Tuscarora Lodge & Canoe Outfitters

It was 60 degrees, it was November 8th…and we paddled to Gotter just because we could.

This guy did a fabulous job of capturing a fall canoe trip—

Boundary Waters Canoe Trip

If you have 4 minutes to watch a video, check it out.

During our October camping trip, the adolescent loons were lingering. I always feel tender toward them when they are left behind this time of year. What do they think when the adults gather and ditch them? They made a lot of confused hoots, lonely. This year I had extra worries about them, wondering what will happen when they get to the Gulf Oil spill. Is that a problem? It doesn’t seem like a problem anymore, but I still would like to figure out how to call to them.…… “Go to Maine..Fly east… to Maine!” I don’t actually know what kind of instinct sets up which direction they go, because their parents have long since migrated.

We saw one or two of these young loons on almost every lake we visited. One evening, camped on Ester Lake, we set up our chairs in the front row of the show, while one guy tried and tried and tried to fly by our rocky point. He just wasn’t getting it, and truly, we could feel his panic. It’s October, buddy. If you don’t get it this month…..well, then it will be November. And then you are really in trouble. What happens to the immature loons who die at freeze up? Otters? Not a bad species to support, but still. We were bonding with this guy.

Every time he failed, he’d give a pathetic half-tremolo kind of whine. I know they’re mostly silent during their first season, but we heard a bunch of them working on the calling along with the flying. They sort of had half- calls, cries of disappointment. We looked at the full moon over the calm lake, and there he’d go again—slapping those wings on the water at the wrong angle. Awkward, ineffective.

Early in the morning, from the tent I awoke to hear him try again. I could almost feel him hold his breath and get up the gumption and then go slapping the surface like a maniac….. and then he was so very disappointed, and I realized I had been holding my breath and I was disappointed too. How could I help him? What could I do? If only I could coach him on how it should sound. I’ve heard it all summer long…..less whappy, more….light and choppy. What could I do for him?

Sometimes I feel like that when I’m trying to help my kids learn to fly. I want to share all of that knowledge that I have—I’ve spent so many years slapping my wings at the wrong angle, surely I could save them time? Maybe then they could fly farther than I have ever migrated. Seems like a great plan to me.

Wouldn’t it have been ridiculous if these gawky adolescent loons were still riding on their parents’ backs? From the time my kids were newborns, this motherly love has so blindsided me, that I can see myself liking that part, as a mother loon, and letting them stay on just a little longer. Maybe I’d decide that our situation was different—we might just buck the system, and ride our own way.

Through breakfast that morning, we continued to witness the pathetic attempts and the disappointed cries. And then, awhile later, the same loon gearing up to try it again, I kept thinking on the parenting parallels. Of course, Andy and I are not migrating any time soon…we’re still here to love our adolescents, to help make good decisions, to help them make sense of things, give them support, and hand out money….but sometimes I have to remind myself we are not here to make life easier, to prevent pain, to diminish their struggles.

Easy enough with sports—no pain=no gain. As a math educator I know they have to pound their heads against new concepts. The only good problem solvers are the ones who have confidence to figure out what to do when they don’t know what to do.

But somehow, watching the kids as they figure out who they are and where they fit in the world—are struggles harder for me to embrace. Friends, loyalties, betrayals, pettiness won’t crush them either….sometimes, I just want to shield them from all that. From the disappointments, from the inefficient slapping of the wings.

Even with the most loving intentions, isn’t it ironic that by shielding them from that kind of pain we would then be sabotaging their potential? It’s the last thing we want to do…to actually encourage them to become less than the people that they were born to be. It’s such a paradox.

Definitely, it’s a good thing that it is also within my kids’ instincts to break away and have ornery moments. So I can slap the side of my head and remind myself what I already know. It’s a good thing I have wise friends who gently slap my head into place once in awhile too.

It’s also a good thing when we get the golden moments, when the moon is coming up and the lake is calm, when we know they’ll eventually get there, and we can just lean back in the crazy creek chairs and watch.

(Check this guy out!—I didn’t take the video, nor did we see any such quick learners— but he amused me)

We’re winding down here at Tuscarora. The paddling season is nearly over, we’ve closed a few of our cabins….it seems mostly hunters are visiting the Gunflint Trail, a quiet time for us.

I woke up on Saturday morning and I couldn’t help the little jolt of snow joy. Remember when snow meant nothing but frolicking fun? This time though–I wondered about the team driving up to run.
The Cross Country team/parents gather on Saturday mornings, for the long slow training runs. Some run 10, some 5, some hike, some bike………..then we have breakfast. I love this tradition….Cook County has some beautiful trails. Since I’m usually late on the draw…..we hosted the very last one here at Tuscarora.

Chris is a unique coach. He is very blunt….during the Tuscarora Triathlon once he passed me running —and said..”Well, at least you can swim.” There is no room for false praise, but he is just as excited about improvement in his slowest runners as he is about his all-state runners. His goal is to promote life-long running fun and health. And he is full of success stories—along with a team of 40+ runners, which is really something for a small town and an independent sport.

So the run for the day – the Centennial Trail, in the bright sun—and snow. It’s Shelby and Daniel’s favorite, so ………they all slid through it! I think there is nothing so bonding as exercise in the blue sky snowy woods.

Later in the day, the Murder Mystery crowd showed up. This crowd is game for anything.

Notice the French Maid, the Butler…….and Fabio the pool boy.

Can you tell by the photo that shady Neil the chauffeur was the killer?

The sisters were dressed in lovely velvet gowns, …..and only one of them needed a chin-wax.

On Sunday–we decided to stay home for Halloween. We were a little nostalgic about that, the marking of a new era. We could have hauled into town, and even trick-or-treated—some kids do, but Daniel wryly realized that he’s a little tall for that. 5 years ago trick-or-treating was the most fun thing imaginable, and now……they’re sort of exempt. Nobody actually wants to go back in time, but for all of us (maybe especially me)……it was bittersweet.

So we went for a paddle (freezing) , Daniel made his pizza dough and carved a pumpkin, we watched a movie, and had a mellow Halloween. I felt lucky to live here, and lucky to still have time with the kids. It was really nice.

Last week, it was perfect fall weather for prescribed burns. So the Forest Service started a few. Today it’s raining, and there only a titch of smoke smell left. (this photo from our deck is a smoky sunset , not flames. I thought it was sort of shocking and sort of beautiful)

The way I see it, prescribed burns are still forest fires. I wouldn’t complain about them, I’m all for them actually………………except that I don’t like forest fires. I could preach about fire as a necessary part of the regeneration of boreal forest ecosystem yahdahyahdah. I even believe it. I paddled through my beloved Kekekabic Lake a while ago, and thought—“Oh boy, this place sure needs a fire.” Everybody likes renewal and new growth, but does anybody really like the death and destruction that proceeds it? It’s so much gentler just to have the old trees rot and grow mushrooms, don’t you think? It’s like the National Geographic specials where the lions eat the antelope. I don’t watch those parts, I hate that.

Incidentally, I know that Kekekabic Lake isn’t actually mine, and yet I still claim it. I have good memories there, it is long and cliffy and haunting. With hidden pictographs, sort of. It’s hard to get to–a little off the path. This is why I thought they should have consulted me before they burned near it. Isn’t that the way the BWCAW is? We all think we own our favorite spots.

Often, the USFS is so good at these controlled burns that you can’t even see much evidence when you are on the travel routes. And unless you have a strong opinion about a certain cedar stand, you may never notice. There’s a lot of pathless woods in between the lakes, where nobody goes on purpose. I completely get it, it’s a little dose of chemotherapy for the forest. But still, they started forest fires in my neighborhood, near my Kekekabic Lake. I don’t have to like it.

In September I wrote a note to my friend Diane who lives outside of Boulder in the Fourmile Canyon. I could so empathize with her stress at that moment—as she watched a wild fire blowing toward her home on a windy night, wondering if/when her family would be evacuated. I’ve seen competent fire fighters rush around with tools and tactics and front lines of attack, full of confidence, completely unable to tame the fire.

These October fires were not wild at all. It must have been sort of a heady experience for the fire specialists, like directing the wind or commanding the rains. It must have been the same giddy feeling that ancient people had when they first harnessed fire. We do what we can to survive, don’t we? It’s part of evolution, to manipulate the environment, to protect the people. Or to get ahead, or accomplish something useful. Those early firekeepers must have been freer to migrate to colder places. Cooked meat must have been safer= increased life spans. Once they figured it out, fire was a handy agricultural tool. And it had to be a status thing too. I’ll bet the “haves” walked with just a little extra swagger around the “have-nots.”

There seemed to be no Gunflint Trail controversy around these fires. Helicopters dropped fire, smoke and ashes and carbon filled the air and nobody complained. We all remember. Especially at Tuscarora we remember. Those prescribed burns completed in 2003 saved us here at Tuscarora, without a doubt. They were textbookly successful. And we trust the fire people. Pretty much, you know, but they are still igniting forest fires and that is still a risky business.

Someday these woods will burn again…….and someday maybe the fires will stop short of Gunflint Trail private property because of these prescribed fires. Who knows?—Any future summer wildfires are much easier to tame ahead of time in October, that’s for sure.

Prescribed burn season here is officially over, I believe they completed their objectives, and I’m glad about that. After all, Andy is just learning to roast marshmallows again, and this last week…….. was a minor setback.

Last week we hit the jackpot. We felt like we just stole the best BWCA weekend of 2010 for ourselves.
It was ridiculously the most beautiful weather. We would like to reserve it next year for you…….I know it was October, I don’t know what got into the Mother Nature, but the wind completely disappeared, and the sun was warm—quiet and crisp, bug free, wow.

I don’t recall that I’ve ever seen South Arm Knife this calm. Eerie. Fleeting. We savored it. We even swam. It must have been 80 degrees at that point. (that would be the air, not the water…….)

My sainted parents facilitated the busy Homecoming shuffle so that we could go. Staffer Rachel helped them hold down the resort……
Kelly and Jeff came with us for Saturday, to enjoy the sun and make us laugh.

Bass season is closed, so we figured we’d just catch and release these big guys with the camera. I know it’s hard to see them, but they were everywhere in that particular bay.—

We traveled along the border–many decades after the Voyageurs but that’s OK, Andy knows where to look to find their traces. Here we found an Oak Grove. Oak is not native to the BWCA, but he says the French planted them, because they were lonely for their own species. I get that, the dead leaves’ smell brought me back to Minnehaha Falls for a few minutes.

The weather is still holding for a few more people to trickle in. If you can drop everything and come here tomorrow—I’d say go for it! It’s a great place to wake up in the morning….