Home Away from Home

Some places form a foundation, an anchor to which you can tie yourself as things swirl around you. Over many years, and several relocations to far away places, Lake Superior has been that place for Bonnie and me. Of course, it all started there for the two of us, so the roots are deep. It's not that it provides the normal components of comfort and security - a static and benign scene that breeds familiarity or routine. Lake Superior certainly is not static or terribly predictable.

There's quite a variation between it's shores, between seasons, and from day to day. We were reminded of that during a recent visit to one of our favorite haunts along the north shore, Grand Marais. In Grand Marais and points nearby, we've watched friends marry, reunited our extended family, even skied for our own honeymoon. This time we were there to meet friends in Lutsen to cross-country ski on the weekend, and choose to snowmobile on the Gunflint Trail the day before. Staying in the East Bay Motel and Suites, we once again enjoyed a great view of the lake, including a spectacular sunrise.

On snowmobiles, which we rented from the nice folks at Gunflint Pines on Gunflint Lake, we had our first view of the trail since the 1999 derecho (blowdown) and subsequent Ham Lake fire of 2007. What a different ecology from that what I remembered. Barron hillsides, former trees now very tall stumps. Interspersed with areas of new growth and some untouched patches to remind us of what it used to look like. Still stunning and beautiful in its own way. We took the winding and lightly traveled trail north from Gunflint lake to the end of the Gunflint over ample snow (in contrast to the rest of the state). We even trespassed unknowingly into a bit of the Boundary Waters over the ice on an arm of Saginiga Lake.

But the real evidence of the dynamic nature and unpredictability of our home away from home was found on the lake itself. As far as the eye could see when we arrived our lake was white and frozen. A day later, we saw only open water. That makes ice fishing a risky proposition, it would seem. Or even the trek to the ice caves, which is why the Park Service pays such close attention to the weather and, specifically, the wind when declaring the season open - or closed.

It feels like that unpredictability, and it's corresponding hazards, are part of what keeps drawing us to our roots. Like life, it rewards us with spectacular experiences and diversity, while commanding respect and appreciation.