Biting off more than my chipper can chew

A few years ago a logger friend suggested clear cutting some of the aspen on our Brimson property.  I was hoping he would take some of the balsam, but he said there is no market for it. About two years ago, he and his partner cruised the property to assess how much they would cut.  I thought they would be working that winter.  They never did because “It was too damn cold!”

Last fall some people expressed interest in buying the property.  My wife was eager to sell and I went along reluctantly.  I called my logger friend to tell him not to cut because of the possible sale.  Well, the buyers couldn’t get a loan unless there was a working well.  Our dug well hadn’t produced much water in probably ten years.  We sure didn’t feel like spending the money to have a drilled well.  End of sale.

I called my logger friend back and said he could start when ready.

I assumed he would be cutting in an area of about two football fields, and so I said I would pick up the slash.  I would use it for chips or firewood.

We walked the area in which they were cutting and discovered a clump of five large birch trees, each probably at least fifteen inches in diameter at the base.  One was already rotted, and my wife and I cut that down and salvaged the bark for fire starter.  We thought we would cut the other four down after the loggers were through.  But they offered to cut them down for us, and they even dragged them to the landing area (the place where they put cut logs on a truck to take the chip-board company).

Meanwhile, they kept working across the property until they had cut double what I thought they would.  And then they cut three times what I thought they would.  Then the spring road restrictions went into force and they stopped.  They want to come back next year to take even more!

Before I go on, let me say a few words about clear cutting.  Aspen (popple or poplar) is a weed! It is a large plant whose root system extends over several acres and keeps putting up shoots wherever conditions are right.  When we bought the property, an area had been clear-cut a few years before.  In fact, we have an aerial photo that was taken after the clear cut – “desolation” for acres and acres.  When we bought the property, that area was covered with thousands of trees one to two inches in diameter and eight to ten feet tall.  A few years later, I was taking out trees for firewood that had fallen over; they were three to five inches in diameter or larger.

Also, a DNR forester who did a stewardship plan for us, said, “If you want moose, clear cut!” We did see a few moose tracks about that time, but we haven’t seen any for years.  It may be wishful thinking, but I think I saw a single moose track on one of our trails a week or two ago.

And, many of the smaller trees that were not knocked over by the heavy machinery are six to eight feet tall and greening nicely.  Oh, about ten years ago, the Forest Service put out a contract for clear cutting on the property that runs behind ours.  The only way we know it was clear-cut is that there are no really big trees.

One of our disappointments in our first few years owning the property was all of the dying or dead birch.  They were so far gone that only their bark was useful, and we haven’t even collected all of that yet.  Birch is a tree that grows out of old stumps, and we now have hundreds of newer birch trees.  I made up a rule of thumb that if I couldn’t put my thumbs together and reach my forefingers around the birch, it was a candidate for firewood.

Those trees are safe for awhile.  I finally got the four big birches cut into rounds for splitting and am awaiting the loan of a splitter.  We may have three to four years worth for our cabin. our sauna, and our fireplace in Duluth.

Meanwhile, I am working through a jumbled pile of “slash” that must have been thirty feet long, ten feet wide, and six feet high.  The majority of it is four to fifteen inches in diameter and from four to sixteen feet long.  These were either too small or two crooked to take to the chip mill.  I think I have the pile down to about a sixth of what it was.  And the pile of rounds of aspen is probably three times the size of the stacked birch.

Meanwhile the pile of stuff too small for firewood keeps growing.  For a change of pace I do put that through my chipper and pave the paths with the result.

The problem with all this wood cutting and splitting is that I don’t have time or energy to keep all the paths mowed or cleared of brush.  I haven’t even taken the time to go around “The Path”, a triangle that is about three-quarter of a mile in length.  And there are two other loops that I have neglected over the years.

My wife insists, and I agree, that the loggers should clean up the slash of next year’s cutting, and even clean up what I haven’t removed of this year’s slash.  After all, as that same DNR forester said, “Don’t make it a sweat farm!”

My camera is bare of bear!

I was sitting in our cabin this afternoon when a dark moving shape caught my eye.

It was a small black bear, probably a two or three-year-old.  It sniffed at our fire pit and stuck its snout in the pail of water we keep nearby..

I grabbed my camera and stepped outside.  I made the mistake of making a clucking sound to attract its attention.  I did get its attention and when it saw that eight-foot tall strange critter, it galloped off before I could even frame the picture.

“Eight-foot tall critter”?  A five-foot-nine guy standing on a two-and-a-half foot stoop can look very imposing to an animal who might never have seen a human being.

Was Elmer Fudd in the woods?

Yesterday we heard several gun shots south of our cabin property.  At least, we hope it was south of our property.  We walk along the southern boundary and would not appreciate a hunter on federal land thinking we were game.

I thought that maybe the shooter was hunting rabbits.  Actually hares.  The snowshoe hares (with summer brown coats and some still with white paws) are all over.  They were almost gone for several years and have rebounded so much that we see at least one in our yard every time we walk outside.

When I heard several gunshots, I thought of Elmer Fudd:  “Kill de wabbit!  Kill de wabbit!”

It must have been Elmer Fudd.  He thinks it’s open season on rabbits all the time.  Fudd should pick a different state.  The best I can determine from dnr.state.mn.us is that rabbit and hare season is November to February.  The only exception is that an owner or a tenant can kill nuisance rabbits at any time.  Must be Elmer Fudd.  He considers rabbits nuisances wherever he finds them.

Bear Stories

Bear Stories
Melvyn D. Magree
Originally published in
Northland Reader
Now the Reader Weekly
September 30, 1999

I've observed bears on County Highway 4 south of Gnesen, the Sawbill Trail, and on our property in Brimson.  On Highway 4 we saw a bear just slipping into the woods next to someone's front yard.  On the Sawbill Trail we saw a bear slipping into the brush.  This sighting was significant because we were with my sister-in-law and husband who had never seen a bear up close.  We couldn't have planned that sighting better.  On our own property we often see gouged out marks on our trails, especially in grassy sections, where a bear has been looking for grubs or other buried delicacies.

The first time that I encountered a bear was driving up the Gunflint Trail to canoe out of Seagull Lake.  In this case the bear was ambling down the road.  I had to stop and wait for the bear to get off the road.  I thought of tales about bears breaking car windows to get at candy bars in the glove compartment.

A few years ago we were awakened about five in the morning by a banging outside our cabin in Brimson.  I thought it might be a raccoon clambering around the aluminum ladder we have lying behind the cabin.  After the banging repeated a few times I got up to look out a window.  I saw a big black back.  I jumped into my pants and boots, grabbed the camera, and went out the front door hoping to get a picture as the bear came around the cabin.  I was too slow; it had already left.

The most exciting encounter was fourteen years ago on our last Boundary Waters canoe trip together, our 25th anniversary celebration.  We were at our farthest point in - Knife Lake.  We had just finished breakfast; my wife was cleaning up the dishes, and I went up the hill to the latrine.  As I came back down the hill, my wife looked to the shrubs on her left and said, "There is an animal in there!"  She continued, "There is a large animal in there!"  And then she said, "There is a bear in there!"  She backed away to her right toward our tent.  Then she went back and grabbed our food pack.  I went to the tent and grabbed my camera.  Meanwhile the bear busied itself around the fireplace looking for scraps.

Standing about 25 feet from the bear I pushed and pulled the lens of the camera until I was satisfied the picture was right.  How I did this I don't know, my knees were knocking enough to cause bruises.  I clicked off a couple of pictures and then thought about an escape plan.

I told my wife to take the food pack down to the shore and that I would push the canoe out and meet her.  I went to the canoe and banged on it with a paddle, hoping to scare the bear away.  The bear merely raised its head, looked at me, and then went back to its search for food.

I turned the canoe over, pushed it out into the water, hopped in, and paddled downshore to pick up my wife.  We paddled out from shore about 200 feet and wondered if the bear would swim after us.  After ten minutes or so, the bear wandered off and we returned to our campsite.  With visions of a shredded tent and scattered belongings we were relieved to find everything intact.

Later that day we talked to a group about a half mile away.  They weren't so lucky.  They had several items of food broken into and scattered.

When we returned home I had the film developed.  When we looked at the bear slides it was Fuzzy Wuzzy was fuzzy, wasn't  he!  You push and pull a telescopic lens to frame your shot; you twist any lens to focus!

Short cuts can short change you: Part II

For Part I, click here.

After I returned from the fruitless search for the missing sheet of plywood, I ate supper, went to bed, and tossed and turned too much of the night, considering various options for the next day.

The next morning I plotted out the work for the day.  On one of my crawls underneath, I noticed that there were lots of staples sticking out.  These would have hindered moving plywood sections and so I began removing them.  I think it took me all morning to get them out; I don't remember if that was one-quarter of joists or all of them.

Finally, maybe it was after lunch, I measured out lengths of insulation and stuffed them between the joists, two layers of 3-1/2 inch denim "no-scratch".  I think I did one "sixteen inch by six feet" section at a time.  However, the insulation would not stay between the joists; it sagged and even dropped completely out.

I had set aside some of the old insulation supports, springy sixteen-inch wire rods.  These did the trick of holding the insulation up.  I also had a full package of them left from when I had first put insulation under the floor.  Fortunately, I didn't let my wife throw them out or give them to a rummage sale.

Sometime in the afternoon, I had insulation in place on one-quarter of the joists.

My memory may be wrong, but I think I considered that it a good stopping place.  The next step would be to cover what I had done with plywood.  That would be the next visit's work.  Now it was time to return my friend's trailer.

For some reason, I took the longer way around, thinking that a more direct road was still closed, even when I knew it had been opened.  I had gotten directions to my friend's house from Two Harbors from Map Quest or Google.  When I got into Two Harbors and cell phone coverage, I called him to let him know I was on my way (his Duluth number was long distance from our cabin).  It's a good thing I did.  He told me that I can't use Cant Rd. to get to his place.

When I did get there he noticed the tire iron wasn't on top of the loose spare tire.  Hoo boy!  At 65 mph it must have bounced out.  At least traffic was sparse and it didn't slam into someone's grille or worse.

On Friday I returned to our cabin and tried getting a 4x8 sheet of 1/4-inch plywood in place to screw it to the joists.  No way could I manage this by myself.

So I cooked up what I call Plan A-.  My trying to cover the insulation with whole sheets of plywood was Plan B; the original Plan A having been to put the insulation in from the top.  Plan A- was putting in pieces of plywood from the bottom and holding them up by some means.

Before I cut up my brand new sheets of plywood, I found some old, squirrel-chewed 1/4-inch plywood on our lumber left-overs pile.  The squirrels probably liked the glue.  There was enough good wood to make two about 70x14 panels.  I also found that my circular saw, unused for many years, had a plywood blade and still worked.

My original thought had been to screw runners to the side of the joists and then zigzag the plywood up and let it drop back down.  I measured a "pocket" carefully and tried to cut each piece carefully.  I cut one piece in and tried to fit it in.  I couldn't push up on one side and get the other side to go over the opposite runner.  That didn't work so well.  I took the runners off one side and then just held the piece up with one hand and used a cordless drill to put 1-1/2 screws every 18 inches or so.  That worked.

Except!  There were hangers over the support beams that prevented the piece from going completely to the outside edge.  I had to make notches in the piece.  Then, because I was using low supports to cut the plywood, my cuts weren't the straightest possible.  I had to trim wherever a piece was too wide.  And of course, the joists are not precision cut or placed lumber and are different distances apart - 14-1/2 inches one place and 14-1/4 another.  Some places a piece may fit snugly, and other places there are huge gaps that will have to be filled with caulk.

To shorten this long tale of fortitude, stubbornness, stupidity, and cleverness, the two pieces of scrap worked, and so I cut four more pieces out of the new sheets.  At five o'clock Saturday afternoon, I had one quarter of the insulation up and supported.  Now I began putting all my scattered tools away.  That took an hour.  Then another hour straightening up the cabin and packing up.  When I went to turn off the refrigerator I discovered I never turned it on.  Fortunately the cabin had been so cold when I arrived the day before that the food stayed cool enough.

At about seven I drove out the driveway and locked the cable.  I looked East down the road and saw a full moon almost over the center of the road.  Take a few pictures.  I should have done it with a tripod; the moon is bleary.  Off I go on the hour-long drive listening to the latest "To the Best of Our Knowledge" on my iPhone plugged into the radio.  It gets darker and darker.  I'm not used to this.  My eyes dart back and forth watching for deer.  Then I realize I don't have my high beams on.  Ah, that makes a difference.

Finally I arrive back in Duluth, but no way am I going to prepare supper for myself at this hour.  I stop at Bulldog Pizza for a pint and a big sandwich.  What a relief to sit down without a cabin floor hanging six inches from my face or without a steering wheel in my hands peering into the dark.

Still 3/4 of the insulation to go.  At least the next time I'll have my wife there to help in so many ways.

Short cuts can short change you

For readers not familiar with American idioms, let me explain the title.

A short cut is doing something with less time or money than normal.  It comes from taking a shorter route than the usual route, say cutting through the woods rather than following the road.  A short cut now may mean doing something quicker than normal.  Like not putting on a hard hat to save time.

Giving short change is not giving all the change due a payee.  For example, if you present $20 for something that costs $16.10, the seller may give you only $3.50 in change or $2.90, not $3.90.  Short change has now come to mean not getting full value from something.

So, my short cut in building a cabin has cost me more money and time over the years than if I had done it right the first time.

When we built our cabin in Brimson, Minnesota in 1994 or so, we were living in the Twin Cities, a 200-mile, 3-1/2 to 4 hour drive each way.  Each time we did a bit of work, we tried to make as much progress as possible.

We built the cabin on six posts stuck in the ground with the floor about 2-1/2 feet above the ground.  I should have put insulation between the joists before I put the floor on, but I didn't want the insulation to get wet if I didn't have time to put the floor on.  The way to put insulation between the joists is to nail runners along the sides of the joists, drop plywood on the runners, caulk the result, and drop insulation between the joists.

No, Mr. Know-It-All would crawl under the building and put the insulation in from underneath.  No big deal for a fifty-something "kid".

Our cabin floor was warm through most winters, but then the squirrels discovered this wonderful nesting material.  We would see wads all over our yard.  I tried putting plastic screen under the insulation, but the squirrels would rip that off.  I talked about putting 1/4-inch screen underneath, but never put more than a few square feet in.

Finally, there was practically no insulation left, and our floor was always cold in winter.  This spring and summer, I pulled out what was left.  I intended to install new insulation the proper way this fall.  I finally started two weeks ago.

I intended to stuff insulation between the joists and then screw 1/4-inch plywood to support it and protect it from squirrels.

I borrowed a trailer from a friend, went to Menard's to buy all the plywood and a couple of packages of insulation.  As a clerk helped me put the plywood in the trailer, he asked if I wanted to put the spare tire on top to hold the plywood down.  I said no, I have tie-downs.  Mistake one!

When I tried putting my tie-downs on, I could not find a good purchase on the side of the trailer, at least within reach of a single tie-down.  I didn't think to hook two together.  Mistake two!

As I drove the fifty-plus miles to our cabin, I kept looking in the rear-view mirror to be sure the insulation was still there.  At not quite 25 miles, the insulation wasn't there.  The North Star fire station was just ahead and I used that to turn around.  Within a mile of backtracking, I saw the two insulation bundles stacked beside the road.  Some kind person had stopped, picked them up off the road, and put them at the side.  This time I put the bundles in the back of my SUV.  But I didn't count the sheets of plywood; I saw that the top sheet was wedged under one of the back slats of the trailer and that should hold them in place.  Mistake three!

When I unloaded everything at the cabin, I discovered I had only five of the six sheets of plywood.  Hoo, boy!  I drove the twenty-five miles back to where I had lost the insulation,  looking carefully on both sides of the road (lots of tall grass, embankments, and such), as the daylight dwindled.  As I drove, I pondered that I'm probably spending as much in gas as the missing sheet of plywood cost.  I didn't find the sheet.

Tomorrow or soon: Part II - the actual progress of the insulation.

I was lost in the woods three times in two days

At our cabin we have a triangular trail about a mile long.  Its base is near the south property line and its apex is near our cabin.  We have a bunch of cut brush on the east leg, but the chipper is on the west leg.  We don't want to haul the brush up one leg and down the other, a total of 660 feet extra.  We can use a cross path that parallels the boundary between an alder/balsam stand and a much bigger aspen stand.

The problem is that we have not maintained that path, a deer trail, since some brush was bent over by a heavy snow.

I had cleared in a few feet from each end of the cross path and had been working to reopen the path.  However, in the eight or so years since the path was blocked, a lot of stuff has gotten bigger, way bigger.

Saturday, to get some idea where I should cut, I just pushed and ducked my way from west to east.  I came across an old pit I'd never seen before, an old well maybe.  I didn't see any of my old yellow flagging tapes.  I saw something familiar in a clearing ahead.  It was the remains of fox cages from the thirties.  We had never gotten rid of all the chicken wire fencing.  I tried stepping over it carefully, but I tripped on the last roll, nearly jabbing my gut with the handles of the nippers I was carrying.  This spot was about 60 feet north of where I intended to be.

I went to the east end of the path and plunged into the thicket again.  I never recognized anything except the old pit.  I eventually came out where we had planted red oaks 19 years ago.  The last died out about 14 years ago.  This spot was also about 60 feet north of where I intended to be.  At least I don't have a left or right bias.  I think I misjudged the sun's position relative to where I wanted to be.

Then on Sunday, I worked on clearing some of the west end of the path.  I flagged ahead where I thought I should clear the next time I work on this path.  I turned around to go back to where I had left the cart.  I couldn't see it, and I couldn't see where I had flagged.  I went in what I thought was the easiest way.  When I finally saw the cart again, you guessed it, I was somewhat north of it.

When I got back to Duluth and a half-way decent internet connection, I checked the length of the cross path - about 320 feet in a straight line!

So, I'm clearing 320 feet so we don't have to haul a few cartloads of brush an extra 340 feet!

Oh, well, I enjoy clearing and chipping brush, and I do like having that cross path open just for the variety.

Besides, if I clear enough brush maybe I'll be qualified to be President:)

Links to lynx

Saturday we added another critter to our sightings at our cabin in Brimson.

I was cleaning my teeth after dinner and I thought I saw a hunting dog going past our cabin.  I was trying to decide whether to shoo it back home or lead it back when it turned at looked at the cabin.  It was not a dog but a large cat, about 18 inches at the shoulder.

I tried to take a picture of it through the window, but my camera focused on the screen rather than our visitor.  In my haste to take a picture, I only saw its face, that it was tawny, and about the size of a dog.  My wife saw tufted ears, a short tail, and black feet.

I went outside to try to get a better picture, but before I could even point the camera, it had trotted into the trees.  So, this is my only memory of the bobcat:

In years past I've seen a bear, a fox, and many deer in our cabin yard.  My wife saw a wolf once and we used to have some moose tracks.  A few years ago, the Brimson Sisu logo was a lynx, and someone gave a presentation at the Sisu that they were coming back into the area.  I thought I had seen lynx tracks in the snow this past winter, but closer examination of my photo showed they were wolf tracks.

I emailed a Forestry Service biologist the track picture and he confirmed it was wolf.  I again emailed him about our sighting (without the bad picture).  He replied that "It would be great if they start hanging out there again."  He also sent me a link to a Natural Resources Research Institute site on lynx.

Click on the links in "Sights and sounds of Lynx" for a couple cool videos.  The lynx we saw resembles L28.

For the benefit of schools or for the benefit of large corporations?

"This land ultimately belongs to Minnesota’s children – our public schools have been waiting decades for this funding.  I am a big supporter of the Boundary Waters and this bill has been crafted in a way to make it even better.  The lands of Superior National Forest were set aside for the benefit of all Minnesotans.  Undoubtedly, the BWCAW [Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness] serves as a reminder of our nation’s legacy; but the BWCAW is more than just a legacy—it’s a springboard for Minnesota’s future."

- Rep. Chip Cravaack, R-MN 8, email to constituents

Rep. Cravaack has sponsored legislation to remove Minnesota School Trust Lands from the BCWAW.  But is this to provide access to resource extraction or to swap for Federal Land elsewhere?  If Minnesota School Trust Lands can be sold, why doesn't the Federal Government pay Minnesota for the lands and let the trust buy land elsewhere?  I read his wording as the first, resource extraction.  In fact, in his email he states "These lands within the BWCAW cannot be logged, leased, or mined."

Would you want to canoe past a clear-cut island or fish in waters with mining tailings?

Gang aft agley in the North Woods

My plan at our cabin yesterday was to cut up a small tree and split the pieces, cut up a tree blocking a path and cut down several stumps. Well, I got the small tree taken care of. I didn't want to prepare the chain saw just then, and so I cut some lower branches on a spruce plantation. Then it was time for lunch.

After a leisurely lunch, I bundled up to unblock the path. As I was going out the door with my hard hat in hand, my wife asked about my chaps. Oh, great! Well, I didn't feel like unbundling to put the chaps on, and so I decided I'd take the cut branches to next spring's chipping pile.

On my way to load up the branches, I wondered if my wife wanted to put some old rounds (16-inch lengths of a tree) on the outdoor fire she was tending. She agreed and I got a splitting maul to bang the rounds loose from the frozen ground.

I got three loose, but they looked too rotted and full of dirt to burn. Instead I took them to fill a borrow pit. A borrow pit is a small excavation at the side of a logging road. The dirt and rocks from the pit are used to make the road.

I came back to get the last two rounds. I banged them with the maul but they wouldn't budge. I tried several times, and then I heard a crack. The handle of the maul had split!

Well, I had better get the handle off so that I can put a new handle on next week. Get out a saw to cut the handle just below the head. Punch out the remains of the handle and the wedge that holds the handle in the head. Put all tools back and tuck the maul head in the SUV where it won't fly up and hit us on any sudden stop.

Finally, I loaded up the cart with a bunch of branches and took them back to the chipping pile.

When I came back it was time for a break. Will I get back to cut-up the downed tree. Maybe tomorrow.

After I wrote the above, my wife told me that there was an exclamation point above the "electricity dial" on the dashboard of our SUV. She told this to me about three in the afternoon; she had gone to the post office about eleven in the morning.

I went out to the SUV, started it up, and saw the low tire light come on. Oh, that's just because the weather is cold, she only went two miles each way. If we drive more, the tires will warm up and the light will go off. I got out with a sense of relief, and then I looked at the left rear tire. Flatter it could not be!

I got out the manual to review changing a tire. I found all the necessary tools under the back seat except the wheel blocks. We used a couple pieces of firewood instead.

The spare tire is underneath the vehicle. To drop it down, one puts an extension to the jack lever in a hole in the back door frame and cranks it down. Try as I might, I couldn't find any place to get the extension rod to fit into. I crawled under the car; I peered in the hole. Nada but frustration.

It started to get too dark to work outside and I gave up. The rest of the evening I brooded about what to do. Do we call a towing company in Two Harbors, thirty five miles and who knows how many dollars away? Do we ask some locals who to recommend? We tried one and got the answering machine and didn't leave a message. We tried a second and were given the advice to call a local jack-of-all trades, the guy who plows our driveway and does much more for us. Why didn't he get to the top of my list right away?

I called him and gave him our tale of woe, except not being able to get the spare down. He told me to bring in the tire in the morning. Somehow, that gave me enough reassurance that I didn't lie awake half the night mulling over various scenarios.

Bright and early today I got up, had breakfast, and prepared to resolve our transportation problem.

I tried again to lower the spare. Still the same poking around in the dark. OK, I'll take the tire off and have it ready for Kevin to pick it up.

The instructions say to loosen all the nuts one turn before jacking the car up. I'll skip a few missteps about gaining access to the wheel nuts. I started on one and pulled and pulled. On the third try it loosened and I turned it one turn. On to the second nut. Pull and pull! Once, twice, thrice, and on and on. This is getting ridiculous. I need an extender. I found a four-foot pipe in the shed and slipped it on the tire wrench. One try and the nut loosened. On to the third nut. Pull and pull! Once, twice, thrice, and no go. In fact, the tire wrench is bending!!! Now what?

I don't know exactly when the light bulb went on in my head, but I remembered that it was a slow leak and that we have been carrying for years a 12-volt air compressor, just for this contingency. Back to the cabin and get it out of our miscellaneous box. Untie the cords. Plug it into the dashboard power outlet (aka cigarette lighter). Put compressor valve on tire valve. Turn on! Clack! Clack! Clack! It looks like nothing is happening. Let the compressor clack away. Is it my imagination? Is it wishful thinking? Is the bulge really getting smaller? Yes! Yes! We are making progress.

Get out the tire gauge for when the tire looks full. Minutes go by and the tire keeps looking more normal. Check the pressure. 25.0 pounds! We're making good progress. Next check – 30.0 pounds. Third check - 34.5 pounds. Close enough to the recommended 35.0 pounds. And the low tire light is off!!!

And the low tire light stayed off all the way to Kevin's.

This tale is getting long, and so I'll make a quick summary. Kevin got the tire off with a pneumatic wrench. Whir, plop, six times. He bounced the tire around looking for damage. He couldn't fix it because of ply separation on the wall. Probably from being flat overnight. He did get the spare down easily by putting the extension rod in slightly off center opposite the way I kept trying.

I would have been out in a trice, but we chatted about where to buy what kind of new tires and logging and water wells and …

Now will I sleep well tonight or toss and turn about what funds to use to pay for a new set of tires? I know I don't want to have another winter worrying about skidding through an intersection like I've done with the current set of tires.

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley. - Robert Burns
(The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry)

Bear season: two shots missed

As I returned to Duluth from our cabin in Brimson, I saw a bear cross the road in front of me. I slowed down, tried to get my camera off my hip, and take a picture. I was too late, the bear had already disappeared into the brush.

A couple hundred yards farther along the road at an intersection, I saw a whole bunch of people on ATVs, some in blaze orange, some not. I don't know if they were a hunting group or just a social group. If the former, I wonder if they knew how close they had been to a bear.

A strange orange light in the woods

Shortly before seven Monday evening I was looking out the west window of our cabin and I saw a bright orange light through the trees. That can't be the sunset; the trees are too thick for the setting sun to penetrate.

I went out to our parking area for a better view. Was the light still or flickering? My imagination wanted to see the latter, but there really wasn't any flickering. I took a couple of pictures, and then the light started to dwindle as the sun set. (The best picture was too blurry to post.)

With the Pagami fire still going and the high fire danger, it is better to check phenomena like this out rather than ignore them.

For year-round deer season, shoot from the hip

For the last few weeks of bird season, I've been hearing shots all around our cabin.  I dread deer season when there may be even more shots because deer hunting is more popular.  What frosts me the most is that I need to wear orange on my own property to protect myself from the few who pay no attention to where they're hunting.

Otherwise, I don't need to worry about when it is deer season, because I shoot deer without fear of breaking the law year round.

I shoot from the hip.  That is, I grab my compact digital camera off my belt and get as many shots as I can.  Sometimes I get a deer looking directly at the camera, sometimes  I get a bobbing white tail.  But I think I get at least six good shots a year.

I just looked up "Magree" and "deer" on Flickr; I don't have as many as I thought posted.  I'll have to review some of my recent pictures and upload them.  One is a cool one of a deer munching a twig at the roadside.

More missed wildlife photo ops

This past weekend was really the weekend for wildlife and other natural phenomena.  And, of course, I missed the optimal times to record what I saw or heard.

Saturday we looked out our cabin window about 6:30 in the evening and saw a very large deer.  I quick took a picture but I had the flash on, giving me a great shot of the screen.  I would have tried to intercept the deer by going a different way, but I didn't have my shoes on.

Given its size, we think it might have been a buck whose antlers had not yet started for the year.

After I went to bed, I was wakened a pitiful bellow or two, then a wolf howl, another bellow, more howls and even barking.  I thought of grabbing my camera to record the sounds, but I was sure they would stop before I had the camera even on.  All was quiet for a bit, then we heard on more bellow and that was it.

We think a wolf pack took down a moose calf.  I considered going out in that direction in the morning, but it has been weeks since I had cut that trail and I didn't want to rouse any bugs.

My last chance to get something interesting was on Sunday.  My wife said that she heard fir cones dropping continuously like rain.  When I was by the fir stand, I heard nothing.  Later I was out there and I heard them, at least one ever five or six seconds.  I pulled out my camera to take a panorama.  Of course, as soon I did that, the cones stopped falling!!

Two missed wildlife photo ops

As we drove to our cabin today, I saw a large bird at the side of the road.  At first I thought it was a turkey and I slowed down.  As we got nearer, I saw that it was a raptor and was standing on a weasel or rodent.  I got my camera out just as it struggled to take off.

It started flying down the road with its prey in front of us about eight feet off the ground.  The wing span was at least as wide as our Trailblazer.  It wasn't an eagle because it was a mottled gray.  Later we guessed it was an osprey.

It moved more to the side of the road and then I lost it.  I should have stopped the car, gotten out, and started taking pictures before I got too close.  Oh, well, I probably won't learn for the next time.

When we pulled into our cabin drive, we saw a doe and two fawns in the meadow at the end of the drive.  I stopped the car, got out my camera, and took a picture through the window.

I got a picture, but I was too slow.  The doe had moved off behind some trees, but one fawn was scratching its ear with its hind leg.  Of course, the picture was a bit blurry.  It still is somewhat satisfying after cropping and blowing up, especially with the nonchalant fawn.

Quote of the day, make longer plans

The other day my wife was wondering with a cousin on how old their grandfather was when he died.  He was Dr. Frederick L. Smith of the Mayo Clinic; I should be able to find something with Google.  As it was, very little and no obituary.  But I did find quite a few other Fred Smiths.  This one was in "Christianity Today" by a Fred Smith who was dying and ready for it.

"I used to lecture with a psychiatrist. He was at our home on my 50th birthday and said, 'Now that you're 50, make longer plans.' I said, 'Now I know why you're a psychiatrist, you're nuts.' He said, 'No, when you start making shorter plans, your subconscious is telling you to die.' "

Now I know why I want to cut down trees and plant trees, clear paths and lay down chips, and many other projects in Brimson.  I probably wouldn't get done all of what I dream if I live twice my current age (72).

On dealing with Toimi sand

I dreamed up this ditty yesterday, but it didn't quite fit in my entry "Life in the land of 10,000 rocks".

You mow sixteen acres and what you get,
Another day over and deeper in sweat.
If you see a bump coming
You step aside.
If the root one don't get you,
The stone one will.
St. Peter don't you call me 'cause I can't go,
I gotta mow just one acre more.

Life in the land of 10,000 rocks

I get a kick out of the ads for yard equipment.  They often show middle-age or even senior women easily pushing a weed cutter or such on a former plowed field.  The reality for many is Toimi sand.

What is Toimi sand?  Northern Minnesota was plowed up by glaciers which moved a lot of stuff around and broke it up.  Some places this is ridges, some places it is gravel pits, some places it is great outcropping of rocks.  In the Brimson-Toimi area in the Superior National Forest, it is sand in grains from fist-size to the size of a riding mower.

Some may be flush with the surface and no bother.  Some may stick up so far that one must walk around them.  Some may stick out just enough to trip the unwary walker.  Some may be like an iceberg with seven-eighths of their mass below ground level.

Whatever the amount Toimi sand sticks up out of the ground, it makes running any wheeled equipment very difficult.  Wheelbarrow, cart, trimmer, mower, or snowblower.  These last two are more vulnerable; a rock could chip a blade or snap a shear pin.

To make work easier one has to work a lot.  Today we tackled a rock that was sticking only about three inches out of the ground.  I had to run a lawnmower around it one too many times.

I got out our big pry bar to have a go at this troublesome rock.  I was able to jam the pry bar down along side the rock about nine inches and jiggle the rock.  Going around the rock to several spots and using another rock or a log as a fulcrum, I was able to lift the rock a couple of inches but I just couldn't get it out, and the rock would fall back down.

I found some smaller rocks and dropped them along side the big rock.  I was able to get the big rock up about an inch.  I called my wife to help.  I'd lever the rock up and my wife would drop a smaller rock down along side it and sometimes she could push it under the big rock.  Up more and more.  With me pushing the pry bar and bending it, my wife, of all people, pulled the rock up and out with her bare hands.  The darn thing was the size of three footballs.

I took a ten-pound hammer to the rock.  Arrowheads and flint knives flying all over the place.  Wham! A big piece cracked off.  More little pieces flying.  Wham!  An eighth of the rock cracked off.  More little pieces flying.  Wham!  A bigger piece cracked off.  Now over a third of the rock had split off.  I tried hitting what looked like a fracture.  No go!  Again and again.  Still no go.  It is now lunch time.  That's enough.

I tried lifting the bigger piece with the idea of carting the pieces off to dump in a hole.  I couldn't do it.  So, the rocks will sit there to another day.  Or year, like two other big rocks in our cabin yard that I've gotten a bit out of the ground and then no further.  And they too seem to be immune to cracking more than a chip at a time.

And poor Jean Valjean had to bust rocks all day with few, if any, breaks.  It gives new meaning to being sentenced to years of hard labor.

Don't play golf with a bear

Bears are very impolite golfers.  They don't replace their divots.

All along one path at our Brimson place there are many gouges.  A bear or bears have come along looking for grubs and other goodies under ground.  It couldn't be truffles, could it?  Anyhow, the path looks like a mess.

One advantage is that the bear may help me select rocks that I could move off the path.  This path is strewn with big rocks that make pulling a cart of firewood a lot more effort than over smooth ground.  The bear dug along the edge of some of these rocks.  Those rocks may be candidates for lifting out with a pry bar.

Or the rocks could be like in the cartoon: A man is digging a rock out of his yard and says to his wife, "I'll be in for lunch as soon as I get this rock out."  However, the rock is so huge that it goes under the house.

Save a tree, don't use electricity

Our Brimson property has an easement for power and telephone right-of-way.  The telephone line is underground with relay or junction boxes every few hundred feet.  The power lines are on poles.

To be sure that the power lines are accessible, the power co-operative has all the brush cut every few years.  We thought it was every eight to nine years in the non-winter months.  In the intervening times we've taken out a few ten-foot birch and replanted them elsewhere on the property.

We were surprised when the brush was cut this winter.  And it was the messiest that we ever saw.  Hacked, splintered stumps of alder and other shrubs and trees all over.  It looked more like a battlefield than a right-of-way.

We generally don't drive by the east half because we come from the west.  Saturday we took a walk on the road along the east half.  We noticed that several good-sized trees had been knocked down: a ten-inch birch, a few smaller birches, and a few 6-8 inch aspen.

Well, we can't let those go to waste.  We might as well harvest them for firewood rather than cut down other trees.

The first job was to make a path to them through all the splintered brush stumps.  That was lots of fun considering how uneven and rocky the terrain is.  More fun yet because the wheeled trimmer cuts too high because of the unevenness and then is difficult to get over the little stumps.  Heave, grunt, groan, heave, back off and try again.

The second job was clearing a safe workplace around the downed trees.  Almost everyone fell into the brush outside the easement.  That took long-handled nippers and a lot of bending.

I won't describe the delimbing process and which part of which of the three criss-crossed trees I did in which order.  Eventually we had enough for two small loads of bolts or rounds in our SUV.  I don't remember if we took all the usable firewood from that spot or left some.

I do know one of my first tasks next weekend is to cut up and split the wood we took back to our cabin.  Then I'll go back to harvest some of the other trees.  Without cutting down a single tree, we'll be well on our way to having some nice, dry wood for the 2011-2012 heating season.

It is sad, though, to think of all the trees on other easements that are just going to be left in an unsightly jumble to rot.

Next time you feel good about all your recycling or other efforts "to save a tree", consider that when you flip a light switch, you may be taking down a tree.