Hawk Ridge - Minnesota’s Birds of Prey

One of the premier raptor migrations spots in North American is Hawk Ridge overlooking Lake Superior in Duluth, Minnesota. Here in the fall thousands of humans migrate to a hillside to watch tens of thousands of eagles, hawks and falcon funnel overhead avoiding crossing Lake Superior on their journey south. Each of the twenty some species is described by author, radio personality and one of Minnesota’s top birding experts Laura Erickson.  Her book Hawk Ridge - Minnesota’s Birds of Prey includes wonderfully evocative woodcuttings and sketches by Betsy Bowen.  The book is neither a field guide nor one of those giant and expensive table top tomes.  Factual, fascinating and funny at points it’s the perfect book for planning a trip to see the wonders of raptor migration at Hawk Ridge.  I found it most enjoyable. Incidentally, I briefly met the author this year at the Quarry Hill Nature Center in Rochester Minnesota.  She gave a most interesting talk on her Big Year of birding in the United States.  All on a limited time and budget….:)

Some years over a hundred thousand broad winged hawks fly over the ridge.  Far rarer numbering annually in the hundreds is the beautiful red shouldered hawk much more common in the East. Actually photographed by Mrs. T. in Florida where they're easier to get close to....:)

 

And so on this Christmas Day 2014 another reason to be joyful..... my ability to download pictures to eblog has mysteriously reappeared. Merry Christmas!

Thanks and Help!

Several weeks ago with much ado and the help of several bloggers I was able to recover my "word free verification status" which had mysteriously been taken away.  Now this week eblog won't allow me to put pictures on my posts...... Grrrrrr.   Is this a common problem and is there a fix?
Thanks,
Ray (Troutbirder)

Lily Leads The Way

The first snowfall of the winter had already melted some when Miss Lily and I headed down to Forestville State Park for a hike. We parked by the closed 1898 bridge and walked across the Root River to the small town of Forestville and its post Civil War buildings. Maintained by the Minnesota Historical Society  it comes to life with re-enactors most the year except winter as an adjunct to the State Park.

 

 

 

Looking across the Root we can see the deserted picnic shelter. With miles of trails in the park we're probably alone today as we hike into the woods. There will be several feeder streams along the way. All good trout water.  As a matter of fact this is where I first learned how to cast a fly many years ago now. 

 

After hiking some I find a bench to sit down and rest a minute. Lily hops up along side of me. There are no dangerous critters in these woods but after having this "rescue" dog for less than a year one thing is for sure....... Miss Lily "has my back."

 

A couple of miles later we easily cross a low Forestville Creek on some concrete slabs. It wouldn't have been a good day to get wet...

"Lets go home Lil. Your Mistress promised us both some treats...:) "

 

 

 

 

 

Plain Truth

As most of the readers of this blog know I’m pretty much into non-fiction these days tending toward history, biography and the occasional survival story.  This was not always so as I read the classics and many novels as a youth.  The recent death of the great English mystery writer P.D. James reminded me of all her wonderful books that I had so thoroughly enjoyed.  I decided it was time to find a good mystery.  Finishing up my semi-annual haircut I wandered next door into the Goodwill  store and found shelves of bargain books.  There I ran across  several by Jodi Picoult a name I was familiar with but had never read.  It was time to branch out….

Published in 2000 I started with Plain Truth.           Ellie Hathaway, a top notch defense attorney,  starts to question her work and relationships and returns to visit her Aunt Leda in the small town of Paradise, Pennsylvania.  She ends pulled into the case of Katie, an Amish girl, accused of murdering her newborn and she must find a way of working within a culture that is not her own. This plot got my attention right away as the area where I live has a number of Old Order Amish and the opportunity to learn more about their way of life seemed well worth the time.

Let’s be clear here, based on this sample of one Picoult is one heck of a story teller.  She draws you into the plot and you really want to know how it all turns out. Still by the time I finished I wondered if I’d been bamboozled.  Picoults clues that mislead are normal in a good mystery but here they are
 often factually contradictory. No thanks.  Then we toss in paranormal ringers about ghosts. Huh? The corker was a sideline of romance with gothic novel like choices like one love is bad but the other is good but she doesn’t know which is which. Spare me. Then  there is the lawyer protagonist who ends up living with the suspects Amish family because of a bail issue. Apparently believability doesn’t deter this author from jazzing things up to make a good story.  This book needed some serious editing on what should have been a good plot.  This brings me back to P.D. James.  When Phyllis Dorothy James, Baroness James of Holland Park, (3 August 1920 – 27 November 2014), known as P. D. James,  rose to fame for her series of detective novels starring police commander and poet Adam Dalgliesh the facts and description were accurate and believable.  I had read her
first book in the early sixties while still in college. Her last novel was published in 2011. I think I'll go back and read it....

 

In Remembrance: Ted & The Class of 89

This summer we were privileged to be invited to attend the 25^th class reunion of Spring Valley High Schools Class of 89.  It was a special occasion for me as I was their 12 grade social studies teacher and our eldest son Ted was a member of the class. The poignancy of being asked to say a few words after the dinner was reflected in my memories of what a fine and talented class they were and their universal friendship with our son. Ted had fallen due to the effects of bi-polar disease in December 1997 a short time before Christmas and his 28^th birthday.  Our beloved daughter-in-law Deanne was the organizer of the class reunion that night. With love we remember always…..

Confirmation

Ted third from left

The trombone section relaxes at Winnipeg Band Festival in 1986.  Ted center.

 Punk day 1988.

Senior Beach Day 1989.

The Senior Ensemble at graduation

 

Strange and then stranger

It all began rather strangely and ended even more so….  It was early in the morning and Mrs. T was sleeping in while I was at the computer in the basement den.   It was then that Miss Lily came bounding down the steps and immediately tried to climb up on my lap.  Now Lily is a sweet, gentle and well behaved dog but having an eighty pound female German Shepherd sitting on your lap is not acceptable. I pushed her back and yelled NO!  She laid down whimpering quietly watching me closely. This was not normal behavior so I ventured upstairs signaling for her to follow me.  Then I heard the high pitched beep.  It took me a while to locate the source as one of our several fire alarms was signaling every few minutes a dead backup battery.  These batteries provide a backup in case the electrical power fails to the house. Getting a ladder to climb up and remove the culprit I dropped it in my pants pocket and headed into town for a replacement.

Focused on driving as I went into town, I absentmindedly scratched my leg a few times. A bit later the spot seemed more painful like a spider bite or something and I speeded up into the Dollar Store parking lot. As by then the pain verged  on excruciating, I knew I had to pull my pants down to take a look and not wanting to park by the other cars and risk potential charges of indecent exposure, I pulled over to an empty area on the edge of the lot. Ouch. And there it was a large red area on the inner thigh of my left leg with an even uglier blistered spot in the middle.  Then reaching into my pants pocket I was not EVERREADY for the very hot 9 volt battery I managed to pull out and drop quickly on the floor.  The battery hadn’t leaked and lacking much in the way of electrical engineering expertise, I returned home dumbfounded to consult Mrs. T. who was quite skeptical of my story till she saw the burn. As I said strange and then stranger…..

Stout Hearted Men

 

Give me some men who are stout-hearted men

 Who will fight for the right they adore.

 Start me with ten, who are stout-hearted men

 And I'll soon give you ten thousand more.

Actually I was alone as my brother Greg had headed downstream but the idea of “ten thousand more” seemed good at that moment.

I couldn’t sing a lick. So why was I loudly singing “Stout Hearted Men” while slowly moving up a small trout stream in southwestern Montana?  This is why!  And it looked wet and fresh to my fairly untrained eye.

I had tagged along with my brother who was scouting elk for the bow hunting season later that fall many years ago. It was my first trip to Montana and naturally I brought my flyrod along. I wasn’t familiar with the notion of pepper bear spray. Perhaps it hadn’t even been invented then. Someone had given me the advice that when it comes to grizzly bears an important principle is “don’t surprise them.”  My off key singing seemed to fit the bill….:)

 

Quotes….

The test of an adventure is that when you are in the middle of it, you say to yourself, "Oh, now I've got myself into an awful mess; I wish I were sitting quietly at home." And the sign that something is wrong with you is when you sit quietly at home wishing you were out having lots of adventure. -Thornton Wilder

Retirement Lane

When I retired, some ten years ago now, I was given lots of advice. The key principle seemed to be that I should keep "busy." Poor man apparently would have a hard time finding things to do! Many recommended that one should volunteer, helping to benefit all mankind. Apparently forty years of teaching the youth of the nation hadn't counted for too much.

To be successful in this vast endeavor, I was advised to look for a "role model." Someone (often the one giving the advice) who could show me the retirement ropes and was successful at it. I looked.  And looked.

There he was right in front of me. His name was Simba. Mrs. T’s precious cat.  I watched him carefully for several months. Fortunately, he had a basically invariable routine. It was a pattern which I began to emulate especially during the long and harsh Minnesota winters. Basically, it was to go from room to room and follow the sun. Yup, that's it. Follow the sun. Then get comfortable.

 

Simba’s gone now but I have been working hard at it ever since. It takes dedication and perseverance. The results speak for themselves. Happy retirement. BTW.  We’ve elaborated on the principle a bit more recently by following it all the way to Florida….:)