August or possibly early September…when there will be NO biting insects around.  As always, the stunning beauty of this priceless wilderness area brought me back down to earth, and the business of living simply – deliberately - one day at a time in the woods served to hit the reset button for a number of compartments of the psyche.  If you haven’t taken advantage of Minnesota’s endless public lands and water ways recently, I recommend that you start making plans to do so before summer’s end, and to resurrect the battle cry of my former blog, “Turn off your computer, and go outside!”  Thanks for reading.  <3

New Music Videos:

Hey, look!  Beloved N.E. Minnesota photographer and videographer Ron "Ranger Ron" Kutsi recently captured a couple numbers from two of my current bands.

My acoustic duo Horse Fzce just finished the recording phase of our first CD at amazing Sparta Sound in Sparta Minnesota, and those tracks now need to be sent off for mastering before being printed and packaged as a saleable product.  As a “bonus track,” we thought it would be interesting to attempt one of the tunes as a 4 piece electric combo with bass and drums, and the fun and success of that collaboration spurred us on to perform the second half of our set at our local 218 Taphouse’s 2^nd summer of 2019 street show in Virginia Minnesota as a full band.  With our friends James Collins on drums and Tom Fricheck on bass, we presented six of our usual tunes in the new format, and the large crowd received the new act warmly.  The tune “Butterfly” embedded in this post was the first song at our first ever public performance with this new line-up, and I still can’t get over how very fortunate we were to have Ron on the spot capturing the footage.

Because they’re always well attended and have such a positive vibe, local musicians clamber to get on the bill at these street shows, yet due to an unfortunate cancelation the day of the event and a last minute scramble for a replacement, my hard rockin’ band Souler accepted an invitation to fill in – and I was lucky enough to perform at two in a row.  Heh heh...

Though a series of strong thunderstorms pushed the festivities indoors, a nice sized crowd remained, and once again our friend Ron stood by with his cameras and filmed the first ever public presentation of James Collins’ new tune “In a Minute.”  Our onstage sound situation was less than ideal due to the lack of a sound check or monitors, and though we all had minor issues with our personal performances, as a band we generally approved of the number.  This video also captures my brand of poorly planned, "sloppy but passable" guitar solos at the "4 to 6 beer level."  ;-)

 

I recently overheard an older local fellow exclaim, “I’m tellin’ ya…Da Range IS the Nashville of the North!”  I’m  not sure about that, but I can attest to the fact that we have a LOT of really great music happening here, and the ever growing number of folks who’ll enthusiastically show up to take in “locally-grown” original music gives me a lot of hope for the future of our arts and music community. 

The Iron Range Original Music Associaton ROCKS Again...

Original Artwork by Shaun Chosa

Please enjoy (or don't...) the recent article that Virginia Minnesota's Hometown Focus newspaper was kind enough to publish on behalf of my musical friends and me.  It's my understanding that the author is a "middle aged man with a silly, hipster attitude":

Iron Range Original Music Association to Present 11 Band Multi Venue Fall Showcase

 On Friday September 23 the members of the Iron Range Original Music Association (IROMA) in their continued mission to promote and popularize the creation and performance of original live music will come  together to present a unique Multi Venue Fall Showcase featuring 11 local bands performing original compositions at 3 different locations in downtown Virginia.  Based loosely on the recent popular Duluth Homegrown Iron Range Invasions, this exciting evening of music will bring to the stage a variety of styles and sounds unique to the Iron Range.

Horse Fzce (Photo by Ron Kutsi)

The event kicks off at 7 p.m. at The 218 Taphouse with the much heralded debut performance of the acoustic duo “Selah and Josh” featuring Orr native Selah Reid and Aurora area favorite Josh Palmi.  Popular Virginia duo Horse Fzce, a collaboration between classically trained vocalist Heather Surla and guitarist Eric Krenz , goes on at 8.  Comprised of former members of 4 Horse Johnson and a few other special guests including guitarist Dan Boyer, Karl Sundquist’s new project Big Waves and Bonfire goes on at 9 to perform laid back acoustic music.  A three piece version of the Hibbing area’s most popular rock band Hobo Revival featuring Kim Grillo Nagler, Robert Klaysmat, and Joe Gibbon rounds off the Taphouse’s line up at 10.

Bands performing concurrently with minimal overlap at The Rainy Lake include loveable Virginia hooligans The Iron Range Outlaw Brigade made up of Kirk Kjenaas, John Peterson, Glen Mattson, and Fred Hanson.  They describe themselves as a northwoods dirty punk rock country band bitterer than a shot of Wild Turkey.  They’ll stomp the stage at 8:30 p.m. followed by Minnesota music icon and Eveleth legend Rich Mattson’s band The North Stars at 9:30.  This dreamy northern Minnesota folk-rock group features not only Rich of Ol' Yeller, Tisdales, Bitter Spills, and Sparta Sound fame but also talented singer / songwriter Germaine Gemberling.  The always entertaining and unexpected Lazer Bear driven by Glen Mattson, Fred Hanson and Jeff Alger follows at 10:30, and the very hard rocking indy / alternative band Average Mammals currently promoting the release of their 2^nd CD “Petrichor” brings down the house at 11:30.

Strategically interspersed into the schedule, bands will also be playing at Paulie G’s on the other side of Chestnut St. with the duo of Christopher David Hanson from Babbitt and Brent Saari of Mt. Iron kicking things off at 9:15 p.m. and presenting the sounds of timeless rock and roll and original American roots music with hints of Motown, swing, and classic country.  Josh Palmi and The Strange Frequencies take the stage at 10:15.  A bluesy rock band featuring singer/songwriter Josh Palmi, Pike-Sandy harmonica ace Al "Trapper" Ranfranz, Craig Lasart on bass and Chris Hanson on drums, they released their debut CD earlier this year.  Ely area band Crazy Neighbors manned by Aaron Kaercher, Pat Hawkinson, Kyle Westrick, and Derek Rolando bring it on home at 11:15.

Formed in 2008 by a loose coalition of local musicians, the non-profit IROMA has worked for years to spotlight Iron Range bands and musicians writing original music, and this Multi Venue Fall Showcase represents a continued commitment to growing and celebrating our vibrant local music scene – it’s truly something of which we can all be very proud.  Performances at all three venues are free and open to the public, and merchandise from many of the artists will be available.  As always, amateur photographers are encouraged to attend, and information on IROMA and all the performers is readily available online.  IROMA would like to thank the members of our community for their continued support of original local live music on The Range.

Re: The Hometown Focus

Like so many of my “blogging buddies” from days gone by, social media has all but killed my blogging efforts.  The lack of creative writing on my behalf is truly a shame, but that being said, I feel far more “connected” now than I did even at the height of my “career” as a serious blogger.  Strange days…

One of my few remaining outlets for writing has been our local “alternative newspaper” The Hometown Focus.  It’s a wonderful publication full of local news that spotlights relevant economic issues, covers the arts and entertainment scene in the area, and gives voice to a wide variety of guest columnists….including ME.

Around the time that I graduated from high school in Virginia Minnesota, our school had an incredibly strong English department, and a significant number of the students who passed through that program are still writing today…many professionally.  One of my classmates has chiseled out a second career for herself as freelance writer focusing on topics related both to mental health and women in the outdoors, and she recently decided to make me the subject of one of her interviews over the course of which she focused on the different approaches that she and I take with regard to outdoor adventures.  Her ice fishing rig is pictured in the bottom half of the photo...below Lucy the Lab 'n me.  ;-)

 The complete article can be read HERE.

 

Re: The Boneheads at Groove City Guitars in St Paul Minnesota

In September of 2014 quite out of the blue, I received a Facebook “friends request” from a new Minnesota music store.  As a traveling musician at the time faced occasionally with long weekend afternoons to while away in The Twin Cities, I accepted the request and put their location on my mental list of places to stop next time I had a time to drive around fondling guitars and amps “down south.”
 



As a new business clearly trying hard to use social media to their advantage, I immediately noticed a steady stream of “for sale” items start to appear in my newsfeed, and that was cool with me.  I also noticed that they were presenting their business as somewhat of a “hippie guitar boutique” with high quality gear, funky rugs, and groovy furnishings.  On a morning in late September I was shocked and annoyed to see this advertisement posted by Groove city.  Disgusted by the idea of a cool music store “selling out” and turning their business into a ridiculous media circus powered by awful commercial radio, I said aloud at my desk, “Eeeewww!  Ska-REW that!”  I thought about leaving a negative comment but chose not to.  Less than 5 minutes later, another person “somewhere out there” took the words right out of my mouth by posting “KQ?  Epic Fail.  I will NEVER visit your store.”  A few minutes later, another outraged person did the same, and a predictable backlash by “pro awful commercialization” people ensued.  I could no longer resist, and I posted a comment something to the effect of “Way to go.  I would expect this sort of thing from Guitar Center (the Menard’s of Music).
 
Groove City responded by posting the following:


“We have never seen Eric or Tom in the shop, and none of the guys recognize them. Oh well, somehow they friended us, and everyone has a right to their own opinion! I'm sure if they ever come to see us they will feel embarrassed by those negative remarks about advertising with KQ. It's always best to have all the information, and see a business first hand before making generalized statements, positive, or negative.
  

I responded with:

“YOU sent ME a friends request like TWO weeks ago, and I live 200 miles away.  That is how long I've been aware of your shop, and you WERE on my list of stops on my upcoming Cities trip.  My annoyance stems from the fact that up until today, the image you presented of yourself here was ~very~ much NOT one of a music store that would choose to permanently stigmatize itself with such a sellout circus side show association with soulless big business radio.  Good luck.”

They deleted my response, so I posted it again…and then a third time.  Then, I was promptly “unfriended” by Groove City Guitars.  Seriously?  Looking back through their photos well composing this post, I’ve noticed that ALL the comments associated with that advertisement have been deleted.  Weird, huh?

I took two things away from this bizarre interaction.  The first one is that ANY business that would behave in such a manner isn’t worthy of my patronage.  Yes, I’m curious as heck about their collection of quality and vintage instruments, but they “8^th grade girl-ed” incorrectly in a public forum and alienated me forever.

The second is that giant broadcasting companies are both destroying American radio AND dumbing down the county.  No single organization should be allowed to own and manage 460 stations the way the Cumulus Media does, and the sooner those large corporations are broken up, the better.  As far as I’m concerned, the list of advertisers on those stations serves as a personal “black list” of business to avoid.

Sorry, Groove City Guitars.  No sale... 

Four Horse Johnson Returns to Sparta Sound.

My wife and I used to have what was known as a “land line.”  That was a telephone wired directly into a worldwide network of cables.  We got rid of ours over 5 years ago, but it was through a communication over that system that I was asked to join up with a new local band as the lead guitarist.  My bass playing friend asked me to help out with a new project involving a drummer unknown to me and a mutual acquaintance who was a songwriter.  When I hung up the phone, my wife asked, “What was that all about?”

“Oh, you know…just another band looking for a hired gun,” I replied with a smirk. 

She rolled her eyes and said, “Right…” with no lack of sarcasm.

To this day I can still shrug my shoulders in the midst of a band conversation, say “Don’t ask me.  I’m just the hired man,” and effectively annoy the hell out of all them.

Anyway, that band eventually took the name Four Horse Johnson, and with the exception of a 2 year “hiatus,” we’ve been playing together in one form or another ever since.  It was in 2008 that we entered the recording studio at Sparta Sound (a deconsecrated church in Sparta Location between Eveleth and Gilbert Minnesota ) to record our first CD “Transmission,” and just last night we were back to begin work on our 2^nd CD.  Between the 4 bands with which I’ve performed since 2007, this will be my 6^th recording project.  Last night went surprisingly well, and I plan to post recording updates here from now until the completion of our CD tentatively named (according to me) “Carbon Monoxide Sea Shanties.”

 

 

 

"Are All These Your Guitars?"

Hey, Look.  STUPID Google Blogger is finally allowing me to post photos using Internet Explorer 11. 

That was a long blogging "hunger strike." 

;-)

Anyway...way back in the late 1980s as a teenager with a small pile of saved $ from my paper route and new summer job, I placed a call to the long since defunct Rainbow Music in Poughkeepsie, New York hoping to acquire an American Standard Fender Telecaster.  Oddly enough, though no fan of either one of them, I'd observed both Bruce Springsteen and Prince playing butterscotch colored Telecasters with great interest, and that's what I was after. 

The sales person said they were OUT of that particular model, BUT..."We have a couple of Esquire re-issues.  They're basically the same thing as a Telecaster, and we have one in Butterscotch."  Being young, inexperienced, and more than a little naïve, I took his word for it and "pulled the trigger" on what was to be one of only a handful of guitars ever shipped to me sight unseen, and when the UPS driver showed up with it a couple days later, I was NOT wild about this new instrument. 

An authentic re-creation of one of the world's first commercially successful electric guitars, my Esquire had simple electronics and only one pickup.  Also, Fender's colors "butterscotch" and "butterscotch blonde" couldn't be more different.  It was YELLOW!  To make a long story short, I made peace with the instrument after having a local guitar shop install a neck pickup and properly set it up for better playability.  It was with that guitar and a borrowed Marshall JCM 800 half stack that I made my debut as a legitimate lead guitarist in front of an auditorium filled with my school's 7th through 12th grades (well over 800 people) while ripping The Kink's "All Day and All of the Night" a "new one," and it was also through that instrument that I learned to LOVE the feel and tonal capabilities of a Telecaster-style guitar. 

In my early 20s, I experienced a bit of a "downturn in fortunes," and was forced to sell my modified Esquire, and I've been without a similar instrument ever since.  Thankfully, I recently arrived a point in my existence where finances and my music "career" came together to drop a new Telecaster into my hands. This new axe is a dream in every way, and I'm looking forward to fetching it along to the recording studio when my band starts work on our 2nd CD this week.

Twangy shredding will surely ensue...    

Low Rez Cell Phone Food Pics...and LOTS of 'em.

While flipping through my phone this week, I clicked into the pictures folder for the first time in several months, and I was surprised that the card held around 300 photos.  Because I own a 4 year old LG VX9100 that's barely half a step up from a "dumb phone" and features a lackluster 2 mp camera, I generally only take pictures with it for the purpose of taunting my friends or for reinforcing a point over the course of a text conversation.  That practice yielded a bizarre collection of images that when viewed out of context raised some troubling questions, and I noticed that, oddly enough, a number of them were of food in various states of consumption.  No, really.  I realize that "pictures of some idiot's boring lunch" have become a contemptible cliche across various social media sites, so...enjoy!  ;-)

Despite a tendency to make terrible choices where diet is concerned, I try to eat healthy foods.  This is a good example of a typical lunch on a work day.  I believe this photo was taken and sent to a friend after she informed me that her lunch was a can of Slim Fast.  I'm not a fan of that.

 

 

This is the opposite of the photo above.  It's Nachos Del Grande or something like that from Taco Bell with a tankard(?) of Mt. Dew.  I ate this on the way to a gig at Clyde Iron Works in Duluth MN.  It wasn't very good, but...neither was the food backstage at the show, so... 

 

 

I LOVE breakfast, and as a "creepy old guy," I love eggs with gravy...in...um...moderation.  My sons and I make it a point to visit Alden's Family Restaurant in Biwabik MN at least one Saturday or Sunday morning every month...usually more.  All of their food is consistently good, the staff is friendly and efficient, the atmosphere is warm - amazingly warm for a small town cafe, actually - the prices are low, and they make a very solid plate of biscuits and gravy.  Yum.

 

 

Unlike the delicious home-cooked meal made by Alden himself in the photo above, this Perkin's breakfast was simply awful.  Due to a series of unfortunate events, my family "settled" and wound up at Perkin's in Duluth after attending the ballet in December.  SOME of us were in the mood for "breakfast for dinner."  Perkins is truly the "wal-mart of food," and despite its somewhat appetizing appearance, this was one of the most tasteless, ill-prepared plates of garbage I ever attempted to eat.  PLEASE, people of the world, do NOT patronize "corporate food!"  The small, one-of-a-kind family-owned eateries ALWAYS provide a superior dining experience.

 

 

This is the "kitchen table" at my friend's hunting shack near the Canadian border.  There are olives for one to drop in one's beer, assorted condiments, 3 brands of admittedly bad beer, a bag of generic Doritos, a 500,000 candle power spot light, and a bag of dog food.  Perkin's could learn a LOT from atmosphere at "the shack." 

 

 

Here's another example of some interesting "gig-related fare."  Bub's in Winona MN ("It's pronounced BOOBS because it's German!" said the lovely and enthusiastic young waitress...) is one of my favorite places to eat in one of the greatest towns on earth.  Preoccupied by the BIG show that was less than two hours away and distracted by the fact that they had Surly Furious on tap AND it was happy hour, I opened the extensive menu and...really, for the first time in my life...resolved to blindly point at the menu and order the item on which my finger landed.  This grilled pastrami on rye was VERY good...like EVERY other item on the menu.  Matt Ray and two of Those Damn Horses left happy.

 

 

I snapped the photo above while my pre-show anxiety level hovered around a 6 out of 10, but this fantastic candid shot of Cheerios and fleece blankie time happened during an episode of calm relaxation.  Mmmmmm...cereal.

 

 

This is just plain embarrassing, but...dumpster level food porn happens.  I was in Babbitt MN for work and had a bit of a "freak out" and ate "food" from a gas station, so...there you go.  I washed down this horrific...yet delicious...mess of heart poison / stroke fuel with a can of icy cold Mt. Dew.  Got distracted driving?  Just kidding.  I was parked.   

 

 

I did mention that 90% of my lunches during the work week are fairly healthy, right?  If I'm not in a position to bring a container of my lovely Mrs' soup from home, Natural Harvest Food Co-op in Virginia MN has an amazing deli, and the friendly folks who staff the counter there serve up not only perfect soups but also GOOD humor.  Yes, that IS buffalo / wild rice / cranberry jerky, and NO you can't have my awesome red Swingline stapler. 

 

 

What is my current favorite breakfast?  My wife and I make it a point to do a "Duluth Day" at least once a month, and on those days we take off from work, drop the kids off at school at 7:30, and arrive in "The Zenith City" around 9 a.m.  We inevitably head to The Duluth Grill which is TRULY on the very short list of the best places to eat in all of Northern Minnesota.  Over the last 5 years, we've tried numerous items from the extensive and diverse menu, but lately I've been "stuck" on the Huevos Rancheros with Chorizo.  I'm NOT kidding or being dramatic here; if you're into food and live within 500 miles of this place, GO there and check it out.

 

 

My current favorite work day lunch is the Black Bean Burrito from La Cocina y Cantina in downtown Virginia MN.  Ordered "with no cheese inside and half the usual amount of cheese on top," it comes with a lovely salad on the side and contains sauteed scallions and peppers alongside the beans.  The atmosphere is perfect, and the staff is fast and friendly to the point that my Mrs. and I can be in and out in 30 minutes or so.

 

 

Ok, to be fair, my other current favorite breakfast is the country fried steak and eggs from the Woodbury Cafe in Woodbury MN.  We refer to it as "chicken fried" due to the history of the dish, but...Minnesota IS a "blue state," so...  Hehe.  Oh, and it's soooo good that more than half of it vanished before I snapped a taunting photo to send to my oldest son.

 

 

Here's another photo from this week that was sent to my wife and younger son who were at soccer while my older son and I enjoyed "Tuesday burger night" at The Wandering Pines in Gilbert MN.  A "buck fitty" for a burger and $2.50 happy hour pints of Summit?  Please.

 

 

So, there's a pile of crazy yet fascinating photos of food that misrepresent my normal eating habits.  Lucky YOU, dear reader.  ;-)  I'm exhausted from photo editing, so...it's time for a mediocre bloody mary and a snit of awful tap beer from a bad "logging industry-themed" establishment in Mt. Iron MN.  I would have ordered the "deluxe" bloody mary, but...it was $8, and it's lesser cousin was uneventful.  Thanks for reading.  :-)

 

  







Winter Camping in Northeastern Minnesota - 20 Years and Counting

On Presidents Day Weekend of 1993, two friends and I, very much on a whim that to this day defies explanation, decided to attempt a winter camping trip.  One member of our party had a bit of experience with "winter ops" from the National Guard (which apparently involved armored vehicles, heavy weapons, and numerous explosions), but my other friend and I were total "newbies" and had little idea what we were  up against.  We parked at the end of Breezy Point on Lake Vermilion and trudged out into knee-deep snow without the benefit of snowshoes or skis with the ambitious goal of reaching Wolf Lake via the stream that flows into Smart Bay.  In the midst of 45 minutes of crushing physical exertion during which one member of our party "refunded" his breakfast, I uttered for the first but certainly not the last time in relation to winter trips the phrase "Well, this was a stupid idea!" and we continued on...for a couple more hours.  This trip took place before my introduction to the Internet, and forced to rely solely on a USGS topographic map without the added benefit of aerial photos, we were unaware of the fact that Wolf Creek made a sharp and unexpected turn though a heavily-wooded choking point on the west side of the most open part of its flowage.  3.5 miles into an extremely difficult trudge with our collective judgement clouded by exhaustion, we took a wrong turn, lost our way, decided to call it "good enough," and made camp on the edge of a spruce bog marked by a red star on THIS map.  Faded by the passage of time, my memories of that weekend are sadly fragmented, but I remember spending the evening eating smoked Gouda and good Italian bread, drinking Windsor Canadian and cola, smoking cigarettes, and enjoying a high spirited and fairly late night around a campfire with our entire party exhilarated by the awareness that we were engaged in an esoteric and unconventional pursuit.  I also remember that my first experience spending nearly 10 hours sleeping comfortably in a down bag while the temperature outside dipped into the single digits above zero changed my life and marked me forever as a serious winter camping enthusiast.

On Presidents Day Weekend the following year, I convinced another friend and fellow outdoorsman to join me for a 3 day and 2 night trip that coincided with a near record level of snow on the ground.  We hiked in on our newly acquired snowshoes and pulled heavily loaded sleds, and after reaching our chosen spot a modest 1.75 miles into a local stand of State Forest, we floundered in waist-deep snow for nearly an hour while we "dug out a campsite."  It was on this early trip that we perfected our methods for "cold camping" and experimented with making snow caves, gathering wood on snowshoes, maintaining a reliable campfire in the snow, and cooking meals in temperatures below freezing.  From those early experiences grew a tradition of regular winter excursions including "big" treks every Presidents Day, and whether the occasion resulted in a multi-day trip with a large crew or a quick solo overnight outing, I made it a point to embark on a winter camping trip on that holiday weekend every year.  My most recent adventure in February of 2013 marked my 20th consecutive President's Day winter camping trip.

Following the unfortunate but accepted winter trip planning pattern where my friends are concerned, what began as a 3 day expedition involving a good sized group of campers and a number of dogs slowly unraveled, and through a disappointing series of text messages only days before the event, I was informed that "our" 20th annual outing was going to be a solo affair.  No longer concerned  about anyones' physical limitations but my own, I quickly selected a more challenging destination, printed out new maps, and revised my strategy.  Despite the knowledge that snow conditions were difficult and many area lakes were covered with slush, I decided to head to Fall Lake near Ely MN and travel up through Newton Lake to eventually camp and fish on Basswood with the understanding that I would likely run into trouble along the way.  In the winter of 2008 aided by ideal conditions, I chose the same route and made it all the way to New York Island on Basswood where I spent two nights and enjoyed really good fishing.  A strong desire to return quietly gnawed at me ever since.

On the morning of Saturday February 16 after some sloppy last minute packing borne of procrastination, Lucy the Lab and I set out from home and headed north to Ely.  We stopped for bait and a few last minute provisions at a gas station and, in observance of another unusual tradition, we hit the drive-thru at the local Dairy Queen.  For me, no BWCA adventure would be complete without a mushroom and swiss and an order of deep fried cheese curds.  Arriving at the busy landing on Fall Lake, I was instantly reminded of why most of my trips start at 3:00 a.m. rather than noon, and after making quick work of converting numerous loose bags and bins into a secured load on a sled, Lucy and I stepped out onto the lake.  The soft and disagreeable snow measured between 12 to 18 inches deep, and no trails headed off in our direction.  Perfect.  By the time we reached the tip of Mile Island, we were both slightly winded, and when the snowshoe trail that we mercifully picked up ran out less than half way to the portage to Newton Lake leaving us to fend for ourselves in soft and heavily drifted snow, I shrugged my shoulders and adjusted my goals for the trip.  Had there been 2 or 3 more guys along for the ride, we could have taken turns breaking trail and likely extended our range, but Lucy and I, despite being in decent shape, were somewhat hindered by our heavy loads and deep snow.  We pushed on while taking turns out front, and the grey mist and occasional flurries of a warm and foggy winter day quickly obscured all that lay behind us.  The stunning landscapes created by Winter in Minnesota never fail to stir my heart.

On the portage from Fall Lake to Newton Lake, we found evidence of heavy use by wildlife including wolves, deer, and a moose, and in the interest of giving my Lucy a much needed break, I snapped the tow bars onto her sled, clipped the waist belt into my pack, and made the quick overland jaunt bearing the full weigh of our equipment.  According to the MN DNR lake information report, "Newton Lake is very riverine in character with the Kawishiwi River flowing through a narrow, serpentine lake basin," and on that particular day in February, the lake was covered with slush and sported numerous ice free areas.  We proceeded with caution and hugged the shoreline as we pushed on further north, and after rounding a bend, I gasped at the sight of a large area of open water in the narrow channel that I skied right down the middle of on my previous winter trek through the the lake.  Barely 5 minutes after that, we ran into the southern end of a vast field of heavy slush that covered most of the lake, and the only way to avoid it was to keep within 10 feet of shore...where the snow was most heavily drifted.  Following the shoreline all the way down Newton Lake as opposed to taking a more direct course would have added a whopping 2.5 miles to the trip.  After trudging just slightly over 4 miles that afternoon, I spotted an area of light tree and brush cover adjacent to a likely fishing spot right next to a stand of Maple trees with a lot of wood on the ground.  Honestly, all that was missing was a "Camp Here!" sign with a big red arrow.  I made for shore, dropped my pack, freed Lucy from her load, and pulled a collapsible snow shovel from the sled.

After about an hour of shoveling, unpacking, and arranging, a tidy winter camp (officially declared "Newton Lake Camp!") sprung from the snow, and I set about the task of gathering firewood.  Depending on the location, weather, snow cover, etc., finding a suitable supply of wood in the winter can be a tall order, but due to my ideal location, I collected a solid 2 day pile of lovely dry maple in under an hour.  That never happens, and I celebrated with a beer and a tug off my 1L nalgene bottle of vodka and cranberry juice.  Perched happily atop a 5 gallon bait bucket, I looked out over the slush-covered lake and formulated a fishing strategy.  Winter angling when there is 4 inches of water on top of the ice requires a number of adaptations of both gear and technique.  Tired from the long hike and following her usual pattern from numerous prior expeditions, Lucy fell asleep atop her blanket in the tent, and I pulled my reloaded sled out onto the lake towards the down current end of the open water in the channel.  Area lakes at the time were covered with 36 or more inches of ice, yet I found barely 10 at the spot I chose to fish, and not long after my second line was set, Lucy left her warm digs in the tent and sauntered out to join me.  We enjoyed snacks and a decidedly one sided conversation as I fished without success for nearly two hours, and then in the creeping gloam a disturbance in the solid lines on my graph revealed that a fish finally found my bait.  With a bit of careful jigging, I hooked and landed a very large...Rock Bass.  It was a big, healthy example of its species but...yuck, and I chuckled, snapped a photo, and sent her back into the stained water.  I've been an avid fisherman since the age of 4, and in those nearly 40 years I've experienced every conceivable fishing outcome ranging from "lost count at 150 walleyes" to "skunked and stung by bees," and knowing that there will be many other fishing trips in the future, my expectations for any outing are quite relaxed and very low.  I chose to classify my first ever Rock Bass through the ice as minor victory in the "oddities" department, and after fishing until almost dark, Lucy and I headed back to camp for a warm fire and a hot meal.

Beside a perfect crackling hardwood fire, Lucy curled up on the piece of canvas used to cover the sled, and I dug into my soft sided cooler only to find that the two giant vacuum packed pieces of my lovely Mrs' world class lasagna were safe at home forgotten in the freezer.  Aside from my journey being impeded by slush, that was the only other problem experienced that weekend, and I rummaged around my pack for a "plan B" which appeared in the form of Mountain House Beef Stroganoff with Noodles.  Certainly that freeze dried entree contains enough sodium to preserve a side of beef, but I've found that when a person is cold, tired, and exhausted out of doors, it makes for an amazingly delicious and satisfying meal.  I supplemented that with the traditional winter camping side dishes of Italian bread and Pringles, and after making quick work of doing dishes, I tuned my small radio to WELY and set about firing off a couple of taunting text messages to my absentee camping partners.  After a couple hours and a couple beers beside the fire, I headed for the tent and nearly 9 hours of incredibly deep and restful sleep.

The next morning with a filling breakfast of percolated coffee, oatmeal, and a Cliff bar under my belt, I sloshed out onto the lake to set a couple of tip-ups and got down to the business of breaking camp.  It was another fairly warm, overcast day, and I though I really wanted to stay out another night and try hard to catch some respectable fish, a dramatic change in the weather was forecast with a low of minus 20 over night and a high in the single digits the following day with dangerous wind chills.  I love outdoor activities in the winter, and though well equipped to handle extreme conditions, my concern for poor Lucy pulling a sled across a big lake in a dangerous wind caused me to reconsider.  As is the case with so many winter camping adventures, the trip home was slightly easier due to our ability to hike back on our existing trail, and after setting to wing some of he numerous Goldeneyes and Mergansers that inhabit the open waters below the rapids on the Kawishiwi River and chain of lakes, we found evidence of additional wolf activity from the previous night on the portage.  The return trek across Fall Lake involved several breaks, and after arriving at the landing just before a couple dog teams heading west off the 4 Mile Portage, I hurriedly tossed all our gear into the back of the truck and hit the road for home.  Short but very sweet, it was a good trip.

Be it a 4 day and 3 night trip with 8 guys, a short overnight solo outing, a great fishing expedition in lovely weather, or a barely survivable ordeal in sub zero temperatures, every winter camping trip provides the the adventure seeker with life-long memories, and the successful completion of each trip leaves one with a lasting sense of accomplishment, a deep appreciation of the natural world, and a true zest for life.  Though not an activity to be attempted without careful preparation, appropriate gear, and a bit of education, due to the required mastery of multiple skills, winter camping truely rates among the greatest of all outdoor pursuits.  Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more.  ;-)

Peace.



Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses...again...

Here is a bit of "Christmas Cheer" for the blogging world:  it's the first two songs of the set performed by my band Matt Ray and Those Damn Horses live at The Cabooze in Minneapolis MN when we opened for White Iron Band at their CD release show on 12/21/12.  (music starts at 1:09 / be sure to double click for full screen...)



Also, our friend Tommy the Beard posted his recordings of the ENTIRE set on Archive.org.  You can check that out HERE.  ;-)  Happy Holidays!