Goodbye Nav Buoys

Earler this week the US Coast Guard buoy tender visited Chequamagon Bay and retrieved all the navigation buoys for season. No more 'red right return' until spring I guess. I think this means we are officially supposed to cease paddling for the season, or maybe it just means we need to paddle at our own risk. The buoys are great in heavy traffic areas because you can just stay on the 'wrong' side of them and avoid the motor boats. They also make great reference points since they show up on the charts and are a discrete point, visible for quite a distance. I usually punch them in when I first encounter them in the spring and use them when I time the legs on a crossing, especially if its foggy and you can't see your destination. The one negative thing about the buoys is that they really and truly stink.

All the good that the Coast Guard buoys provide is tempered by their use as a seagull and cormorant crapper. Only a foolish paddler approaches a buoy from downwind. The collection of birds in the photo below were not on a moored buoy but were sitting on Manitou Rock, a pile of rocks that marks the end of the reef that extends off the southwest tip of Manitou Island. Its not much of a rock pile but it has a permanent navigation marker in the middle of it. This marker might as well say Waterbird Outhouse - Unisex. You can bet that I shot that image with a telephoto lens from well upwind. Unfortunately, being upwind shields you from the otherworldly odor but is also the preferred take off route for the birds. Don't get too close! The last thing you want is to spook them and have them come cruising over your kayak...and your head of course. While biking with the VOR in Stanley Park in Vancouver, I narrowly missed being strafed by a roosting Double Crested Cormorant sitting on a cliff above the trail. That would have not been good, miles from the hotel. I'm not certain I would have been allowed on the ferry had I suffered a direct hit.

But the buoys are stored and the cormorants have headed down the Mississippi Flyway to plague the catfish farmers in the southeast US. Since DDT was banned, the Double Crested Cormorant population has exploded, tripling in the last dozen years. I guess the 'balance of nature' is more of a pendulum. Still, its nice to see bird life when you are paddling in the Apostles. I just don't want to smell em'.

Thinning the deer herd

The deer herd in Wisconsin is at an all time high, bad news for motorists, farmers, and vegetation. Last year 45,000 car/deer collisions were recorded and there are species of plants, Canadian Yew and white cedar particularly, that can't reproduce due to over browsing. There are 4 main factors that help control this huge deer herd in Wisconsin - hunting, car/deer meetings, wolves, and winter. All are in play at our camp on Reefer Creek.

Deer in northern Wisconsin are in the peak of the rut, the mating season, right now. Like most males, sex is not far from their minds at any time but for bucks this time of year it's an absolute overriding imperative. A walk in the woods will reveal evidence of this doe lust, including ground scrapes, an area that is pawed bare with a footprint 'signature' at the edge. Usually there is an overhanging branch that the bucks rub to leave scent, warning other bucks that this is my territory, stay out! Rubs are another sign that the rut is on. Bucks rub trees, proportionate to their size, with their antlers which does not do the trees any good. KingIronwood returned home after an unsuccessful hunt one weekend last season to find that the local buck had trashed his two new apple trees. In any event, its the best time to hunt since the natural wariness has been short circuited by thoughts of comely does and gathering a harem. Human and canine hunters are well aware of this phenomenon.

Last weekend Marley the grouse machine, a young American Water Spaniel, was diverted on his way into camp by something interesting just off the trail. When he came back with 'venison breath' Podman went to investigate and found a wolf kill a scant 200 yards from the camp. Wolf kills are unmistakable since there is pretty much nothing left but a skull, fur, and a spinal column. This one was still in the dining stage which meant it was relatively fresh. Score one for the wolves. Lots of hunters that spend more time in the bar than the woods bemoan the number of wolves and how the deer numbers are down. This, to put it bluntly, is complete bullshit. I could go into the reasons but that's a whole post by itself. We feel the wolves are what make the area wild and do volunteer tracking and counting for the Timberwolf Alliance in the winter. We're happy that the pack is still around and viable, and prepared to do some deer hunting of our own with the bows on the last weekend before gun season began. Shortly after 3pm on Sunday afternoon the GurneyGranny had an eight point buck wander under her stand and she promptly dispatched it with a single arrow. This was her first buck with a bow and her first buck that qualifies for the prestigious Eight or Better Lounge. Plus it will replenish the dangerously low venison stock in the freezers.

Saturday is the start of the Wisconsin gun season and its estimated that we hunters will harvest about 350,000 deer. State wildlife managers are worried that this might not be enough to get the herd through a tough winter with minimal winter kill. With a bit of luck, some skill, and perseverance, the hunters and the wolves along Reefer Creek hope to keep the herd at a healthy and sustainable level.

On the cusp of three seasons

My brain is spinning, caught between three of my favorite outdoor activities. First and foremost is the impending start of 'Holy Week', the Wisconsin Deer Gun season, on Saturday. Stands have been repaired and sited, rifles dialed in, blaze orange clothing and gear sorted, and, frankly, focus on most of my daily activities has been lost. The nine day season traditionally begins the Saturday before Thanksgiving and ends the Sunday after. The last time I attended work/school for the complete 3 days before the Thanksgiving break was in the 7th grade in 1966. My dad told me that if I got good grades I could take the three days off the next year; you can bet that mid term 8th grade report card was all A's and B's. Still, with the focus on the hunting season I'm still hanging on to the kayak season and looking forward to the start of the ski season.

I left camp early on Sunday after completing some deer season related chores, Q-boat on the roof. It was about 28F (-2C) and, figuring it may be my last Gitchee Gumee paddle of the season, donned the tuliq and neoprene mitts and hit the big lake. After a brisk warm up paddle I did exactly 7 rolls of various types. My head, even with the 3mm neoprene of the tuliq, felt like a block of ice. That little bit of seepage around the face was chilly to say the least. RangerBob's newfie Mary is a far more tolerant organism than I. She actually looks happy as she leaves the freezing waters of Chequamagon Bay. After getting the boat back on the roof and cranking the heater to thaw the frozen head and claw-like hands, I headed up the hill in Duluth toward home. What I saw was the last activity in my three 'brain spinning' avocations, the ski hill at Spirit Mountain. They had at least a dozen snowmaking machines cranked at full blast, creating a mini blizzard over the area. I had to swing in to check it out of course. It looks like they may be skiing by Thanksgiving Day.

Deer hunting ends on 30 November and the inland lakes will likely be frozen by then also. That leaves skiing only (remember, I'm not a pool session guy; I'm an anti chlor-ite) after December 1. For the next couple weeks I'll just have to live with those three activities jumbling my brain. The Russians love a troika, whether it be horse sleighs or politics, and I guess I do too, at least for a couple more weeks.

Gales IV - Don't listen to the weather folk

The whining began, via emails, on Tuesday. "The weather looks really crappy", "80% chance of rain", "Its snowing in North Dakota and coming this way", "south winds, 10-20mph" etc, etc, etc. I had to remind people, not for the first time, that hitting a baseball and weather forecasting are the only two activities where you are considered a superstar if you succeed 30% of the time. Once again the weather folk were dead wrong as we launched from Bay Park on Lake Minnetonka. The three founding members, the BessemerConvivialist, BDahlieOfMahtomedi, and myself, along with 4 rookies including the VOR, paddled on the Twin Cites 'luxury lake' in calm water, dry skies, and monochrome gray November scenery.

This was not quite a wilderness paddle. Lake Minnetonka has some mansions that should be pictured in the dictionary next to the word 'ostentatious'. We particularly liked the one in the picture that had the scale model Statue of Liberty on the balcony. It was good to get on the water, felt really good to be playing hookey from work, and it was nice meeting folks I had not paddled with before. Its amazing how the common language of paddling can draw people from different backgrounds and life experiences and create an instant comfort level. Everyone had thrown some firewood into their hatches and we landed on Goose Island for the traditional happy hour picnic and campfire. As in past years, time flew by and we were loading the boats in the dark to head back to the launch site. About half of us had headlights but we kept a pretty tight formation on the way back, an unnecessary precaution because there was not another craft of any kind on the lake. We had to paddle through some channels and every dog within a quarter mile was howling as they heard our relatively loud crew paddle by. We hit The Narrows Bar for some adult beverages and food, and stayed long enough to catch the first set of the Lisa Wenger Band, a fine R&B band. Several paddlers that could not make the actual Gales paddle showed up for moral support, as did one of my partners in crime and his new bride.

It was a fine 'Gales' experience and an excellent cold weather paddle. We all have the gear, we live in the north country, and there is no reason not to extend the season until the lakes become too hard to paddle on. As you can see, some of us forgot our wine glass (venison beer stick, not a cigar in BD's left hand), and others had inadequate clothing for standing around sipping wine, but for the most part we were in good shape. As the BC pointed out,while wrapped in a tablecloth, its good to have a shakedown cruise like this so you can discover what you really need for a true cold weather trip, say on Gitchee Gumee. So get out and paddle in those pricey drysuits, don't forget your wine glass, and for god sakes take a look at the sky, sniff the air, and trust your own judgement on the weather. With a little intelligent observation you can be batting .400 before you know it

The Great Bloodhound

Rookie, the wonder dog, is your basic mutt. Describing his lineage is like a wine critic describing a wine he's tasted; vibrant Rottweiler, with Australian Shepherd overtones, a hint of German Shepherd, and some background hound tones. He's a good boy, great companion, has remarkable vocal range and vocabulary, but is not necessarily the sharpest knife in the drawer. This was brought into clear focus as he attempted to find TheKingOfIronwoodIsland as he relocated the propane lines for the gas lights in the Eight or Better Lounge.

The Eight or Better Lounge and its centerpiece, the Goddamn Bar (named as such by an anonymous member of the camp), was added on to our 20' x 24' hunting camp a half dozen years ago as a peace keeping initiative . Before that, a dozen people were eating, sleeping, and partying in that 20' x 24' space. This created conflicts when the actual hunters wanted to go to bed so they could answer the bell at 5am and the less dedicated hunters often stayed partying until 5am. There is nothing as aggravating as a loud argument or a pie tin banging against a head, waking a person up at 2am; some people can become almost murderous in that type of situation. In younger, more impetuous days a punch might even be thrown. The lounge solved that problem and is a cozy and convivial spot, with a couple ratty couches, bar stools, and the GD bar itself. The name arose when it was decided that only racks with eight or more points would be displayed in this space, adding another incentive for our Quality Deer Management program. The Humphrey gas lights give the lounge a pleasant ambiance and also provide heat. They were on a small propane tank and we wanted to hook them up with a 100# tank but someone would have to crawl down under the deck to make the connection. The King figured this selfless act might take some of the heat off him for missing the buck last weekend so into the access hole and under the deck he went. The Rook didn't notice him slip into the hole and thats when the fun began.

Rookie popped out through the door and looked around. I scratched his ears and asked him, "Where's Sam?". He started looking around and then the Rook heard, "Hey Rookie" from some magical unknown spot. He looked down the hole but could not figure out where that voice came from. That cocked head look of his is one of dim understanding and major canine head scratching.
The King spoke his name again, which sent the Rookie running up to the propane tank hole for the main gas lines into the camp. Still no sign of the mystery voice. By now its a spectator sport and we're cracking up. More than once Rookie was urged to raise his leg, a act that the King protested very vocally, which only confused our boy even more than he already was.
The Rook was running back and forth, sensing movement between the cracks in the deck board, barking his puzzlement, when the King finally popped out of the hole. Mystery solved, tail wagging, all is well at the hunting camp.
I don't think this performance did anything for Rookie's possible induction into the Doggie Mensa Society. He may not be all that bright but he sure can be entertaining.