Not Your Average Weekend

The day started with frustration and anguish. Nothing was going right. Things that could not possibly go wrong went wrong anyway. Something needed to change. We mutually agreed, "Let's just take the Scamp and go."
Down the road we found all the campsites we wanted were reserved weeks, or months or more ago, adding to our grief. It was on this day I learned that people who are capable of making long term plans are really frustrating to those of us who live a life of spontaneity. Eventually we found our spot.
Campsite number four sits high atop a rock bluff, overlooking the lake valley below. Iron Lake is very long and narrow, feeling more like a river than a lake. It reminded me of the Finger Lakes in beautiful upstate New York. After setting up the camp we headed for the water with our canoe.
Not too many years before, in 2007, this area had a large forest fire. Iron Lake must have been right on the edge of the burn. Skeletons of old white pine trees, barren and charred, still stand tall above as a ghostly reminder of what once was. Seeing this made me feel defensive. I wanted to stand vigilant to protect the old woods from harm, just as a parent protects their child, but fire is nature's way of cleaning her forest.
Among the blackened remains, new forest is growing below, giving hope for the future of the woodlands. Other areas had patches of the old pines still living, healthy as can be. Paddling along the lake, you would see the contrast of the new and the old, coming together. It caused me to reaffirm my appreciation for nature. She is gentle, but cruel.
Along the contour of the shoreline, there are areas where the land tapers down to the water, blended with areas where huge granite rocks create bluffs overlooking the water below. It is simply beautiful.
We had only paddled a short while before coming upon a family of loons. They swam along keeping a good distance from our canoe. Their calls to one another echoed through the valley.
The male loon began to swim odd patterns, creating a distance between himself and his family. Waving his webbed foot in the air, to the side of his body, he pretended to be wounded. This would draw a predator's attention away from the female and her young. If the predator came after the male, he would dive under the water, coming up several yards farther from the female. He sure was fun to watch.
We paddled a couple hundred more feet when Melissa pointed to something on the rock bluff above. It was a pair of moose ears. We really couldn't see her head, just her ears. They were perked up, looking like a pair of rabbit ears antennas on an old television set. Floating a few more feet, we could see her full head.
Melissa began taking photos of her. The moose heard the clicking sound of her camera shutter and looked our way. In just a few more feet and we could see a good portion of the large animal's chest. The rest of her body was hidden by the thick, green vegetation. The beast had enough of our presence, turning and meandering away from us, back into the woods.
Even though we only saw part of her, we were both thrilled to see a moose - it really made our day! We paddled slowly along the middle of the lake, taking in the majestic scenery around us.
Ahead, the shoreline curved back to the right, away from us creating a blind area. Just beyond the peak Melissa gasped. Quietly setting her paddle down across the gunnels of the canoe, she picked up her camera. The moose was walking out from the woods...with her calf!
I stopped paddling, allowing the canoe to coast silently. The cow paused, giving us a cautious evaluation. Feeling we were not a threat, she and her calf waded into the lake until all we could see were just their heads. The mother and her baby swam gracefully along the shoreline. As large as these animals are, they created no less wake in the water than the bow of our own canoe.
I have been told; a healthy adult moose does not fear a wolf. But, when she has a calf with her, she will protect her young from any threat - even a timber wolf. I don't know if a moose can tell the difference between a domestic dog and a wolf. She probably considers them both to be canine predators. Because our dog June was in the boat with us, I kept a safe distance, not wanting to test the temperament of this cow.
Melissa was busy behind her lens. I began paddling the canoe to keep up with our new friends. Until this moment, I had no idea moose were such good swimmers. It was everything I could do to stay with them, while trying to be calm, not stirring a commotion that might scare them away.
After swimming quite a distance, the cow emerged from the water. Making her way up the bank, into the woods, the calf stayed close to her side. Melissa and I, nearly in disbelief as to what we had just seen, discussed how truly amazing this was.
As we chatted, we began to paddle again. I think we were both shocked when the cow and calf reappeared from the woods again, coming into the water. Melissa took out her camera again, I pushed the canoe along with my paddle.
The calf swam so closely to her mother, it almost seemed like she was riding on mama's back. Just two moose heads, gliding easily along the waterway. Simply a stunning view.
June sat at full attention in the center of our canoe, watching the pair. I whispered firm directions to her. "June sit. Leave it. No barking. No growling." I was so proud of her. She watched intensely but never made a sound.
After again swimming a very good distance, the pair made their way back into the woods. In just a few minutes, we were stunned when they came back to the waters again! Holy cow! I mean, not holy cow like the moose was a sacred cow or anything like that, but just holy cow as in the expression. I'm running out of terms to describe how elated we were. It is difficult to stifle such an adrenaline rush, to remain calm and quiet when you really want to jump up and down, shouting with elation.
After another long swim, graciously paralleling the shore, the two returned once again to the thick cover of the woods. We were nearing the end of the lake. Melissa and I waited patiently to see if they would return, but this time they didn't come back. We were blessed with the opportunity to follow this mother and her young calf, for about three quarters of a mile or more, along the shoreline. What a treat.
As we sat there hoping for another showing, the song of the loons filled the air. Loons from another lake, sang out as if responding to the call of our loons, or perhaps singing a duet. One thing is certain; their song is a beautiful as any I have ever heard.
We decided we should start heading back toward the canoe landing. I left a fishing line in the water as we trolled along. The pole bobbed, then bent over in a full arch. I dropped my paddle on the floor. Giving no consideration to the ruckus I was making, I grabbed the pole, giving a firm tug to set the hook.
The lined zigged and zagged through the water. The reel buzzed as the fish pulled more line from me, trying to run away. Patiently, I let him run, then brought him back closer. The reel whirred as he would run again. Then, I would once again wind him back toward us. This continued back and forth for a couple minutes. Soon the battle was over. He was tired. I outlasted him.
I pulled him from the water. He was about a twenty-two, or twenty-three-inch-long northern pike. A beautiful, strong fish, with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Using my long nose pliers, I carefully removed the hook, then returned him to the water.
With a swift kick of his tail, he threw water back at me. "So long sucker!" He said defiantly, "Maybe some other day, but not this time!" He laughed at me as he darted back into the dark green depth of the water.
Making our way back, the loons continued to sing. As we got nearer to them, they didn't seem to be afraid of us this time. The drake swam closer to the back of the vessel. I literally could have touched him on the bill with my fishing pole. He seemed curious about our bright colored canoe. I stopped paddling to admire his beauty, and alluring charm. He was so close, I could count the black and white checkers on his back. His large black head was smooth and shiny. He was perfectly groomed. He was indeed a looker, I'll bet all the lady loons find him attractive. Having seen enough of us, he dove under water, crossed beneath our boat, then resurfaced to join his family.
The female and the baby loon were swimming less than twenty feet in front of the canoe. The young male was waving his webbed foot in the air, much the way the adult male had earlier. It was as if he was practicing for a future time when he would protect his hen and young from threats. Papa loon seemed to give the youngster a nod of approval for his performance.
When the male joined them, the three loons floated together posing for Melissa. Behind them was a backdrop of tall, dark green pines trees. Reaching upward into the skyline, they were greeted at the horizon by magenta-colored skies as the sun set to the west. Simply breathtaking.
The loons began to swim, leading us back to our dock. We needed to get moving, so we passed them on the right. "Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Loon. Goodbye baby loon!" Melissa said to them. "Thank you for joining us, we hope to see you another day."
Our landing was not far ahead, just around a bend in the shore to the right. Melissa again laid her paddle across the width of the boat, picking up her camera. "Are you kidding me?" I whispered.
In a small cove to the left was another moose! A large, lone cow, just standing in the lake, grazing on the water lilies and plants below. The water was deep enough to come up to her belly, covering completely her long, lanky legs.
We paddled slowly into the cove. She gave us a good look, then plunged her head completely under the water. Coming back up with a mouth full, the massive animal chomped away at the goodness, while water still ran from the roots of the wet plants, splashing as it hit the surface of the lake. Her lips made a boxy sound as they smacked together with each chew she took. She submerged her head for another bite.
Since she didn't have a calf with her, we decided to get closer. Less than fifty feet away, we tethered to a rock. Totally awestruck, we sat there for about thirty minutes watching this amazing animal feed in the wild. June again sat at attention, looking on with intense interest, but never made a sound.
The sun had set, the late dusk would soon turn dark. Goodnight moose. Thank you for having us for dinner. We paddled across the narrow lake to the landing while the moose continued to graze.
With her camera gear bag hanging over her shoulder, Melissa carried our paddles, poles and gear. I picked up the canoe, swinging it over my head, resting the oak oxbow upon my shoulders, ready to portage. We walked back to the car in silence, each of us awestruck by the wonder of this day.
Back at the campsite, we lit a fire and discussed how incredibly blessed we were. Not only to have seen three moose, but to spend such an incredible amount of time with them. To watch and travel with them as they swam through the water, and to practically sit with another at her dinner table.
A Divine intervention is the only way I can explain a day that started out so stressful, ending with such serenity, wonder and beauty.
The next day as we explored the Gunflint trail, we were treated to seeing a lone moose calf cross the road in front of us. Later at dusk, a bull moose with a full rack still covered with fur, trotted from the woods onto the road in front of us. We followed him for about a quarter of a mile before he crossed the highway and disappeared down the grassy snowmobile trail.
Five healthy-looking moose in two days, in such spectacular settings. Yes! Life is good on the North Shore.